Except for the high-pitched snoring of the gentleman on the upper berth, the journey to Hardwar in the Mussoorie Express was comfortable. The train was running a little late. Sitting at the window, I had a panoramic view of the forests on the mountain-sides, with the occasional cluster of homesteads punctuating their monotony.

The railway platform at Hardwar presented the usual scene, rife with vendors crying themselves hoarse as they peddled tea, snacks and cigarettes. My attention was drawn to a middle-aged wiry fellow manning a tea kiosk. He was busy serving tea and toast right off the brazier to the people thronging his stall. I marvelled at the alacrity with which he was dealing with his customers.

Our eyes met as he handed over a steaming cup with a smile. It was still too early to attend to my official work at a factory a few kilometres away, and I spent an hour at the railway waiting room. As I came out I found to my surprise that the guy from the tea stall was around. But this time he was busy selling newspapers. Well, the train had left, the crowd at the platform had dissipated and breakfast time was over, so it was time to feed people with the latest news. He had changed his vocation so smoothly.

My work was over by noon. Before returning home, there was enough time to fit in a visit to Har Ki Pauri. Verily, a visit to Hardwar was meaningless without paying obeisance at that holy spot. While moving around, I was in for the second surprise of the day. My eyes rested on an astrologer whose face appeared somewhat familiar. He was in saffron robes and sported a big U-shaped tilak on his forehead.

... contd.