“Hello! Can you please help me with the directions to West Minister?” the young boy asked the elderly gentleman standing next to him.
The old man looked like he had just stepped out of an old English Novel. He was decked up in an all-black British wardrobe, full on with the suit, tie, oxford shoes, and long hat, he also held in his right hand, a golden gripped black walking stick.
“Yes. Young man, I can for sure help you! Ask away!” the old man quipped in his deep British accent, turning around to look at him, as his big grey mustache moved along with the curve of his kind smile.
“Where exactly do you want to go in West Minister?” the old man asked Harsh, observing him with a glint in his eyes.
“The Metro Station!” Harsh exclaimed, looking up at the old man’s wrinkled face.
“Ah… The Metro Station…” He repeated after him gently and lifted his hand, pointing towards the other end of the road.
“Walk down straight on this road and take the third right. The Metro Station you are looking for would be at the end of that road.” the old man directed, before turning around and looking at Harsh for a reaction.
“Thanks a lot!” Harsh replied, flashing a bright smile at the old man, still a bit awed at the sight of him.
“My Pleasure!” The old man replied in the same sincere and deep tone, holding the tip of his hat and raising it slightly, just like how it was shown in all those movies.
The entire setting felt surreal, as if a scene from a book or movie was playing out in front of him.
Still, a bit lost in the magical encounter he slowly made his way towards the souvenir shop his father and brother were shopping at. It was the first time Harsh was moving around alone in that trip and it felt really good to just stop and observe the flow of humanity and life, around him.
The time was almost 8 in the night, but the sky was still quite bright. That was where they had miscalculated the time. They had a train to catch for Newbury at 8:30 from Paddington and were running late.
Reaching the shop in a rush, he pushed his family on towards the West Minister Station and they hurriedly took the metro to Paddington. It was a 20 minute ride and by the time, they reached the station, the train had moved out of the station and they had missed it. It had been the last direct train to Newbury.
They were walking around, trying to find out the ticket counter and check for some other options that might be available.
“Let us call Aunty…” His brother told Harsh, before turning over to his father, who immediately took out his phone.
His father then was staring at his phone, emotionless, pressing different buttons and Harsh realized that something was wrong.
Going up to him, Harsh noticed that the phone’s battery had drained out. They now had no way to reach out to their aunt for directions. They did not know her number.
The three of them were well and truly all on their own.
He had not even in his wildest dreams thought that something like this would happen and for sure not on the last day of their trip to the City.
Cursing their luck, they tottered over to the other side of the station, where they found a board with the train schedules and were intently going through it when a uniformed guy came up to them and asked “Need any help?”
“Yes please. We missed our train to Newbury and don’t know, what to do.” Harsh replied the agitation showing in his voice.
“Not to worry… Just take the Train to Reading, you can catch a connecting bus from there to Newbury” the guy replied and added “Platform 3”.
“Have a safe journey” He wished and walked away.
That was how London had been for them, almost magical. Every day in that city had brought up something new and it had changed Harsh in more ways than one, and in such a short time.
They boarded the train from Platform 3 to Reading and found some empty seats to sit on. In just about a few minutes, the train left the station and there they were, bidding goodbye to the British Capital.
Sitting there in that train, Harsh started writing his diary of all that had happened in those four long days of endless running.
Their peripatetic life was at an end.
From Wimbledon at one end, to Greenwich at the other, and then to Wembley at another, they ran, crisscrossing the old city in its “Tube”, as the metro services were called and no distance had seemed too great to reach.
One by one, they were striking off names from the list they had made. Having entered the city at Piccadilly Circus, the statue of Mr. Holmes at Baker’s Street was their first port of call, on their way to Madame Tussauds.
There began their autumn sojourn, with the British weather welcoming their arrival with an uncharacteristically good spell of cloudless sunlight.
West Minister, The London Eye, The Aquarium and its penguins, The London Bridge and the Thames, which is pronounced as “Tems” just like “Gems”, or so they say, but then you got to trust the British to know their English, cannot argue on that, can we now? (:P)
Countless “Thank Yous” and innumerable “Sorrys”, Strawberry Cream and an Organic Sandwiches, Center courts and Trophy Cabinets, Real life palaces and Humongous Parks, Downing Street and Trafalgar Square, and thus they rolled, one place to another.
Kilometer after kilometer, they walked, before finally finding that elusive Red Double Decker Bus, everyone so loves.
The British Capital was truly a charming place and it was a trip for him to remember.
With these thoughts, Harsh finished his note as they arrived at the Reading station. Getting onto the waiting bus, they travelled in those dark highways towards the peaceful little town of Newbury, where their Aunt was waiting for them at the Bus stop.
Getting down from the bus, letting out a deep breath of relief at seeing her, the three of them got into her car and left for home.
Bristol and its Cheddar Cheese, awaited them on the morrow.
My Discovery of India 