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Sunday, February 1, 2009


( This is a real story of a life experience by Mr. Alexander John, Delhi, India. We all have different experiences sometimes bitter, but here some strangers act like Angels have helped the father and his son in time of real pain. Part II will appear tomorrow)
The auto-rickshaw drew up to the station and I stepped out of it as it came to a halt. I helped out my son, Roshan as my parents went to buy the platform tickets. We (my four year old son, Roshan & me) were boarding the Trivandrum Chennai mail from Chengannur Station, a small town in central Kerala. We were well in time for the train, and I couldn’t help wishing that I could have stayed back longer.

It had been a whistle stop trip to Kerala, where we had arrived two days before to attend a cousin’s marriage. It had been great fun, catching up with all the cousins, the usual leg pulling, the hilarious conversations and suddenly it was time to go. My wife had stayed back in Delhi, on her Doctor’s advice (she was 3 months into her pregnancy). So there I was, with Roshan boarding the train to Chennai. We planned to take the evening flight back to Delhi after spending a day with my in -laws in Chennai.

The train pulled into the station and we boarded it. We said goodbye to my parents as the train pulled out of the station. We had berth No. 36 in coach B2 between the two of us. We quickly settled into our berth and my son quickly took to climbing up and down the ladder to go up to the top berth and then come down. He was becoming quite good at it and once I felt confident that he was adept at it, I settled down to read a magazine. Once in a while, I would look up to see if he was fine. He seemed to be settling well and had found a friend in the opposite berth. They were both busy climbing up and down the connecting ladder to the top berth, laughing and enjoying themselves , the way only children can.

We had got into the train at 4.30 pm in the evening. At 8.30 pm, the dinner, started to get served. I bought our dinner and had just set it onto the small folding table between the berths when I heard a resounding thud. I turned around, to see my worst nightmare turning true. My son had fallen off the top berth and was lying on the ground. He seemed to have hit his head on the way. He was conscious and was bawling by the time I picked him up. He seemed ok, though he seemed a little shocked. He kept crying loudly for his “Mummy”. I kept trying to reassure him repeating that everything was ok holding him tightly while caressing his head.
All the passengers in the adjoining berths had grouped around us. It was then that the lady sitting in front of our berth screamed that blood was flowing from my son’s head. When I moved my right hand, which was caressing his head, it was coated completely with blood. I tried to see the cut but my son would not let me see it. We somehow managed to part his hair and take a look. There was a gash on the back of his head.

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