Rama Bijapurkar’s article in yesterday’s edition of Economic Times (“Metaphor for new Indian Middle Class”) brought back fond memories of long-distance train travel. I am saying “memories” because the last long-distance train journey done by me was about 4 years back (The train ride in Ooty last year wouldn’t qualify as long-distance!).
I agree - flying saves time।People also say that it is loads more convenient than train travel. But, personally, I find train travel more convenient because I don’t have to pass through any security check points. I don’t have to wait in line at the check-in counter for my turn. I don’t have to worry that my check-in luggage will end up into the belly of another airplane bound for some remote part of the country (or worse, of the world!). And there’s lot more happening at the train station than at the airports so time really flies by – even though you are at the train station :-) The only problem with the train journey is the state of the on-board toilets - which I am told hasn't improved much :-(
I can still recall the train journeys I used to make with my family to my maternal grandparent’s place in Karnataka over summer vacations. More often than not, it used to be mom, me and my brother because dad obviously couldn’t get two months off – like us school children! Ah, the bliss that was childhood. So we would start in the evening from home – having packed the bags over previous 2 days – a joyous task! We would worry about whether we would get a cab in time, we would worry about the traffic in route, we would worry that someone else would occupy the window seat and we would worry about the kind of co-passengers we would have.
The cab would deposit us at VT station in due time. I always worried that the porter will dump our bags and walk away – totally freaked out by my mom’s incessant instructions. But there must be a Patron Saint somewhere for India’s train passengers because he porter always took us to the right platform. I could never figure out how he would know it but there never seemed to be enough time to find out because he would set such a pace that we 3 would be running for our lives after him – my mother instructing us to keep an eye on the biggest and brightest piece of our luggage – a sort of a homing beacon. :-)
Reaching the right platform was half the battle won. The next feat would be, of course, locating your compartment. We would double check the passenger list stuck outside the compartment – just in case. But here too, the porter was always right. I always tried to turn deaf for next 5 minutes or so because no matter what my mom paid, the porter would never be satisfied. And I always used to feel sorry for him. I mean, it’s not exactly a cakewalk to negotiate the crowded platforms with bags stacked on your head and tucked under your armpits – not to mention the constant flow of instructions from the passengers.
After we settled ourselves and the luggage, my brother and I would be busy checking out the hustle-bustle of the platform – the sight of other passengers running after their porters as if their life depended on it was a sight that used to be especially amusing for us, despite us having going through the same hassle a couple of minutes earlier. Mom would be fussing about the train leaving on the right time. And then there would be all those people selling newspaper, tea and snacks – each one with a particular way of announcing his product. Of course, this was a “Happy Day” scenario – if we didn’t get any window seat, my mom would have to put up with no end of grumbling from the two of us – and this despite the fact that the majority of the travel would be at night.
I have always believed that the most magical moment in the entire rail journey is the moment the train leaves the originating station. :-) The train would bellow out a long whistle and start moving. That would be a signal to all those who have come to see off their relatives, to say their goodbyes or shout out any last minute instructions. The more energetic of this lot would jog along with the slowly moving train for a while. But then the train would gather speed and these people would fall behind – just waving goodbyes, their friends and relatives on the train leaning out of the doors and windows till the train moved out of the station completely. If you want to find out the true meaning of the word “See off” be at the train station :-)
Sometimes the train would leave a couple of minutes later than its scheduled time. The passengers would then talk about the driver “making up” for the lost time during the night. And me, I would be happy that the journey has just begun. :-)
The train would run through the city and its suburbs for a while but soon it would be the turn of the small towns to speed by our windows. The train would zoom past a number of stations – sometimes you would be able to see their names, sometimes they would be a blur. And then slowly the sun would set – blanketing everything outside in inky darkness.
We never bought any food on the train but it would be fun to polish off what mum would have packed for the journey. Soon, people would start unfolding the berths and we would reluctantly go to bed – rocked to sleep by the music of the wheels traveling in waves from one compartment to the next and by the gentle rocking of the train. I still remember getting up in the middle of the night and looking out the window to catch a glimpse of some small station fleeting past – its platforms deserted and a lone feeble lantern the only indicator of its presence. We were like ships passing in the night!
To reach Belgaum, though, we would change the train in the wee hours of the morning – all groggy – at Meeraj station. And we never missed this train so maybe what the passengers would say about the driver making up for the lost time in the night was right afterall. J By the time we settled in the new train, it would be early morning so sleeping would be totally out of the question. Luckily, mom would allow us to have tea and batatawadas – though they violated her every rule on hygiene. I still remember the way the vendor used to shout out “चाय, वडा, कोफ़्फ़ीई, कोफी, कोफ़्फ़ीई”.
The landscape out the window would now be totally different – red earth, green patches of fields, shimmering pools of water and tiny cottages। Sometimes the train would hurtle through small towns – people on bicycles and scooters waiting patiently at the railway gates for the train to pass through. Little kids would run along with the train waving at the passengers and some of the enthusiastic ones would wave back. Sometimes a truck or a tempo could be seen snaking its way along some distant road and then it would turn and head off into the horizon – God knows bound for where.
We knew by heart names of the 3-4 stations before Belgaum and we would get very excited when the train passed the first of these। Mom would have her hands full taking care of the luggage and keeping us in check. I remember there was a fort which would be a sort of a signal for us to gather all our belongings in one place. There would be a crowd – sleepy looking – with assorted luggage, right next to the compartment door. Then the board bearing the name “Belgaum” would slide into focus as the train slowed down. Mom would ask us to keep an eye out for grandpa. We would see him and soon the train would come to a stop – a complete confusion reigning supreme for some moments as the passengers would try to get out and the porters would try to get in at the same time to take hold of the luggage.
We would happily climb out as grandpa wove his way through the crowd। And just as the porter picked up our bags we would hear the familiar whistle as the train chugged out of the station – bound for its next stop.
It’s been years since I last went to Belgaum। I might not go there again. But everytime I hear a train whistle, I remember the song:
गाड़ी को देख कैसी है नेक, अच्छा बुरा न देखे
दुश्मन के यार, सब है सवार, सब को चली है लेके
जीना सिखा रही है, मरना सिखा रही है
गाड़ी बुला रही है, सिटी बजा रही है
चलना ही जिंदगी है, चलती ही जा
रही है
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