Mudik

It is the most exciting time of the year. It’s the time of the year when your backpack is bursting at the seams. There are that jeans you buy for your brothers. The sarong for your father and that four-in-one juicer your mother has always wanted. The new dress for your girlfriend. Toys for your numerous little nieces and nephews. T-shirts of various size and color for your uncles and cousins and headscarfs for your aunties. Not to mention a tin of dried biscuits, two cans of margarine, three packs of sugar, two bottles of syrup, and a pack dried peanuts that made up your office’s gift parcel.

It’s the time of the year when you pay twice the usual price for half the comfort. It’s time to sit on a newspaper on the floor of the station platform wondering if the train will ever come. It’s the most logical time to travel light but you consciously choose not to. And you immediately feel that you’re gonna be just fine when you see the young family sitting next to you has a large luggage, three traveling bags, four cardboard boxes—one of which positively identified as containing a stereo set, several smaller plastic bags, and worst of all, two unusually energetic children.

It’s the time of the year when you have to fight to get a seat because seat numbering means squat to some people. It’s even time for people to get into the train car from the windows. It’s time to rejoice when you hear the whistle is blown and the train slowly depart. You hear the blaring siren of Pasar Senen crossing and feel good because you won’t have to hear it for some time. It’s time to wonder how nice it would be if you don’t have to come back.

It’s the time of the year when the fan in the ceiling refuses to operate but you shrug it out. It’s time to sit in the sweltering heat and listen to people complaining about the state of the country’s public transportation system. And small children insisting on having their say in the loudest manner possible. And as you know you will have to another nine hours of this, you wonder when you will be able to afford an executive class train. And to add insult to the injury, Argo Bromo, complete with dark windows, curtain, cushion, and airconditioner, overtakes your train because it has the right of way. It’s the time to swear that next year you will get an Argo-class ticket even if you have to slaughter the entire office.

It’s the time of the year when your train has to stop for two hours in Prupuk to wait for extra locomotive from Purwokerto. Overloaded and overweight, your train needs to be pulled by two locomotives to negotiate the looming hills of Bumiayu. By now you have grown immune to the heat and perspiration. You can’t even hear the woman sitting next to you describing every member of her family tree with great detail, something she has been doing for two hours. You just look up to your backpack, think of what’s in it, and you’re in a happy place.

It’s the time of the year when you screamed silently as the train crosses Serayu River. It’s time for you to wonder in disbelief that ten hours ago you were sitting miserably at Pasar Senen. But it’s all behind you now. It’s the time when the swaying paddies sing with you. The trees greet you. The ducks, the buffaloes, and the cows smile at you. Every passing telephone pole bid you warm welcome. Your heartbeat quickens at the familiar sight of markets, railway crossings,hamlets, and back roads. It’s the time for you, and millions like you to enjoy the final moments of long and weary journey. And as the train slows down to a stop, you are reminded of those who are still waiting for trains in Pasar Senen, stuck in miles-long traffic jam in Pantura, struggling to get buses in Pulogadung, and queuing to board ferries in Merak.

Yes, it is the time of the year when a nation is coming home.


Newcastle, H-2