21. NARROW ESCAPES 4: Stuck In The Rail Crossing!

Seevali had migrated to UK when he was 9. After about 12 years he returned to Sri Lanka with his dad. Mom stayed behind in England.

We became buddies while both of us were motor engineering apprentices in a company which imported a luxury German automobile. We found him to be a cool guy.

It was his birthday and he threw a huge party. It was held at one of the beach front restaurants that dotted the west coast from Colombo southwards. So the gang drove there in the evening in Seevali’s car.

So we were drinking and dancing and having a blast. Lights were low and the music was high. And all of us were high and some were becoming unruly too. Even a joint passed around making it an all time high. We were partying away into the small hours of the morning.

I remember the hotel security guards were trying their best to stop some of us who were too high from grass, from getting into the sea to have a night dip. I also had downed so much liquor and the vigorous dancing kept me somewhat sober.

Finally the party was over and who had their own transports left with engines screaming reminding me of 'Mad Max'.  Seevali had already asked some of us to stay the night at his place in Nugegoda. And I also had informed my parents that I won’t be coming home that night. Then we were looking for the one most sober to drive the car. Actually we had one dude appointed to stay sober only drinking Soda, but somehow he,too had had a few drinks. Somehow he slid behind the wheel. All of us, believe me eight of us, piled into the small two door Volkswagen Derby that Seevali’s dad had brought with them from UK. Six of us got into the back after tilting the front passenger seat and three dudes were perched on our knees. So the car was jam packed.

So finally we set off into the night.

You might know that to get to the southbound Galle road that runs parallel to the sea, from any of the beach front guest houses or restaurants, you have to cross the Southern Coastal Railway. Most of these level crossings are unguarded and actually in a very bad state of repair especially where rails run through asphalt. So it was full of pot holes and you were supposed to be cautious. Sometimes the rails jut out of the washed off asphalt creating hazardous barriers in the middle of the road. So the ride was bumpy. We were crossing this mine field in our overloaded VW when right in the middle of the crossing the engine stalled.

The dude behind the wheel turned the ignition key. The starter motor was running vigorously but engine wouldn’t fire.

Then someone yelled, “Hey bro, the train is coming!”

The driver dude turned the key furiously again, but with the same result. Only the driver and Seevali at the front had the chance to get the hell out and run but they didn’t do so. Us trapped at the back with no doors as this was a two door, were blocked by the front seats and guys sitting on our knees. We were just sitting ducks for the southbound train that was now racing towards us menacingly.

Suddenly all of us were sober.

Dude at the wheel attempted to restart the engine. We listened with sinking hearts to the whine of the starter motor.

I couldn’t see much of the outside as the ones perched on our knees were blocking the view, but the powerful headlights of the train engine lit up the inside of the car revealing terrified, sweaty faces. Over the vibration of our started motor we felt, rather than heard the vibration of the gigantic, menacing train engine, transmitted into the car through the steel rails. And the train’s horn blasted menacingly. I gritted my teeth expecting the inevitable crash, where there would hardly be any survivors. I visualized the front page of the next day’s newspapers with color pictures of mangled bodies in crumpled steel.

None of us know how it happened. Suddenly we felt the car lurch forward. The train with the horn blasting continuously rumbled just behind us, a few feet from Volkswagen’s rear bumper. The lighted train windows whizzing past us, lit up the inside of the car. The rattling of the rails added spice to the situation.

For some time nobody spoke. Then everybody started talking and swearing at the same time. And the car was in motion again.

It wasn’t clear whether the car engine changed its mind and started at the last moment. Or whether the dude behind the wheel, as a last ditch effort, rammed the gearshift into first and turned the ignition making the starter motor propel the car off the track. Everybody wanted to hug him and high five, he swore at us furiously because the car was swerving on the narrow beach road.

I don’t know which action saved us. Because everything said was contradictory.

Somehow we were saved. That was what really mattered.

Now if you’d ask me if I was scared, actually, not really. Not because I was particularly brave. It was because there wasn’t enough time to get scared. My mind was numb and I felt rather detached.

And while we were speeding along the Highlevel Road, suddenly my knees turned into jelly and I heard my heart pounding a double beat in my head. My mouth turned dry and sweat tricked down my back. It’s a kind of delayed reaction – a slow release capsule of fear. Maybe some inbuilt safety mechanism had kicked in at the time of crisis.

Well the story should now end because I made my point and the climax of the story is reached.

That’s in fiction. And, this is no fiction.

We arrived at Seevali’s rented house. The dude behind the wheel pulled up under the car porch. We all piled out. Would you believe the birthday boy was still passed out? He didn’t know anything that happened at the rail crossing. He would sleep through an earthquake in his drunken stupor. Some just helped him out because he was in the front passenger seat and blocking our exit.

The porch light came on. And the door burst open. Seevali’s Dad was standing there hands on his hips, and oh boy, wasn’t he furious!

“Everyone is pretty drunk, huh? I’m surprised you aren’t in Police lockup”

He went on saying more and more about, police, DUI, anti social behavior and so on. We were feeling pretty embarrassed under all the liquor, Feeling guiltier by the minute. The worst thing was the birthday boy was not there for our rescue. He just groaned and mumbled something incoherent.

Dad stepped back and we dragged Seevali in and dumped him in his bed. He instantly fell asleep again.

We were just standing in his room wondering what to do, when a bundle of rolled up bedding flew into the room and landed at our feet. More pillows and sheets followed and the location of the toilet was informed in a rough,formal tone.

We unrolled the bedding on the floor and gratefully stretched out in a row, hoping the guy next to you won’t throw up on you in the night.

Next morning when I woke up several guys had already left. I was studying Seevali’s exotic, flat radio with Elvis Presley’s statuette on it when, dad walked in with steaming cups of coffee.

“Good Morning Mr.W….!”, I said

“Good Morning!” Grumpy but still good morning.

The silence that followed was embarrassing. The ice was still too thick. I risked some small talk.

“Nice statue, isn’t it?” I meant Elvis the King.

He looked at the statue with a disgusted look and said.

“Huh, that’s another idiot who drank to his death.”

And to make his point he glanced disapprovingly at Seevali who was still sleeping like a baby most probably nursing a massive hangover.

I understood it was too early for peace talks.

At least he didn’t throw us out. And I just wondered how he would have reacted if he knew what happened the night before at that rail crossing. I can’t even imagine. I made a mental note never to tell this to my home folks and I never did.

WORD OF ADVICE:

IF YOU EVER GET STUCK IN A RAILWAY CROSSING IN A SIMILAR MANNER, AND IF THE ENGINE WON’T FIRE BUT THE STARTER MOTOR IS TURNING TRY ENGAGING THE FIRST GEAR AND TURNING THE STARTER MOTOR. PROBABLY THE STARTER MOTOR WILL MOVE YOU OFF THE TRACKS. IN CASE YOU DON’T HAVE ENOUGH PEOPLE TO PUSH THE CAR ALSO, THIS MIGHT HELP. BETTER RESULTS IF ONE AT THE WHEEL ATTEMPTING IT, WHILE OTHER IS PUSHING THE CAR. (This is with manual gearbox. With automatic gearbox well, forget it.

IF THE CRASH IS INEVITABLE, GET OUT OF THE CAR AND RUN. BUT NEVER RUN AWAY FROM THE TRAIN. RUN TOWARDS THE TRAIN ON THE SIDE OF THE TRACK. THIS MAY SOUND CRAZY, BUT WHEN THE TRAIN HITS THE CAR THE CAR WILL TURN INTO A PROJECTILE WHICH COULD HIT YOU IF YOU ARE ON THAT SIDE. AND FLYING DEBRIS IS FATAL.

AND I PRAY AND HOPE YOU WILL NEVER BE IN A SITUATION LIKE THAT.

20. Narrow Escapes 3: SAVED BY THE FAULTY STARTER MOTOR.

Mine was  four door version of this.

My small red Fiat hatchback had begun to irritate me. The starter motor had grown a mind of its own. It had developed this nasty habit of sticking and wouldn’t turn when I most wanted it to do so. It let me down when my wife wanted to be rushed to the hospital for her second child birth and when I wanted to bring both of them home. I had really wanted to bring the boy home in my own car for obvious reasons. Finally he came home in my best friend’s car. I was so pissed off at it for letting me down.

Later when  on my daughter’s sports meet day, which was held at the SSC grounds Colombo 7, all four of us were driving to Colombo. By this time I had got an auto electrician to see the started motor but still it performed poorly.

When we entered Colombo through the New Kelani Bridge we had a choice of routes, either through Maradana or Baseline Road. Just because of the unreliable starter motor, I decided to avoid the traffic congested Maradana as I didn’t want to take the chance of engine stalling and having to push it in the heavy midday traffic. I told my intention to Deepa and she readily agreed, and scolded the electrician a bit more.

I switched lanes and drove through the Baseline Road. As I swung left at Punchi Boralla towards Boralla I noted some difference in the behavior of traffic and the people too. I lowered the window and asked the dude who was crossing the road by my window if anything was wrong.

“Don’t you know dude.” He said, “The tigers just bombed Maradana, and so many are dead. Look at the cloud of smoke.”

 


I felt cold sweat run down my face as I turned the head and saw the grey sky above Maradana which I just avoided crossing a few minutes ago, just because of my faulty starter motor. I’d have arrived on the scene at the precise moment the bomb went off which would have blown us all sky high ending everything, if I didn't make that vital decision.  I shuddered to think about those who didn’t have the choice of taking the other route just like I did when I did.

For the first time all of us thanked the faulty starter motor which saved our lives.

19. Narrow Escapes 2: SAVED JUST BECAUSE I WAS BROKE

I was a Motor Engineering Student at the Technical College those days. We were given a monthly allowance which didn’t last much long but something which we waited eagerly for. Somehow the long weekend grew closer and closer and  still there was no sign of the allowance, though it was due before the last working day.

Nalath, one of my best friends, lived in Dehiwela, though he was originally from Weligama, in Southern Sri Lanka. We had planned to go to Weligama for some religious ceremony (an alms-giving) which was a cover for a fun filled weekend. I had agreed to go with him and even had got permission from my parents and I had brought my overnight bag stuffed with my things to go with him after the classes were over. The only drawback was I was flat broke like everybody else and was hoping to get the allowance before the departure.

Unfortunately due to the steaming dog pile of bureaucracy we weren’t paid that day. It was already 4.00pm and all of us had abandoned all hope. So I had to change my mind which disappointed Nalath immensely. He was still saying the money was no objection and he had enough even for me. I didn’t want to depend on him even for cigarettes and wished him good luck. My pride didn’t allow me to be a parasite no matter how much he grumbled.

So on the grand steps of the Technical College,  I said goodbye to him and watched him walking away. He crossed the road to catch a bus to go to Pettah, which was in the opposite direction I was going. I never thought this was our last meeting. After watching him get into a bus I walked to my bus stop, my mind filled with bitter thoughts.

In the weekend our mutual friend Priyantha broke the shocking news that Nalath and all the three others who had gone on that fatal trip met their end tragically drowning in a rock pool in Weligama. They had gone to swim there and when one friend was drowning the all the others who had tried to rescue him had met the same fate.

All three of them who had gone there from Colombo had died - and there were no survivors.

Later at the group funeral which was held at the local cemetery in one gloomy afternoon with a heavy heart  I just wondered, if the government had been more efficient and had paid the allowance on due date, I also would have ended up in that cold rock pool. I was no great swimmer myself. For the first time the inefficiency paid. And I was spared just because I was flat broke.

18. Narrow Escapes 1 : Saved by the Shoestrings.

This happened when I was about 6 or 7. We were living in Balangoda, Sri Lanka. My father and I had gone on a trip to see the Galoya Project. I can't recall why only two us of went on that trip. We were returning home in the bus we had chartered.

I remember passing miles and miles of  sugarcane fields. We stopped at one place to have tea and some of our youngsters broke into the fields through the perimeter fence and cut sugar cane. The more responsible ones protested saying that the vehicle would be searched at the check point yet to pass and everybody would get into trouble, still the rampage went on, because it seemed like a cool thing to do.

Then I remember a tractor pulling a trailer loaded with sugarcane passing and our guys stopped it and talked to the driver into allowing us to take some sugar cane from the trailer. So several bundles of sugarcane were loaded into the bus.

My father and I were sitting on the right hand side of the bus, me given the window seat as usual. It started to rain making us to shut the windows. And inside the bus it was becoming more and  more humid. My father was holding the rail running the length of the front seat as he always did as a seasoned traveler. I was chewing on my sugarcane when I felt that my shoes were loose.

I lifted my feet off the floor and jammed them against the back of the front seat. Yes the shoestrings were undone. I had only recently learned the art of tying them on my own and they had a habit of coming off frequently giving me a chance to practice. I braced the feet against the hard surface of the back of the front seat and started doing the knot again when the bus crashed.

First I felt the thud reverberating up my legs. then then the skidding of the bus. Then Then the tearing metal. And then the screams.

I watched in horror what was on the overhead racks spill on the passengers. One canvas bag fell on me and father.

Then there was silence.

I stood up stepping on a bundle of sugar cane that has suddenly appeared under my feet and I peeped out of the window to see a car had rammed into the side of the bus. And another jeep had hit the car head on.
As I later realized the car had tried to overtake the bus and seen the oncoming jeep too late. As a last ditch effort he had chosen to swing in to the bus which was traveling in the same direction rather than hitting the jeep head on. Somehow he had ended up hitting the bus and being hit by the jeep simultaneously.

A lot of people in the bus were injured. Other than the bruised shoulder from the fallen traveling bag, Father and I were unscathed. There were bleeding heads, cut faces, broken teeth, bleeding mouths and lot of injury.

My father had escaped because he always held the front seat rail and had braced himself. I just escaped being thrown against the front seat because I was in the best crash position bracing my feet tight against the back of the front seat as I was tying my shoestrings.

So somehow I escaped serious injury thanks to my shoelaces.