Traveling Ticket Examiners in long distance trains were always and still are an awesome lot to me and their very sight used to send cold shivers down through my spine since the days of coal-fed steam engines. The start of this phobia of mine may be traced down to a day when I could not produce the ticket when confronted by a uniformed, aggressive looking guy who was bent on kicking me out of the overcrowded, stinking third class compartment of the 9-Down Madras Mail at some unfamiliar station at an ungodly hour. Advised by a veteran fellow ticketless traveler, I pulled out a few currency notes without counting them and rescued myself from the impending crisis of ejection; however, I realised later that I had securely preserved my ticket inside the rolled up right hand sleeve of my shirt and at the crucial time I had been unrolling my left hand sleeve instead of the right.
Since the disastrous night, I take extreme caution and care in carrying and checking and rechecking my possession of the ticket before and after embarking on any journey. To make sure that I am on the right train, I check details such as my name, PNR number, seat number, date of travel and destination printed on the reservation chart several times and feel at home only after the TTE scribbles his sign on my ticket. I am the source of fun for my family members who derive pleasure in suggesting that I should verify from the engine driver whether he intends to take the train to my destination.
Since the fateful date several changes have happened. I am a little dissatisfied with almost all these documents in my possession and am always worried that individually none of these may come up to the level of acceptance by the TTE. My PAN card is rather soiled and crumpled as it was not well laminated. My Voter Identity Card is full of mistakes, and my photographs in all these do not exactly look that of mine. And my passport got soaked during the great Mumbai deluge. During my last year’s travel to Bangalore, I carried all these documents and waited for the TTE with abated breathe.
I saw the TTE entering my compartment and a good lot of adrenaline was pumped into my blood stream. The TTE took his own time to come to my seat which he did after the train traveled half way through the Mumbai-Pune section. He threw a curious look at me with a stern face and verified the printout which I presented with a timid hand. He checked his chart with a frown and saw me fumbling through my valet for the ID. It was then he gave me a broad smile and said. “Don’t worry about the ID, Sir, I know you. We were in the same class in school, forty years, back.”
I was greatly astonished. “What a pleasant surprise!” I exclaimed. “We were classmates that long back! I am sorry; I am unable to fix you. How did you recognise me after so many years?”
“Easy”, he replied “I may not remember others, but you are unique. You used to come to the examination hall with a pocket full of pens, a dozen pencils and equal number of erasers, yet forget to bring the hall-ticket. Your hairline has indeed receded, you have wrinkles, but the worried look of yours is just the same and hasn’t changed a bit.”