Page 23 of Eva Reddy’s Trip of a Lifetime

Utkarsh to the Rescue

My driver makes good time once I have convinced him I am not interested in any detours to see assorted tourist attractions.

It is the last leg of our journey together so maybe he is as keen to be rid of me as I am to be done with him.

Or perhaps he’s just exhausted his inventory of scams. In any case, I arrive at the station with a whole twenty minutes to spare.

We stop at what appears to be a taxi rank, if taxi ranks also accommodate cows. I pull a two thousand rupee note out of my wallet and hand it across to the front seat. He pushes it back.

‘No, madam. I am very sorry. The cost of today is three thousand rupees.’ He does not look or sound at all sorry. If anything, he looks kind of smug, like he’s finally won a round of double or nothing.

‘But that’s a thousand rupees more than the amount you quoted at the start of the day.’

‘That was before we had to travel so many extra kilometres because of the protests.’

‘But there were no protests!’

‘There were protests. You did not see them because I did my job very well.’ He crosses his arms against his chest, daring me to argue the point.

Everyone knows you can’t prove a negative. And I’m not about to try, especially with the clock ticking and my train now fifteen minutes away from departure.

‘Alright!’ I wrench another two thousand rupee note from my wallet and hand it across to my baby-faced extortionist.

I wait.

He does not budge.

‘You owe me one thousand rupees,’ I prompt.

‘I do not have change, madam. You must give me the correct money.’

It hadn’t occurred to me to ask for a range of denominations at the airport currency exchange in Sydney, so I don’t have anything smaller.

And I also don’t have the luxury of time.

If I make a scene or call the police, I will almost certainly miss my train.

My driver has scored his victory, twice over.

I would have admired his tenacity if it wasn’t all so frustrating.

‘Okay. You win. Keep the change.’ I drag my bag out of the cab with an angry grunt and trudge off toward the station.

I check my watch. I need to hurry, which is not a situation that the Indian transport system caters for or encourages.

There are people and vehicles and assorted livestock everywhere, so charting a direct line to the main station entrance is near impossible.

I weave and jostle through the crowd, dodging randomly placed bollards and hurdling concrete road barriers and the occasional sleeping body.

It is going to be a close call. But after some impressive manoeuvring, my platform is in sight.

It seems I am going to make my train with a minute or so to spare. Until …

‘May I see your ticket, madam?’ A railway official blocks my path. He waves a grease-stained identity card in front of my face and holds out his hand.

I surrender my ticket, one nervous eye on the clock above the departures board.

‘Oh, dear. We have a problem. Your train has been cancelled.’

‘Cancelled?’ I try to keep the panic out of my voice, but I can hear the telltale cracking at the back of my throat. ‘When is the next one?’

‘I will need to check. Come with me to the main office. This happens often, madam. No need for concern.’

I trot obediently behind the railway official back out the door and toward a row of small shops on the far side of the road.

I soon sense that something isn’t right.

For one thing, I am being led away from the place with all the trains to an establishment that looks suspiciously like a tourist office.

Plus, the ‘official’ is wearing scuffed sandals and a tea-stained shirt that is fraying at the cuffs.

But the man’s brisk gait and regular admonishments to hurry give him an air of authority that I don’t have the energy to question.

So, I just scurry along blindly, hoping I still have time to intercept my parents before they vanish again.

If I am being taken for a ride, I just hope it is one that gets me to Rishikesh.

I am starting to run out of puff and patience when I hear a familiar voice calling from somewhere in the crowd behind me.

‘Eva!’

I swing around. Utkarsh is racing to catch up with me. Watching him in full flight, I note he is not only very good-looking, but fit as well.

‘Eva. What are you doing?’ He is waving his arms over his head as though he is a lifeguard and I am a drowning swimmer.

I push random resuscitation fantasies to one side as I try to make sense of what is happening. Why has my airport taxi driver suddenly materialised here at Delhi railway station?

‘You must come with me immediately,’ Utkarsh continues, an edge of urgency to his voice.

‘This man is a crook. You are being taken to a fake tourist office.’ He looks deeply offended on my behalf.

The fact that he had guided me to a disreputable travel agency just the previous day does not seem to enter his thinking.

The railway officer swivels around and marches up to Utkarsh until the two men are standing toe to sandalled toe.

‘Sir, this is an official matter. I would ask you to leave me to do my job.’

Their chests are touching and they are glowering at each other. I think for a moment they might come to blows. But Utkarsh holds a comfortable advantage in both height and weight, and it doesn’t take long for the smaller man to assess the situation and break eye contact.

Utkarsh turns to me. ‘Eva, do you want to come with me, and I will help you get to where you want to go? Or are you happy to keep following this shyster?’

‘I’d very much like your help, Utkarsh.’ I stare down at my dust-covered sneakers, feeling like an errant child.

‘Excellent. Then let’s go.’ Utkarsh takes my bag and escorts me back to the station.

‘How did you find me?’ I pant as I struggle to keep up with his long strides.

‘I didn’t find you. I had a fight with my nephew.

And then with my brother. We all need a few days to cool off, so I have come to the railway station.

I live in Australia, but I have a lot of family here.

I am going to stay with a cousin in Rishikesh for a couple of days.

I was buying a train ticket when I saw you being kidnapped. ’

I’m not sure that voluntarily following someone to a fraudulent tourist office qualifies as kidnapping, but I am definitely happy that Utkarsh intervened. Better still, we are headed in the same direction. My odds of reaching my destination just improved exponentially.

‘What a coincidence! I’m heading to Rishikesh too. I’m trying to find my parents. That’s why I’m in India.’ I smile, hoping Utkarsh will volunteer to take me on as a temporary travel companion. ‘Do you think there will be another train tonight?’

‘There are many more trains and I will make sure that we are both on one of them.’

Utkarsh sits me on a metal bench and sets off to buy our tickets and some food for the journey.

All I’ve had to eat today is pretzels and a cocktail.

So when he returns with a couple of burgers, I’m ready to hug him.

I’m also grateful he didn’t challenge me with the local cuisine.

I’ve reached my threshold for new experiences for one day.

It’s almost midnight when we board the carriage and find our seats. As the train clatters and we leave Delhi behind us, I finally feel able to relax and fall into a fitful sleep. When I wake up six hours later, my head is resting on Utkarsh’s shoulder and we are pulling into Rishikesh.

From: Jonathan Moore

To: Me

Eva,

I have made a horrible mistake. I have broken it off with Mia. She is now working in another department. Please come home so we can sort this out.

I love you.

Jonathan

From: Emily Moore

To: Me

Mum,

Dad has explained what happened. He is SO upset and angry with himself. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s even stopped going to the gym. I told him he shouldn’t take all the blame. I’m sure you agree with me. You have let yourself go recently.

But can you come home please. He’s getting kind of needy.

Em xxox