Book Excerpt: 'Runaway Children' by S Hariharan

I was almost 14 years old and there was a month to go for my birthday. This time, I had exactly 24 hours to plan my trip. In the last month, after the incident at home with the Passing Show cigarettes, I had started a small-time business.

I was woken up very early, since it was Thiruvathira, and there was the usual commotion at home that surrounds a festival. Ammai and  Appa had planned to go to Ayilam, Ammai’s home town. Every Thiruvathira they visited the Shiva temple there, which was more than an hour’s drive away. I calculated the amount of time they would need  for their visit. They planned to leave after lunch and be back home by 3:00 in the afternoon. This meant that I had to leave home by 2:30, after lunch, kill some time till 4:30, and then catch the train at 5:00 in the  evening. I saw no point in informing any of my friends, so I quietly left home at the decided time with a small cloth bag, in which I had packed a shirt, a pair of trousers and a set of underwear. I was wearing a black-and- white polyester shirt, since I knew that it would not get dirty easily, with black trousers and a pair of brown slippers. I also carried my notebook with the 400 rupees hidden inside the thick brown cover of the book.

Worried that someone might recognize me, I loitered near the railway station in the shadows and watched people. Then, I finally heard the announcement that the Jayanti Janata Express was arriving on platform no. 2. After a few minutes, I quietly slipped into the station and stepped into the unreserved compartment. There was absolutely no place to sit, and instead of three people on a seat, there were four or five passengers squashed together. Left with no choice, I stood near the  door and waited for the train to move.

Once the train left Palakkad I was able to breathe easy again, and I slowly walked  into the compartment. One compartment had a group of eight to ten Malayalis, in their late twenties, playing cards. They were carrying lots of food and snacks, and I thought it would be safe to stick with them, watch them play, and pretend like I knew rummy. This was the first time in my life that I was travelling alone by train, and to a city like Bombay, which was like New York to me.

I didn’t know much Hindi, but since I had some inclination towards it and liked the language, I understood some of it. Hindi, as a language, was not very common in Kerala. Since there were no televisions and limited mass media then, nobody knew or understood the language well. But because of my interest in the language, and because my Hindi teacher in school had taught me well, I could speak it a little.

Slowly the group became more friendly and offered me a little bit of space, just enough for me to perch in a tiny corner. As I had expected, they offered me some food, which I accepted with both my hands after some pretence  of reluctance.  I had decided not to spend any money, and I was very lucky that I could gorge on the group’s food. The only issue was that since it was winter, it was very cold, and I was shivering. They asked me where I worked, and I said I was going to Bombay to look for a job since I had finished my schooling.

The game of cards went on till midnight, and we finally slept, sitting upright, in various positions. Early next morning, we had to use the restroom in the train, turn by turn, which was reeking and dirty. We had no other option. Breakfast consisted of a cup of tea and a bread-omelette. I paid for my own breakfast and went ahead and bought some for one of the older boys from the group. This helped me get a little chatty with them and for lunch he offered to share with me his home-cooked food, including various types of rice and some chapattis.

By that evening I realized that I was stinking, and so, late at night, when the queue to the restroom wasn’t so long, I freshened  up. I was tired  and drifted off to sleep again, sitting up. I woke up at around 4:00 in the morning because the train had come to a halt at Kalyan station and there was noise and bustling within the compartment as people got down. I learnt that we were an hour away from the famous Victoria Terminus (VT), Bombay. The only place I had heard of in Bombay was Santa Cruz airport. I was worried and suddenly I realized the enormity of the situation. Reality struck me like a thunderbolt and my eyes welled up. I managed to run  into  the  restroom and  freshen  up.  I had  to empty my bowels. God alone knew when and where I would get to use another  restroom in this huge city.

My newfound friends offered me tooth powder and I diplomatically refused, telling them that I will brush my teeth and have a bath at my uncle’s place in Santa Cruz. At that moment I didn’t realize my mistake. Tired, hungry and absolutely cold and scared, I got off at VT. One guy from the group, with experience and an eye for detail, had noticed my behaviour and also the fact that I was carrying only a cloth  bag and no luggage. When we got down at the platform, he asked me if I had run away from home. It was quite a shocking and unnerving moment. I told him that I hadn’t and thanked them for their help. I ran out of the station before they could ask me any more questions. To leave the spot as soon as possible, I jumped  into a bus standing outside the station. I did not bother checking where the  bus was headed. Unlike  my experience of travelling in buses back home, this was bewildering.

In Bombay, BEST buses, which are run by the municipal corporation, are quite fast and don’t stop for more than a few seconds. To make matters worse, that had been my first experience boarding a double-decker bus. I almost fell off when the bus suddenly started moving. I slid my hand into my bag, expertly opened the cover a little bit, and took out a 10 rupee note for the bus ticket. I heard three or four people say, “Byculla ek,” in Hindi. With my best  accent, I repeated, “Byculla ek,” to the conductor.

Excerpted with permission from Jaico Publishing.

Book: Runaway Children
Author: S Hariharan 
Pages: 208