Imagining India Part 3: Strangers on a Train

To get to Varanasi from Darjeeling, we had to take a jeep ride back to Siliguri to catch a train to the holy city. Anticipating a strike, we had to leave our guesthouse at four in the morning. The ride to Siliguri was going to take a mere two hours or so and we were going to arrive several hours before our 10.25am train. To our astonishment (after a relatively smooth-sailing time in Darjeeling, we'd forgotten that anything and everything is possible in India), we were told that our train to Varanasi was delayed by a horrific twenty hours!  Thankfully, the train which was supposed to leave previous day was also delayed by twenty hours and fortunately, we had arrived early enough to catch it, purchasing unreserved tickets and praying hard for seating availability in our preferred section. Again, an aspect of our train travel proved to be beyond our control.

Waiting patiently at the platform for the delayed delayed train (yes, the already twenty-hour late fella was delayed by a further half an hour), I was presented with the opportunity to observe the myriad purposes of the railway track extending beyond the mere facilitation of train travel. I shall list three of them here. Firstly, the tracks were used as a sink. Early morning teeth-brushing and gargling were done at the edge of the platform. Toothpaste and water used for rinsing were spat into the tracks. The railway tracks also served as a public toilet (we realised that Leo didn't actually have to leave our platform to search for one). We noticed a teenage boy nonchalantly taking a leak directly into the track area from the edge of the platform, probably comfortable with the knowledge that there wasn't another platform facing ours. The track area was also a scavenging ground. A boy jumped into the tracks and combed the area for items which he picked and placed into a bag slung loosely across his shoulders. We also noticed a black goat snacking from the tracks, munching on a variety of 'foodstuffs' ranging from banana peel to white, gooey objects which may have been former fruits. Recalling the first two aforementioned purposes of the tracks made the scavenging activities slightly disturbing sights.

As our train arrived, we ran alongside it, prayerfully looking out for the train conductor. Interestingly, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Mahatma Gandhi, only fully-clothed and with more hair. We were relieved to hear that there was availability on the 3AC (Third Class, Air-Conditioning) carriage although we were not seated together. I've always found train rides to be soothing but mundane. You get on a train, put your stuff down and proceed to either gaze out of the window or to quickly fall asleep. You could also take a book or computer out, but essentially, the task of keeping yourself occupied throughout the journey is usually in your hands. On a train in India, one is provided with a slightly different experience. In India, the sights and sounds within the train itself are sufficient to keep you occupied, regardless of whether you desire it, a little like buskers on a Paris Metro train. In the first place, our cabin section's window was so dusty, India looked like it was having a sandstorm when you looked through it. Another window was egregiously shattered but was somehow kept together and water had clearly seeped into the cracks, creating a structure which looked like a piece of abstract art. Looking at the exterior through this window gave one the illusion of being on the Trans-Siberian and travelling through the vast tundra.

Before we could even settle down, we realised that we had other companions with us on our berths. Little cockroaches, about the length of a fingertip, emerged from holes in the berths, running around before disappearing into another hole. They usually appeared one at a time but one sometimes spotted three or four in close proximity. We spent a considerable amount of dinnertime fending them off. This would probably be my dear mother's idea of what Hell looks like. There was also the occasional small rat scurrying across the floor. These looked innocuous enough; Anna and I agreed that they could be quite cute with their little tails.

Another factor which contributed greatly to the dynamic character of the Indian train ride resided in the constant presence of vendors, both official and unofficial ones. They would frequently, at least in the daytime, walk along the carriage corridor hawking a variety of products from chai and mineral water (probably the most commonly peddled items) to sliced pineapples and clothes. Their booming voices were complemented by their sheer persistence. One vendor even walked up to Kenneth, who was sleeping on his berth, in an attempt to sell his wares. He must have stood there for about ten seconds, cajoling a man in peaceful slumber. It was difficult for a light sleeper like me to have a decent afternoon nap with shouts of 'chai' and 'pani (water)' ringing out so often. There was also the occasional beggar walking into your section to plead for loose change. Just when we thought we had seen it all, we were to find on our train ride from Agra to Delhi that even transvestites (a man who shared our section called them 'sissy boys') enter the trains during certain stops. They would call out to certain men, most certainly asking for money (although it was unclear what they would do in return) and one of them even briefly ran his fingers through my hair before quickly moving off.

Just as we were thanking our lucky stars for the berths we managed to obtain for our eighteen-hour ride to Varanasi, we realised that the air-conditioning system in our carriage had broken down. Passengers from our carriage began to emigrate to the next one. A stout Nepali man who had been on the train for a long time before our embarkment invited himself to our section and began conversing with us. In addition to the air-conditioning situation, he complained about how slow the train was moving, grumbling that we were on such a 'lazy' train. He was going to miss his connecting train to Punjab at Delhi. A family of four soon joined us in our section. The younger son shot frequent glances in my direction and the mother placed her body on the lowest berth, then functioning as a seat, in a position which allowed her to stare at Xue Wei. I wanted to complete a blog entry before talking to the boy, who spoke some English, but it was so stuffy that the family soon joined the exodus into the next carriage. Kenneth and I took a short walk down to the other carriages and ironically, we found the Sleeper Class (the cheapest one with berths) to be most comfortable one as it was cool and had good air circulation.

The afternoon heat and the stillness of air made the journey a less than ideal one but on the bright side, the breakdown of the air-conditioning system allowed us to be seated together for most of the trip. Deciding to stay safe while expecting a delay in arrival, we set our alarms to an hour before the estimated arrival time. We had learned to deal with the unpredictability of Indian train travel! At least, we thought we did. Two hours before our estimated arrival time, Kenneth, with some difficulty, woke me up from a relatively comfortable sleep. We were about to arrive! Fortunately for us, Kenneth had woken up at random and had decided to monitor our progress. Otherwise, we probably would have ended up hundreds of miles west of Varanasi, only to find out we had overshot in the wee hours of the morning. Just when you think that you've learned to put a leash on India with all her idiosyncrasies, she, like the raging Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard, violently breaks free of your charms and shoots you into a swimming pool.