The Lonely Night Rider

Honk! Honk!

I was cruelly jolted by the loud sound of the train horn, as if there would be a sudden night attack from a Japanese army at any moment. The irritating screeches of the sputtering steel-wheels further challenged my patience. I felt nauseous. I got up from the gnarled bed and felt the ache from my back. As I was reorienting myself after a couple of hours of uneasy sleep, I heard rhythmic snores from the upper cabin. The other passengers were still sleeping soundly, unmindful of the incessant rattles produced by the bouncing coach. I searched for my watch – 3 A.M. I had no idea where I was, but as I looked outside through the stained glass panel, I knew I could be somewhere in the middle of a wild jungle in Kelantan or Pahang, wherever the railway of this night train could possibly take me.

I didn’t regret my decision to be spending my long night on Express Timuran night train from Pasir Mas to Johor Bahru. I was after all in the Superior Night Class, the most expensive coach, inside a luxurious sleeping cabin, away from the noisy ‘lower-class’ passengers, away from the inconveniences that a cheap economy-class coach might have offered, so to speak. I could’ve booked a flight, but I loathed the fact that neither MAS nor Air Asia provided direct flights from Senai to Pengkalan Chepa. Having to trouble myself during the layover in KLIA and also killing more hours waiting for the next flight, I might as well manage my time more efficiently and comfortably on a night train, a direct and hassle-free trip right to my hometown.

I knew it would be a lonely long-distant journey, but I always found comfort in my own zone of a sleeping cabin; I could turn on the private light and read my favourite novel, I could listen to my MP3, or I could just reach for much-needed solace by peeking through that small glass panel, like it was the window of the unfounded land where beautiful fairies eating sweet cherries and singing melodiously under the shade of a pomegranate tree. Exercising a lot of serious thinking and self-reflections, I was just content with my sweet little world. The idea of a lonely journey through hundreds of kilometres on a night train, at times, seemed very romantic and exotic. I could be a hopeless poet at the end of that melancholic journey.

I rested my sleepy head on the rugged pillow again and tried to get some sleep, but my mind was drifting to faraway places. I should’ve gotten used to the teetering night train because this was my fourth time being in the same environment, but I got both nervous and thrilled at the same time. I remembered the moment when I boarded the night train for the first time. It was a smooth ride from Johor Bahru to my hometown. I enjoyed the jolting and bumping feeling, like I was riding a mini rollercoaster at the Danga Bay amusement park, taking pleasure of its physical stroke and emotional bump. I loved weaving and squirming through hordes of funny-looking passengers as I was maneuvering towards the canteen located at the further end of the long-winded train. Sometimes, I would accidentally step on free-riders who slept casually at some unexpected corners; the luggage area, the space between coaches, the middle walkways, or on any floors on the train they could rest their tired bodies on. I tried not to get messed up with these people, because they could possibly be dangerous criminals. Many times, it was pitiful to see these poor beings being chased like stray dogs by train officers as they tried to sneak into the Superior Night Class coach. How pathetic.

The second time I rode the night train was a complete disaster. Some stupid, lazy mechanics forgot to check the engine before the ride and, God bless, the train broke down in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t move an inch all night long. So I was helplessly stuck there in my little cabin, sleeping nervously and thinking hard of better ways to spend my last night on earth. The train was supposed to arrive in Johor Bahru at 9 A.M., but it finally reached there 8 hours later. Thanks to my forced patience, I was grimly bumped and tossed in the train for 21 good hours!

I was lucky because the third time I rode the train was not that bad. It was ‘better’, in a sense that the train was late for only 2 hours. While the other passengers were complaining about the train’s punctuality, I was smiling with irony because these people had no idea of what I had been through before.

And now, the fourth time I was in the same coach, I should call myself a luckier chap because the train departed almost on time in Pasir Mas. Considering the notorious standard of its operation, the train was ‘slightly late’ for 1 hour and a half ‘only’. I should expect the train to arrive in Johor Bahru at 10.30 A.M. – that, for the record, would be the ‘best performance’ so far! I had no right to complain.

Shreeek! Shreeeek!

My heart was suddenly racing fast when I heard the screeches from the train’s wheels. I was threatened by that feeling again, the phobia that I had been furiously combating when riding a public transportation. As I cooled down myself, I remembered the cold night that produced that unsettling feeling. I remembered that nightmare vividly which had changed my view about life, about people around me, and about public transportations of course. It happened in March 2008, the frenzied moment when every Kelantanese headed home impatiently for the much-awaited General Election.

“Come and ride the bus with us, it’s free, sponsored by a generous politician!” said my little sister over the phone, excited and eager, who was studying in IIUM, still doing her mind-boggling studies in Laws while working part-time secretly in a number of banks, supermarkets and fast food restaurants. So it came to no surprise to realize that she was still an undergraduate after almost a decade studying in that university.
“I’ll think about it,” I replied weakly.
“Come on, no one will know that you are a lecturer,” she said. “You just look like one of us, you old metrosexual prick!”
I was laughing with her like a naughty child again.

After much thought, I agreed with her offer. So off we went to Kelantan, my little sister and I were sitting together at the second row on the bus, chitchatting merrily the whole night, just like we always used to be. Then came the exact moment that would be locked forever in my little brain. It was past midnight. My sister was dozing off when I opened up my eyes to see the back of another bus protruding into the front glass panel of my bus. It was surreal, like I was dreaming. I had seen and heard about it from many secondary sources, but nothing could prepare me for the real emotion during the real accident. As I heard the real scream from a girl in front of my seat, I knew it was more real than what I had imagined.

“Pilah!” I called my sister’s name, almost choked with fear. Right away, I hugged her tightly, protecting her from the flying scatters of tiny pieces of broken glasses. At that particular second, I had no else in my mind but my dearest sister. As I wrapped her around my clenched arms, I wanted to tell her that I loved her so much. That I loved her for all the silly things we did, for all the laughter and cries we shared. I wanted to say, Hold on my dear sister, I don’t want you to–

Honk! Honk!

I was awakened from my reverie by the trumpet-like sound of the train horn again. The train was now stopping at an unknown station. It’s 3.30 A.M. As it was slowing down, I was thinking of my little sister again, secretly thanking her for still being alive after that accident and continuing to be my beloved little sister. But I couldn’t forget what happened to the poor girl sitting in front of me on that bus. I could see the blood gushing down her face and arms, pierced by some broken pieces of glasses. My little sister and I were fortunately protected from the danger by the front seat before us. Had my little sister and I were seated at the front row, things would be horrendous.

Having experienced this for the first time, I vowed to myself that I would never ride a bus again, never and ever. Plus, with the recent alarming numbers of road accidents involving express buses, I just didn’t trust the bus drivers anymore. And, I suspect, that’s the real reason I ended up riding on a night train now – that I felt safer thinking of the expected railway system of the train, that I was afraid of a bus accident, that I was afraid of death. Nonetheless, the sounds of screeching wheels could easily send the creepy chills into my bones and I would be short of breath. Telling my students to conquer their fears, I just couldn’t believe myself that I was still consumed by some baseless fear.

“Drinks! Drinks! Food! Food!”

I heard a train man from the outside of my cabin, rolling a tray of foods and drinks, offering the tired and hungry riders with something to ease their stomachs. The train was completely still. I rolled the blue curtain that covered my cabin from the other passengers, put on my sandal, got out of my cabin and looked for a toilet. Walking past the narrow walkway towards the end of the coach where the toilet was located, I felt dizzy. Most of the passengers were still sleeping soundly in their little cabin. Through my furtive glance, I noticed a heavy man on the upper cabin who struggled inside the narrow space, like he was sleeping in a coffin. At that moment, I sighed with relief that I had a lower cabin, which was more comfortable, and of course, more expensive too.

The toilet was not that hygiene, but at least, there was no unforgivable stench that killed my nostrils in most public toilets in Kelantan. Feeling refreshed, I went back to my cabin and heard some chatters. Some garrulous Chinese aunties and uncles were talking animatedly over some vague topics. They could be complaining about the train’s lack of space and cleanliness. I realized that the passengers in this ‘privileged’ territory were mostly Chinese. They could be Singaporeans who did some business in the east coast, or they could be locals who appreciated the comfort of a superior sleeping experience, while most of the other Malay locals preferred a cheaper economy class.

Laying wearily in my sweet little cabin, I tried to catch some sleep. But my mind still kept spinning around unknown spheres. It’s now 5 A.M. It’s still a couple of hours to go before I reached Johor Bahru. Feeling restless by the continuous jitters of the train, I sat up and looked outside the train. As I gazed upon the moon hung beautifully on the sky, I tried to see the rationale behind all this unexpected pain. I might have been cheated by own high expectation, which turned out to be so unexpectedly gruesome. However, not taking into account of all the notorious flaws and the waste of energy this night train might have caused, I had to thank Keretapi Tanah Melayu Berhad for still living up to its motto – Tunggak Pengangkutan Rakyat. Most importantly, KTMB deserved a good round of applause for trying very hard to spiritually connect my new self in Johor Bahru and my old self in Pasir Mas. I didn’t see any other ways to make me feel better. I prayed that–

Screech! Screech!

It’s the sound of the annoying screeches again, reverberated eerily through the stillness of an early dawn, loyally accompanying me for the rest of my journey. I muttered some prayer under my breath, praying that I would arrive safely in Johor Bahru.