I was posted in Darjeeling and had to take care of the other princely states in one of my assignments. This came with a price that I had to be in a long distance relationship with my partner and had to miss on the high androgen and oxytocin release.
I opened my office computer to log in to Indian Railway portal to book my tickets for Siliguri; a quaint little town where everyone knows each other’s name. I did not have a credit card and till date, I don’t carry one. But I realized the merits of having a credit card only during that time when I failed to book my tickets online because then debit cards booking was not available at the portal. With a heavy heart, I tried calling up friends to book my tickets. I was new in the city and was not familiar with the availabilities of agents and train booking services.
Hastily I called my partner for a couple of references and he was more than happy to share the names and numbers. I dialed the number of a railway agent Rana da.
Rana da assured me of tickets availability for a given date but with his agent charges on it. I was still a Management Trainee then and was hesitant to pay that extra 125 rupees as it will not be reimbursed. Knowing that there was no option I agreed to the terms dictated by Rana da. I imagined Rana da to be a short heighted person with bald patches and wearing an unironed grey t-shirt teamed with loose “uncle” pants. It usually happens to most of us when we imagine and judge a person’s way of life by his profession.
I rang up Rana da and curtly said I will need AC 2 tier with upper berth seat. I heard a soft nod from the other side of the phone.
It was going to be 6.30pm and I was still in my flat managing last minutes chores; checking if windows are shut properly and the knob of kitchen gas oven is put off or not. I was not used to these household responsibilities but again time and circumstances are the biggest teachers in life. I locked the door and ran hurriedly through the stairs. I dragged my big overstuffed VIP suitcase all through the stairs alone. Sweat drops glistened on my forehead and my palms became red because of the abrasion of suitcase handle. It made my supine movement more cumbersome. On the gate, I approached the shopkeeper selling rolls and chowmein to take care of my luggage so I could ferry a black taxi going on the opposite side of the road.
The taxi was wading through the traffic and I just managed to reach the Sealdah station in the nick of the time. I paid the driver a crisp hundred rupee note and galloped towards the platform. I made a quick call to Rana da to find out the location where he was standing to hand over the tickets to me. I found a tall figure standing near the waiting room and wearing those ”uncle pants” as per my earlier imagination and not the short types was he. He handed over the tickets and left.
After waiting in the platform for some time, I saw a tall, lithe figure approaching me. To my surprise, it was my partner!
Me: Hi. What are you doing here?
Partner: I am also traveling to Siliguri.
Me: When did this happen and which compartment?
Partner: Can you please check the tickets?
To my utter dismay, I found 2 names in the ticket. We boarded the train and pushed our luggage’s beneath the lower birth. Ours was a side berth and we both were happy to be in our own space and get low-cost privacy created by the long thick dusty-blue train curtains. The adjustment to cordon our berth completely from the sight of other passengers through those curtains was a challenge, as it still left a little peeping gap between two adjacent side berths, as the train rustled.
After finishing my railway meal and getting our tickets checked by the TT, I was gearing off for the sleep. But suddenly something mischievous flashed in my mind. We sat facing each other with the window curtains unrolled. I closed my eyes and turned my face to the window sill. The cool hill station breeze flowing in through the iron mesh patted my skin and gently fingered my hair. It sent me into a trance and my partner became dizzied looking at my exult state. He inched closer and started tousling my hair and caressing my bare neck with his manly hands.
Gradually the soft touching play resulted in deep passionate kissing. The small squares of fast-passing light posts; wheezing whistle; rumbling wheels; and constant pull and push momentum of the coach made the atmosphere intoxicating. The whole idea of passengers sleeping around us and still not able to gauge our lovemaking acted like a dope for being more physically intimate. The small space of the berth made it a little uncomfortable but that was a boon in disguise. The discomfort turned out to be a more disciplined act of lovemaking in full vicinity, not be seen by others but rejoiced by us.
After the deep French kiss, he went down kissing my neck and rubbing his face on my bosom. I pulled the hair of his chest by my teeth and he exclaimed a sigh! I lost count of time of how long I had been kissing him. We continued being lost inside each other’s body, only to stop when there was a station. The urge to control and move our hands from each was acting like a slow drug. Restrain builds the desire! Our part-open cautious stares to check the shifting curtain from the movements made it very adventurous. The train kicked off with the jerk and our bodies bumped in against each other. We made passionate love in full bloom.