When the humble khakhra became a lifesaver

Flashback 2005: Six students from University of Mumbai's Masters of Communication and Journalism course were handpicked to go to Tamil Nadu and Pondicherry in January 2005 to make documentary films on the devastation caused by the December 2004 tsunami. None of us had ever been to Chennai and only one, a Malayali, knew a few words of Tamil. As we boarded the second class of the Chennai Express we discovered that between the six of us we had to share three side berths. The two smaller girls, Lakshmi and Kavita took one. Ashu and I grabbed another. And Ram and Ziko took the third (both almost six feet). The lights were turned off and I could hear the snores. I don't sleep well or at all in new places. Some wise ass had decided to leave the doors open so we were crossing interior Maharashtra, freezing our butts off at temperatures 3-4 degrees. None of us, except Ram (and we'd made fun of his leather jacket), had planned for it. Ashu had wrapped my stole as his blanket and was fast asleep while I hugged my knapsack tight. Then I heard the chattering. Ziko and Ram kept whispering and shuffling. I asked them to sit down on the berth opposite mine next to the man who snored loudest. Ziko was white, his rheumatic knuckles had swollen, teeth were chattering and he was shivering in spite of wearing Ram's jacket. We rubbed his palms to generate heat. Then I remembered the khakhra mom had packed into my knapsack in spite of my protests. I handed one to him. The chewing helped generate some heat and he had four khakhras before he was warm enough to utter thank you. The next afternoon, the swelling had reduced and the smile had returned to his face. I managed to grab some sleep. The memory of that night replays every time I bite into the humble khakhra. 😁