My Life Is Too Ridiculous Not To Blog, Part 2

Once again, folks, I had defeated the cynics. To all those Negative Nancys, who thought I could never make it to a train station on time, in any country, I had proudly proclaimed: Yes, We Can. I had left my apartment a full hour early for a 30 minute journey, accounting for traffic and other possible delays, just like a real live grown-up. I had boarded the proper metro line, and pulled into New Delhi Station with 20 minutes to go before my train for Ahmedabad was bound to depart. It was 8:35pm. Nice work, Callie.

There was only one problem. When I entered the terminal, I pulled out my ticket confirmation, which I had responsibly remembered to print in my office earlier that day—my train was not listed on the station bulletin!

I double checked the bulletin at the other end of the terminal. The necessary information was nowhere to be found. I stood dumbfounded, watching as the train listings scrolled across the screen. 8:38. I looked down at my confirmation, up at the board, down, and up, and down, and up, unable to ascertain why there was not even the slightest mention of a delay or cancellation. Come on, India, you can do it, I prayed under my breath, hoping that I had just missed it, and that the listing for the 8:55 for Ahmedabad would pop up on the screen any minute. Alas. It would not. 8:42.

I tried to go to the “Queries” counter, but… In the capital of the second-largest country in the world, they could only find TWO people to staff it. So there were lines of literally scores of men (yes, all men), waiting behind the two open windows to ask a question or make a booking. 8:47. Come on, India, I muttered, with more frustration than hope.

You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just listen to the announcements. Surely they would have mentioned a train that was scheduled to depart in less than ten minutes. 8:49. Actually, in five minutes. Maybe they were making an announcement at that very second! Too bad one of the ‘Queries’ guys was ALSO making announcements over the PA system SIMULTANEOUSLY— the result obviously being that both were completely unintelligible. 8:50.

Desperate, I started asking people around me for help. They looked down at my paper and then up at the big screen. I told them that it wasn’t listed on the big screen. They looked down again, up, down, and up. Useless. 8:52. I ripped my ticket away from them and scurried away, my luggage awkwardly wobbling behind me as I swerved around the swarms of men under the loudspeakers.

The clock was ticking. My heart was racing. And I still had no idea where to go, with only minutes before my train. 8:53. Then, like a ray of sunshine through a day of clouds, I thought I heard it. Ahmedabad. The strangely melodious and robotic voice of the announcer, through all the shuffle and hubbub of the station, “Eyk”—Platform One. She was speaking in Hindi, and the queries guy was still going strong, so I couldn’t be entirely sure, but there was no time to waste—I had to take the chance. 8:54.

I slammed the rolling handle down into the suitcase, lifted it onto my hip, and started to run through the station, jumping up the steps and sprinting across platforms, 16, 15, 14… elbowing past porters carrying giant sacks of rice, barefoot Hindu pilgrims and Mumbai business men, women with entire suitcases on their heads—8:55!! Time was out, but I was only 4 platforms away. Platform 4, 3, 2…

I kept sprinting, rolling my little red maleta as fast as it would roll, and as I turned to jump down the stairs, I saw that the train was already pulling away. NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! I actually did scream this time. Everyone was already staring at me, so why not? I kept running down the stairs, my suitcase banging angrily against my thigh, and saw a conductor hanging out the door of the train only a few yards away. I sprinted towards him shouting “Help dijiye, wait kijiye!” in classic Delhi Hinglish, and passed him my suitcase as the train gathered speed, then jumped onto the train as it sped out of the station!

My adventure was successfully underway. Gujarat, Ho!

The End.

My Life Is Too Ridiculous Not To Blog, Part 1

Let’s begin with the reason I haven’t been blogging: I have been SO busy that I haven’t even had time to procrastinate (and since procrastination is the major force behind everything I write...). Anyone who has seen me divide my frisbee team into our destined Hogwarts houses the night before a final exam (and thus knows my extraordinary powers of doing non-urgent things at extremely urgent times), knows that this means I am really, really busy. If I am too busy to blog, it means I am nearly too busy to gchat. And that would just be ridiculous, people.

So, the reason I have been so busy? An untimely combination of work deadlines and the dreaded GRE—a rather unpleasant blast from the past, for which I have forced myself to revisit those ugly brothers, The Princeton Review and Kaplan, for assistance in my quest to go to grad school. (Which grad school, exactly, is still up for debate—and I welcome your trenchant (GRE word!) comments on the subject, so please feel free to send some great advice my way. ANYWAY..).

I spent the past three weeks basically wavering back and forth between the decision to take and or not to take the darn exam, for which I thought I had started studying well in advance. It turned out that by Indian standards, I was WAYYY behind track, leading to a great deal of unnecessary anxiety and indecision. You see, two girls in my office had recently set their date for the GRE—and proceeded to take the following TWO MONTHS OFF FROM WORK in order to prepare. Another friend at work had been studying 4 hours a day for his GMAT. And one of my closest friends had been studying pretty diligently since we arrived in Delhi in September.

I felt very confused about how much studying was required to succeed.

In any case, I decided to go for the gold, and set myself to work, reviewing vocab, dissecting right triangles, and poring over practice tests in the weeks leading up to the exam, and somehow magically managed to score perfectly on the final practice test I took the night before my actual GRE-- an auspicious sign indeed! Needless to say, I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. I went to bed exactly on schedule, woke up exactly on schedule, and took off exactly on time for Gurgaon, a 1.5-2 hour journey from my house, to get to the centre well before my exam.

My auto-rickshaw pulled into the parking lot exactly an hour before my GRE was supposed to start, and a broad smile spread across my face. I couldn’t help reminiscing about my former self, who, at St. Paul’s, had to sprint full speed from the dining hall to the gym in order to get to the SAT on time. I was really growing up. An hour ahead?! This was unprecedented.

I walked down the stairs, found the centre, and asked to sign in. And this was when it hit me.

“Your photo identification, madame?”

I had forgotten my passport in Delhi.

2 long rickshaw rides and an hour-long metro ride away.

“Noooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!” My cries would have rung through the basement halls of the Prometric Testing Centre, but for the presence of 20-30 test-takers, who had competently remembered their photo identification when they embarked on this all-important venture. I was forced to bear my frustration, fury, and tendency toward emotional melt-downs in silence.

Luckily, the guy took pity on me… and happened to have an open slot at the evening testing time. So I ran back up to the road, took another 30 minute rickshaw back to the metro station, 1 more hour on the metro, 10 minutes rickshaw-ing to my house, ran up the stairs, got my passport, and did the reverse back to the testing centre in Gurgaon. If you can imagine going from the Bronx to Long Island, then realizing you didn’t have your passport, going back to the Bronx and then back to Long Island again, and then taking an expensive and fairly important 4 hour standardized test, well, that’s pretty much how it was.

I finally got back to the test centre 3 hours later, sat down, and took my GRE…. And beat my goal score by 60 points! Hooray! I’m not sure if the scores they show on the screen are completely accurate (since they’re technically inofficial), but in any case, I’m very relieved and excited to be done with standardized testing for A WHILE. Maybe forever. Wooooo!

The End. Until Part 2.