A small reminder of the gift of life

Raaja Bhasin

There is a key-ring that holds our house keys and is somewhat symbolic. The rest of the family does not care for this. It is made of pewter, a material that I have long been partial to. The alloy, pewter, is composed of common metals like tin, copper and lead, and yet, manages to acquire an elegance comparable to a precious metal. The key-ring was bought a long time ago at the souvenir shop of Madame Tussaud’s wax museum. After a couple of years in disuse, I had some repairs done to it in a bylane of Old Delhi, and it is back in our household key-box.

It was at about this time of the year, in 2015, that I was lecturing on a chartered train along the Kalka-Shimla stretch. Since childhood, I have been on and off that train, and we used to joke (if poorly) that one could take a leisurely stroll and jump back into the carriage when one wished. That is how slow and plodding it was.

Normally, for these lectures, I would sit away from the clients, and rarely, if ever, meet them face to face. I would speak through a mike hook-up across the train. That day, the audio system was not working and I settled down with other passengers — most of who were from the UK. As we left the Kalka station, I stood up in the carriage and began speaking. The thought came that I would be doing this, one carriage to the other, thanks to the audio system failure, all along the journey and I sat down.

A few seconds later — and barely 15 minutes after the train had left the station — the train took a lurch and then another. The carriage I was in and the other slammed against the hillside. Two people, who were standing, were flung hard, and within moments, were no more. Several people were badly injured.

The last call on my phone had been to a friend in the Himachal Police. I called, and within minutes, several policemen arrived and tried to do the best they could.

It is sometimes said there is a moment in everyone’s life that changes everything. What made me sit down, I have no idea. Had I been standing, I would not have been writing this.

Enter the key-ring. At some point, I looked around for the leather satchel that carried my notes and books. It had been flung out of the window and lay wedged between a piece of protruding metal and the rocks. There was no way it could be extricated till the coach was straightened. A few days later, the shredded satchel was delivered to me. Battered and twisted, inside was the key-ring. I threw away the satchel, but kept and repaired the key-ring. It is a little reminder to be grateful, and to remember what a fine line there is between life and its ebbing away.

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