Southbound

Getting on an Indian train is an experience I wish you all to have at some point in your life. It’s amazing really.

The train service is nationaliazed and is actually one of the biggest businesses in the whole world. It was made over by a corrupt minister from Bihar during his tenure as minister of the railway. Legally, he turned it into a massive money-making enterprise and by far the preferred method of travel for the large majority of Indians. To put it in perspective, it’s said that 2 million people are always traveling on Indian trains. 24 hours a day. 365 days a year. It’s a staggering figure.

That success in mind, it’s no perfect system. For one, the railway over books the trains. There are a couple of waiting list cars, but they attract few clients. Instead, those who have been waitlisted for “sleeper cars” often search out a spot to bunk, hoping that a properly ticketed customer won’t chase them off. More often, the ticket inspector accepts bribes from those with no tickets who just hop on for passage without paying for the fare. They tend to fill up the cabins and with corrupted authority, there is little that can be done to remedy a situation.

So with those two groups searching for any available room, space aboard the train is most precious. When the Mumbai-Bangalore showed up in Pune at 11:40, it was a hyper dash in.

It’s essential to get your luggage stowed and your seat properly accounted. Traveling with 6 neophyte Indian travelers was no picnic either, as I’ve only just honed my Indian traveling skills after 6 months and several train journeys across the subcontinent. We scrambled in, bashing our way through a crowd as dense as the polluted Pune air. All said and done (by miracle) we got all the luggage down and only struggled for 3 of the 9 seats (even with proper tickets, one gets smushed 4 into a 3 seater).

I smiled with satisfaction as we pulled out. There is nothing like the Indian train 2nd Class when it comes to traveling. Some might prefer the cushy AC 1st class, but for the real experience of India, you gots to ride with the real people. Everything from the open doors where you can hang your legs out the side and take in the passing farms, villages and sunsets to the stench of the latrine that lingers after 20 hours or so. It’s just a magical and raw place the Indian train.

The layout of the cars is simple. Each has eight six-person berths. Three sit on each side with a bunked bed on top. The bench will serve as a bed at night, as will an identical fold-down for the middle bed. At the foot of these beds is the walkway. On the other side are two more bunked beds.

This makes for exceptional theatre, as one finds that at least 8 people (up to 12) are focused in on the same spot at a time. Nothing goes unnoticed and everyone shares this experience of being together. It’s remarkable community and one can really see the genuine friendship and rapport that Indians build so well between each other. A train partner (s) can make or break a 30-hour journey. Indians almost always aim to establish the former.

My berth of 11 got very excited once I decided to start playing along after a couple of hours. I asked my neighbor about some snack being offered by one of the constant vendors patrolling the corridor. When I laid my 10 rupees down for the treat, I seemed to earn some street cred and it opened up a jovial hour on the train which included conversations on insurance, stealing water-wells (yes the things in the ground), Bush, the financial crisis and Obama. At one point we even discussed the differences between cricket and baseball. Here’s an idea of me trying to explain the differences between the two bats

“:You see, the baseball bat is about the same length, but skinnier, lighter and round. It makes hitting the ball a much more difficult job.”
“Yes,” my neighbor exclaimed, “I understand. But what you use for sport we give to the police to hit people with.”
Chuckling with the rest of the crowd, I admitted that it was true. But my neighbor wasn’t finished with his attempts at laugh.
“You can also use it to give your wife a good whack!”
I didn’t laugh, but everyone else did. I feared where this was going and tried to move off it.
“Yes, well,” I stumbled, “I think we can all agree that it’s best used for playing baeeball.”
Seeing my displeasure with his last comment, he concluded, mimicking the actions, “you can also use it to roll chipati (Indian flatbread)!”
Cue more uproarious laughter. You see what I mean. Theatre in the round

Station stops can be 5 to 35 minutes in length. It’s always enough time to hop off the train and survey the new station for a cup of chai, a new book or some travel grub. Typically one can find some puri (fried Indian flat bread) that comes along with a kind of spicy yellow dal or bhaji (buttered and grilled rolls with a red lentil masala). Both taste so good that you can’t resist. But you should unless you really believe in your iron gut. A bad bahjji can cost you on a long train journey. But a good cup of station chai can change the course of a day. Rolling on…

As I mentioned, there is also an omnipresent parade of people on the corridor. You name it – they show up. You’ve got your expected ticket inspector and occasional guard, but you also see any number of other randoms.

• The tea and chai-wallahs hawking their goods in unmistakably annoying tones
• The guy selling the random and lame toys parents buy to keep their kids quiet
• The kitchen man moving the train’s catering products up and down the corridor
• The dalit woman sweeping the floors hoping for a few rupees tip from her patrons
• A boy with no legs, using his hands to carry himself along the floor or ask for change.
• The blind man selling chains to lock up your luggage
• A boy with a painted on mustache, doing a stage show to collect a couple rupees for his owner
  

It’s raw India.

Another group you see on the train are those men, eunuchs or transgendered who dress up as women. Superstitiously thought to have magical powers, they are both loved and hated in Indian society. Loved because their wish can bring blessings on a child at a naming ceremony or hated because they can curse your existence and embarrass you in front of your loved ones. They clap up and down the train, bothering the men, who often toss them a few rupees just to go away. I tend to get away with playing the innocent bystander who doesn’t understand this culture (and its true, I don’t understand it, but I actually find them to be quite unshocking most of the time – I’ll save the shocking stories for another time). In fact, I had to laugh when I bumped into a couple on the way to the toilet. I asked if it was empty and they said yes. We even had a formal introduction of names when I came out – though I did move on rather quickly. The next morning, I went to the bathroom, first thing, with my eyes barely open. When I walked out, I saw them again.

“Good morning beautiful!” they shouted down the corridor.
“Good morning ladies,” I responded.
“We love you!” they replied with a laugh.
“Have a safe trip,” I said quickly heading back to my seat.
“You are leaving so soon?”
“I’m off at Bangalore.”
“Okay. Bye handsome!”

The action never ends. You can dream out the window for hours. Read heaps of a book. Talk about Indian current events. Meet a new friend. And on you go.

I’m off to Bangalore. And I’m looking forward to a couple more trains before this southern adventure wraps up.