Great Mix-Up: The Strolley That Took a Wrong Turn—With Its Owner’s Help!

When Pankaj Bhaiya parked his car at Parking Lot Two of Chandigarh Railway Station, he cheerfully announced, “Apna apna samaan nikaal lo.”

He popped open the boot, and we began unloading. My wife Mini, elder brother Biswaranjan (Mejda), sister-in-law Soma, and I were headed to Lucknow by the Chandigarh–Lucknow Express after a relaxing trip to Shimla and Solan. Our train was an overnight one—departing at 9 PM, arriving in Lucknow by 8 the next morning.

Pankaj Bhaiya repeated his luggage check instructions with military precision: “Samaan dekh lo bhai.” We all gathered our belongings, and in the process, Bhaiya picked up a black strolley and said confidently with the authority of someone who definitely knows what he is doing: “Don’t worry, I’ll take this one.”

Luggage in hand, we made our way to the platform. After boarding, Pankaj Bhaiya personally shoved the black strolley under the side lower berth, clapped his hands with satisfaction (and perhaps a little pride), and sat down next to my brother as if to say: “My job here is done.”

We requested him to leave since it takes about 35–40 minutes to reach Kalka where he lives, and surely Neelam Bhabhi must be pacing the floor by now.

“Do not worry,” he said heroically, “I will go. I am here to ensure you actually leave. That is why I am waiting.” Then, in true Bollywood style, he added: “Dhakka maar ke jaaunga,” miming a push as if he were the engine itself. We all laughed.

With the formalities of hugs and goodbyes done, the train left right on time. We had our dinner—packed lovingly by John (a.k.a. Manoj Jain)—and slipped into our berths. I was out like a light.

The surprise came the next morning.

As I climbed down from my middle berth, Mini gave me a peculiar smile—equal parts amusement and mischief. In Bangla, she said, “We have brought Pankaj Bhaiya’s strolley with us.” Then she added in Bangla, “Amaake phone korechhilo”—he had called her late at night.

Apparently, Bhaiya realised the mix-up and asked Mini to check whether the strolley under the berth contained pink Crocs. If yes, it was his—and we had unknowingly taken it on a tour of northern India.

I blinked. That very same strolley—the one parked smugly under the side berth—was the one he had proudly brought in from the parking lot and tucked in safely!

Soma Bhabhi recalled Mini pulling the bag out during the night and checking it. When she asked what was going on, Mini shared the midnight call from Bhaiya.

Mejda added, “When Pankaj was putting the bag under the berth, I assumed it belonged to Billoo and Mini.”

I said, “I thought it was yours!”

Classic case of everyone assuming, no one checking.

But the real question: how did Pankaj Bhaiya not recognise his own strolley? And how on earth did it end up in the car in the first place?

Apparently, the mix-up happened because Pankaj Bhaiya and his family had joined us in Solan, bringing along that strolley. On our return, we dumped all our luggage into his car.  At Chandigarh, during the unloading frenzy, his strolley was scooped up with the rest. And in the ultimate twist, Bhaiya himself lovingly carried it into the train and tucked it under the berth—for us.

Now came the next mission: returning it to Kalka.

Courier? Too expensive.

Saharanpur? Possible. A friend of mine, Sachin ji (Shachindra Sharma), was heading there on May 12. We called Bhaiya—did he know anyone who could collect it there?

Luckily, he had a supplier in Saharanpur, thanks to his plywood and furniture business. Problem solved.

Sachin ji graciously agreed to take the strolley, and Bhaiya’s contact picked it up from the station. Within days, it was back home in Kalka

Later Sachin ji asked: “Kya wo apna strolley nahi pehchaan paye kya?”

I had no answer. Because honestly, when a man carries his own bag for someone else, only to have it travel over 600 km away… what can you say?