Memoirs of "His and Her" - 3

[ Continued from part1 available here ]

The ICE entered Ulm station and was slowing to a stop. Unlike his own country, there was no tea vendor who jumped with the rhetorical "chai chai"; no rush of people trying to enter the train from every possible crevice to secure a seat; no shouting of people trying to take control of the situation; no bravehearts swinging out of the door to check on which side the platform would be. "Here everything is well defined", he thought. She stepped outside to collect the heavy bags as he heaved them out one after the other, after the automatic doors hissed open. The direction of the platform was already marked on the bright LED display near the doors. 

Ten minutes into Ulm and he realized that he his friend who had the house keys was no where to be seen. First things first, let us try to move the baggage to the railway station exit. He could see the anxiety replacing the excitement that was on her face, as she stood in a country that was not hers, speaking a language in which she couldn't communicate, having customs which she neither understood or knew about. 

"Welcome Bhai. How was your journey?", enquired his friend as he heaved the heaviest of the bags on the rental trolley available at the railway station. The pleasantries where exchanged as they painfully dragged the trolleys in the direction of the exit. The mercury had moved northwards in the meanwhile and it was a pleasant twenty six degrees and the sun was shining. "These are signs that things will go alright with us" he assured her as she was looking around to find out what should be their next step. 

"Nein Nein, zu viel Gepaeck", murmured the cab driver as he looked away when we approached him just outside the railway station. He looked at his friend, hoping that he would provide a solution. "Maybe we should try there", he said pointing at a bigger van like taxi standing at a distance. A burly looking guy lifted the bags into the rear of the taxi without another word. He made the thirty odd kilos of luggage look like feather light. It was less than ten minutes and they stood in front of a building which looked like a building complex. "Ten Euros. Three for the bags and seven for the travel". He paid him without thinking much. He wanted to rest and so did she. 

His friend handed him the key. "Whg 26", stated the keychain. He explained her that it meant "Wohnung Nummer 26" or "House Number 26". He knew that technically it was not a "Wohnung" but a "Appartment".  The building complex  was in the shape of a square with a garden at the center. The buildings on the four sides where atleast four storeys high. He did not know where to find the door behind which he would be living for the next three months. "Let me try the second floor", he said. The elevator was key operated one. This was a surprise to her; As back home, keys where meant to open doors not to take one to a particular floor in a building. 

"Hello, I am looking for house No. 26", he asked in German the lady who seemed to have been startled to have someone ring her bell on a lazy Saturday afternoon. " Who's house are you looking for?" she enquired. " I am coming from India. I have rented an apartment here and i have the keys which say that i have rented apartment number 26, but i have no clue where it is", he said. "No Idea" she said and further even told that she didn't even know what her apartment number is. He knew it would be wasted effort if he pursued this further and moved on after thanking her for her time. A couple of door bells and repeating the same story over and over, he knew that hardly anyone recognized apartments by their number. He would have to ask his friend to give a call to the owner, since he did not mobile connection.

Asking someone for help is not always easy. He knew that in Germany, life was different and everyone was living in his own cocoon with every social interaction being a well planned activity. Most families got together with their parents and siblings once a year, normally during the Christmas time. Everything was timed and planned.

 "Can you help me. Could you please make a call to the owner". After five futile attempts and reaching the mailbox of the owner for the fifth time he gave up. He had to find a way to find "Whg 26" and there was no one who could help him. She was already looking worried. "What should we do now?", she said. He could hear the quiver in her voice. " This is not typical in Germany, everything should be easy to find", his friend gave his five cents to the situation. He looked at the key pair in his hand and wondered.