Little England or Nuwara-Eliya, is one of the most picturesque towns in Sri Lanka, at least to me it is. Misty mountains, gently undulating green carpeted hills, Tudor style cottages; a legacy of the British tea planter. Almost every year, I end up in Nuwara-Eliya looking after the Golf Tournaments of the capital’s corporates who bring up their clients on golfing weekends. The year I describe here was a little different. I was entrusted with looking after a very high-profile cross section of guests from overseas. It was decided that we bring our guests up by train and take them back by train. Train journeys are high on the list of my favorite form of transport. We chose the Viceroy Express for our guests; period fittings, air-conditioned observation cars, and a buffet car all providing an exclusive experience. A two-piece musical duo on board was installed in the buffet area and stewards passing around refreshments, champagne and a choice of spirits all through the journey.
Let me now fast forward to the final chapter, since it’s the final chapter of this story that never really saw the light of day. The golf weekend was an unmitigated success. The visitors were over the moon and it was a very happy band that gathered for breakfast prior to their departure to the station and the journey back. I had decided to stay back for a day or two of wind down time after the hectic past two days of entertaining, and hence entrusted my right-hand man at that time Yasantha or “Yassi” as he was sometimes called, to accompany the train back, and to keep an eye on things. My friend and client at that time had a reputation for being a PR man’s PR man, and was quite confident that nothing could go wrong (little did he know).
We wended our way out of town towards the station, a twenty-minute journey to a sleepy little town called Nanu-Oya. Having arrived earlier than anticipated, my charges were in a mood to continue their rather copious capacity for the spirits that cheer. The station was situated down a steep incline and from the platform on a hillock just above the main road I spotted a tavern. Climbing up to this oasis for the thirsty traveler, I found its doors firmly shut and was informed by the owner on wandering to the back of this hallowed establishment that it was not opening time. After a little bit of convincing and some money exchanging hands, the kind landlord opened his doors and to cut a long story short, our friends in a short space of time were in the highest of high spirits. My dear friend being the hospitable chap he is had in tow with him the duo I had engaged to entertain, comprising an attractive looking lady and a dour looking accompanist, who kept mumbling in my ear, “don’t give her to drink, she cannot handle it,” and I should have listened. Finally, our guests stumbled down the hill, my friend with singer and dour looking accompanist (who was looking gloomier by the minute), leading the way. I saw them all on board, waved goodbye and returned to the golf club. I settled down on the verandah and with coffee in hand I prepared to enjoy some peace and quiet. God was most certainly in his heaven and all was right with the world.
My tranquil solitude would have lasted an hour or two at the most, my first inkling of a brewing storm was my mobile phone ringing with Yassi at the other end of the line. I assumed he was calling to update me. What I got was an incoherent torrent of words, followed by, “I can’t do this anymore.” I gathered he was trying to hand in his resignation from the train. Yassi, was usually a very even-tempered soul and he rarely got excited. Now, I knew the event business could be a very stressful one, but this was unusual to say the least. Here is what I pieced together from the many frantic calls between stations. The journey had started off peacefully enough, the VVIP guests had settled down in the observation car to take in the picture postcard worthy sights. My dear friend (the PR man’s PR man), had opted for the bar and buffet with a drink and music to accompany it. I did mention music since our musical duo were located here as well. My friend, as I earlier mentioned, firmly believed in looking after the needs of the opposite sex and in adhering to this philosophy, he ensured our singing lady never went thirsty. Whilst, the accompanist who obviously knew something we didn’t, began to take on the look of a professional mourner.
After a while the singer seemed to be dedicating her songs to my friend. Each time she sang of love she looked at him with a look that Juliet would have reserved for Romeo. My friend flattered by this attention was at his flirtatious best. She began to wrap her arms around him like an octopus in the mating season. Yassi began to get edgy. The accompanist had stopped playing and was trying to delicately extract her and the more he tried the more firmly she held on. My friend while in the process of being strangled had now moved from flattered to embarrassed, and a distinctly hunted expression was beginning to manifest itself on his face. He finally broke free and made a dash for the observation car with his VVIP guests. The singer dashed after him, Yassi dashed after the singer, and the accompanist sat at the bar and looked on with a “I told you so” expression on his face. My friend from within the sanctuary of the observation car could see a wrestling match in progress between Yassi and the singer. Yassi seemed to be in a losing battle. Realizing this, our Romeo returned to his Juliet and while trying to calm her down steered the contestants back to the dining area.
Yassi by now battle scarred bearing the scratches of the singer’s long nails had pushed aside all thoughts of enjoying the train ride and the scenery. He had arrived at the point where he didn’t give a toss for scenery. In the meantime, our singer now safely ensconced in the buffet car began to declare her undying love for Romeo with all the power of her well-endowed lungs. Yassi returned to the fray to calm her down. My friend was desperately attempting to stay out of her loving embrace, the hunted expression was now permanently frozen on his features. Realizing that this was now going to turn into another chase sequence, Yassi with the help of Romeo came up with a bright idea. Romeo moved towards the end of the train and the guard’s van with the singer hot on his heels. Yassi taking up the rear guard, lured her into the guard’s van. They quickly reversed positions and emerged from the compartment firmly shutting the door behind them.
This story should have ended here, but unfortunately both our heroes had failed to mention to the guard the circumstances which led to their consigning the lady to the Guard’s van and he had at the sounds of distress very gallantly released the lady from her confines. The first indication our heroes had of this was when the lady appeared at the entrance to the carriage, by this time she had divested herself of her upper garments and clad in her lingerie which by some miracle of gravity held in her natural bounties. She looked straight at my friend and said, “I want to love you,” (please note for the sake of decorum I have replaced the actual word used with the word love). My friend took off like an arrow shot from a bow. Yassi, with a timely tackle resumed his bout of wrestling, and the pianist played on. This game of hide and seek had continued for quite a while, but thankfully subsiding as they got closer to their destination and the spirits had left the lady. The passengers alighted a happy bunch oblivious to the drama that had taken place a carriage away. My friend disembarked looking much older than he was when he began this journey. It took some persuasion on my part to convince Yassi that the term “The Show Must Go On” applies to trains as well.
