I was supposed to reach Bhopal Junction at 4:30 AM and I was hoping my train would be at least a few hours late, so as to not get caught unawares in Madhya Pradesh during odd hours.
To pass time, I get acquainted with a fellow passenger from Vijayawada, working and studying in Delhi. Daniel, a young doctor, was real worried about the Covid-19 outbreak and I couldn't help but be a little concerned, myself, going by what he had to say. I won't forget his sombre tone as he speculated about a techie from Bangalore, who tested positive for the novel Coronavirus, touring the southern states, leaving who knows how many infected people in his wake. And who all amongst them would unknowingly facilitate the spread of this ongoing pandemic.
I should have guessed this Behes recruitment trip would be my last for a long time. However, back then, it was just a somewhat serious conversation with a fellow traveler, so as to not fall asleep and miss the station. Little did we know, within 20 days, most of the world would follow the procedures to combat a health emergency.
Despite his serious demeanour, Daniel proved to be good company and I did not even realise when the train pulled into the station. 5 minutes before its scheduled arrival. And I was counting on Indian Railways to abide by its stereotype.
I frantically remember the train is supposed to get going in 2 minutes. Which gives me just about enough time to wish Daniel well, as I put my shoes on, and retrieve my luggage carefully without bumping into other passengers who are fast asleep. As I walk towards the door to exit the coach, I think hard. Feels like I am forgetting something, but can't put my finger on it. I wave that discomforting thought away, I tell myself that I am being a bit too over cautious, and keep walking towards the exit. Daniel proves to be a life saver as he comes after me to pass me my guitar case. Whoops, that would have been quite the loss. Thank you, Daniel!
The gentleman walking ahead is nice enough to hold the self closing door of the AC coach, open for me, letting in the smell of the railway station. A familiar smell, ever since Behes required me to be on the move; travelling once a month, spending around 2 weeks in places I haven't been to.
I killed my time in the waiting room, planning my day. A large TV played the news and the train announcements were being made simultaneously, both of which were of no use to me. In an attempt to drown the noise, I put on my ear phones and tune in to some familiar music so that I could get my thoughts in order.
For starters, I book a room for the next few days. I take note of the details on my phone. I had to check which school, amongst the ones on my list, was closest to my room. I calculate cab fares and did some research on the schools I had to visit apart from the five I had already scheduled a meeting with, in the next two days.
I managed to squeeze in an hour's worth of uninterrupted sleep before hitting the road, again. Armed with around 10 Behes booklets and a somewhat formal attire, I reach Sanskaar Valley School, about 10 kms from the outskirts of Bhopal, right between two dams. So whatever little pollution reaches this place is swept away by the constant breeze created by the surrounding water.
The way to the school, from my room in MP Road, tested the strength of the auto-rickshaw ferrying me, as we trudged uphill after crossing a forest. When you're in a new town, it is always recommended to build a conversation with the auto waale bhaiyya. And I, as usual, try to rehearse my pitch with the cheerful bhaiyya. They always are intrigued with the idea behind Behes. Realising that there is little chance of me catching another ride back, I ask him if he is open to me renting his, and the trustworthy auto's, services for the entire day; he readily agrees.
As we head downhill towards the school gates, I see flowers in a wave of colours within the campus, standing out in the midst of a mostly dry and pale landscape.
The auto bhaiyya knows his way around the school grounds and drops me off at the reception, so that I may enquire about the whereabouts of the dean. After a brief wait, a gentleman escorts me to the other block, across a lush football field, where the dean's office was located. The dean turned out to be a man of few words and within 10 minutes, after several logistical queries, he accepted our proposal to host Behes' Bhopal round at the school, after the summer break.
On the walk back uphill towards my cheery auto waale bhaiyya, I looked back and could visualise tense students heading towards their respective debate rooms, set in such a scenic location, looking like they mean business.
Auto wale bhaiya sure seemed to know his way around the local educational institutions. When I tell him our next destination is Sagar Public School (SPS) he flaunts his knowledge by confidently, and correctly, naming the principal. He further tells me he knows the person in charge at St. Joseph's School, and that we should head there, as well, once I am done.
I do some quick thinking and since I have about 2 hours before my next meeting at SPS, decide to visit Brother Verguise, bhaiyya's contact. I apprise him of my change in plans and when I express mild panic as to whether we would be able to pull it off or not, he calmly tells me to not worry as St. Joseph's is on the way to SPS.
Auto wale bhaiya was probably in his mid 50s, with a strong build to show for it. I couldn't help but notice the cane he used, at Sanskar Valley, to walk around and ask enquire about his limp.
He said he was in Raipur when it happened. It was raining cats and dogs and he had already parked his two-wheeler inside. It was a dark night and for some reason he went out on the road when a passing vehicle hit him. In an attempt to get away quickly, the panic stricken driver ran over his leg. The next thing he remembered, after the excruciating pain, was doctors around him discussing amputation. But he vehemently refused. There was no way he would have let them sever his leg, he told me.
I shared with him about my knee injury from last year and how it affected my day to day life. Well, turns out that was not the only similarity we shared. We both agreed that Indian toilets are a nightmare for people with leg injuries.
There's another benefit of making small talk with the person driving you around. You keep indulging in the back and forth, and before you realise, you would have reached your destination. In front of us was a school for the speech and hearing impaired, autism and people with intellectual disabilities, St. Joseph's was right next to it.
This seemed to be bhaiyya's territory. He was doing all the talking and everyone recognised him. He had a swift pace, for someone relying on a walking stick.
The guard tells us the school is closed but we could find Br. Verguise at the church adjacent to the School for specially abled. And believe you me there was a feast going on there. A farmers' feast for the tribal and farming communities of Madhya Pradesh. There seemed to be no dearth of food and drinks, as everyone emitted an air of giddy joy, an atmosphere signaling celebration. Men sported fancy turbans and women had large green leaves pinned to their hair.
We shuffle our way around people and reach the office to find no sign of Br. Verguise, the only people over there pay no attention to us and carry on gossiping over half-full glasses of Limca. Bhaiyya tells me to wait and without waiting for a response, takes off. Within a minute, he is walking back with a gentleman.
Without further ado, I apologise for our intrusion and quickly introduce Behes and myself. Br. Verguise seems to be in a pensive state as I tell him that we would like to invite his students to the local chapter of Behes and further brief him about Maha Behes, the national finals. He hears me out carefully without a trace of emotion.
I gave him a big smile, as he crushed my hand during the customary handshake while bidding farewell but his face betrayed no expression, almost as if he was in a meditative state. Bhaiyya senses I am a little disheartened at the lack of response and decides to play the local guide, totally free of cost, in what I suspect to be an attempt to cheer up his newfound friend. He takes me on a tour of St. Joseph's, which boasts of a gigantic campus.
He tells me he spent 17 years in this school and was very close to the people here, while pointing out memorable spots on the way. He also cheekily admits that St. Joseph's is not much of a tourist spot, we are just taking the short cut through the school campus to Sagar Public School.
Students of SPS had already participated in a Behes Bhopal round in 2019. Before entering the school I paid bhaiyya what was owed, before giving him a behes booklet which had my contact details, if in case he ever wished to crib about his aching leg.
I entered the premises and was asked to sit in the waiting area till the principal called for me. Unexpectedly, the parent sitting on my right flashes a shy smile as we make eye contact, before initiating a hesitant conversation about my hair do.
I deftly steer clear of his attempts at finding out what my parents think about my hair, (and if you are curious, you should know, my parents think I have beautiful hair and fuss over it all the time) and share that I am from Delhi and would be in town for the next few days.
Now, a person must be super curious about Delhi given its active political drama in the past year. However, he was sensible enough to not bring up any of it and simply acknowledged how Delhi had made the right choice by standing with Aam Aadmi Party during the Legislative Assembly elections.
When I am finally summoned by the principal, she was a bit caught up paying attention to the boards exam papers she was checking. She waves me in nonchalantly, and as I place our proposal, she carries on flipping through the answer scripts, scribbling with a red pen in her smooth, free hand movements.
I was pitching for them to host a Behes round because this would be in the middle of the city, as opposed to the outskirts, and if she agreed we would have the luxury of choosing the best location, based on responses.
She finally kept her papers aside and after an elaborate sigh, she clarified the school is working 6 days a week and she would have to get back to our team. I sensed reluctance and haggle for her permission in organising a session for her students later this month, to which which she readily agrees. I believe that was only to get rid of me, well, I am a smart chap myself, so I confirm the dates and invariably convince her into locking the dates with her receptionist.
Aaah, that feeling of achievement!
