FIRST MEMORY OF 2016 on the LAST DAY OF 2016 as my 11,000th jotting on IRI.
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I am a twenty two year old railfan. I like trains and rail-photography to a level of near-obsession and will continue to, forever. I like to travel across the length and breadth of the country and visit new routes, through unseen stations in never-travelled-before trains. Even the faintest of rail-related discussions happening in my vicinity catch my attention and get me pumped up. Nothing could ever kill my passion for trains and nothing ever will, or...
more... so did I think. What I write below is an account of an event that proved me wrong there.
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Planned by an over the hill craze for a few Railfanning spots, facilitated by mid-flood IT business shutdown and accompanied by two of the closest RF friends, this trip that covered Moradabad - Delhi - Chennai – Palani – Pollachi – Palakkad – Shoranur - Nilambur – Trivandrum – Kanyakumari – Mangaluru – Hassan – Bagalkote – Solapur – Chennai was one, waiting for which really got me on my toes. It spanned over six thousand kilometres, a distance more than the air distance between Delhi and Rome. And it all did happen. This isn’t about the experience of continuously being on the go for those eight days. It’s about the New Year reward that came complementary my way for being a railfan. For being a railfan and for being... Well let me start it from scratch.
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January the first. 2016.
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Solapur Junction: 14139-TNP-WDM3A was the front loco of the twins that were bringing in Sai Nagar Shirdi – Chennai Express to the station. I was done and dusted with my adventures and all I needed to do was to board this train and be in Chennai the next day. I clicked a pic and noted down the loco numbers to put up on my trip-diary, as has been my habit when suddenly a voice landed at me beaming from behind. “Loco number kaiko note kiya tu? Photo kaiko nikala?” said the RPF personnel asking me the reason of noting down details and clicking photos on the station. This wasn’t something new to me. Photography at railway stations is prohibited and many railfans do get questioned every now and then. I replied something on the lines of “hobby-passion-love for trains” and the like. He was casually asking me some other questions to which I was patiently responding when he suddenly decided on asking something different. “Naam kya hai?”, What is your name?
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In ten minutes the train was scheduled to leave. I hardly had any time to comprehend and question the context of questions being asked to me. All that I had on my mind was to get done with the interrogation and proceed for home. Destiny however had different plans for me.
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My name, “Zahaib” brought about a stern look, ferocious in a way to the face of the personnel. The little strands of decency vanished and with no need of bringing in the judge of a court into this picture, a judgement was taken. A six letter name was enough to take a call on dictating the further course of action to be vented out to a 21 year old clicking a train on a railway platform. My arm was grabbed in a deliberately intimidating fashion, and if not for me catching up with the pace of the personnel, I was almost dragged to the office of the Station Master.
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I do not happen to understand Marathi, but given a similarity of the language to my mother tongue, I could make out the personnel’s report to the SM concerning me. Three important points, bulleted out by the personnel himself, were narrated to the SM. One. He was clicking the locomotive. Two. He noted down the loco number. Three. His name is Zahaib. An RPF constable was summoned through an announcement on the Public Address System of Solapur Junction and the VERY SAME three-point-story was conveyed forward. Dignified intelligent personalities, placed that high on the hierarchy of one of the most coveted public sector organization of the country, an organization that homes my passion and the biggest obsession of my life, didn’t require any other detail besides my name to judge my intentions. The person whose life revolves around these trains and for whom Indian Railways is a way of life, an obsession he proudly boasts of, was unable to rubbish criminal allegations subtly being thrown at him just because his name didn’t allow him to.
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I was taken to a police station. The last and the only time I went there throughout my life was when I was respectfully invited there for my passport verification call.
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I was forced to sit down on the floor. The last time it happened in my life was when I was in primary school.
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I was shouted on and interrogated. The last time someone talked to me in a tone that loud was my very own dad when I misplaced some 1500 bucks, back in my teens.
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Police interrogation went on for over two hours. I was narrating a complete story of how my interest in trains was born, how it grew and how it culminated. I had over 6000+ pics in my cam. Each and every one was checked. The person holding it went through a change of emotions from those of didactic anger to utter disbelief. 98% of those pics were about trains and nothing else. He was puzzled to the limit that he couldn’t resist asking me what I get out of this. I was again speechless, why wouldn’t I be, for putting your unconventional and weird way of life to a normal person isn’t an easy job.
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Upon me producing proofs on the lines of my Appointment letter and ID cards, I could convince them of my words and was let free at around 4PM, post signing a letter of apology. Apology for going beyond the rules to love my passion in spite of having a “dangerous” name.
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I had missed the train and my town was a handsome distance apart. For the next four hours, I sat in the waiting hall of Solapur Junction, attempting to contemplate the sequence of events that had just happened. The attendant there was an old, differently abled man who had been audience to the show. He somehow walked the distance and came forward to me to say a word or two. And the effort by him did really help a great deal.
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For the next four months, I hadn’t been on any RF trips whatsoever. My blogging went sporadic and I saw myself distancing myself from RF Meets. “Nothing could ever kill my passion for trains and nothing ever will”. Huh. I had been proved totally flawed in that statement of mine.
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If the rules dictate the anonymous me, simply on the basis of my actions, to be arrested for my passion, I’m ready to go behind the bars and I can vouch for not losing an ounce of interest in my hobby. But if you bring in my personal life into judging my passion incorrectly, I’m afraid I can’t even defend.
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This narration doesn’t intend to play hate-speech for any community in general. Nor does it intend to invite sympathy for another. It just puts up a very generic appeal to desist from judging someone by what he’s called and what he looks like. You never know how strongly will one judgemental conversation of yours, change him as a person.