I got into the air-conditioned sleeper carriage at Bangalore station, expecting the overnight journey to be a comfortable one. The attendant brought sheets, a pillow and a blanket. Once the train pulled away from the station, I climbed into the upper berth and spread the bed sheet on it. After the conductor walked through the coach and checked tickets, I thought it would be a peaceful ride. As I got under the blanket, I was struck by how heavy the blanket was. It felt like the lead shield they make you wear when taking x-rays to protect parts of the body not being x-rayed. It was quite an effort to even turn once you were inside it. I suppose it prevents people from falling off the narrow berth!
This heavy, rough woollen blanket is quite in keeping with the style of the Indian Railways. The level of technology that goes in to the finishing of the carriage is somewhat crude. The ceiling looked like it had been painted by hand. The fluorescent lighting, the fans, etc. presented a tired look in tune with the blue-grey vinyl seats, with their hand-stitched seams. The fittings, the coat hooks, etc. were clunky and had sharp or hard edges. If you have tried to use the reclining mechanism on the chair cars, you would have noticed how clumsy, resistant and noisy that thing is. The faucets in the bathroom require an iron fist to operate. I could go on, but back to my present journey.
The rocking motion of the train started to make me drowsy and I expected to fall asleep soon. But unfortunately, that was not to be. The trick with sleeping on trains is to beat the other passengers to it because you never know how many of them are going to be snoring. Tonight, I was beaten by several others who were 'soundly' asleep before I could even count ten sheep. I could hear at least three distinct snores from the sonorous sleepers around me. As you have doubtless experienced, once your attention is drawn to snores, you cannot ignore them. After every note, your wait for the next one and the next one and so on. I was even trying to figure out if there was a rhythmic pattern in the stentorian rasps from my co-passengers. The a/c coach provided considerable insulation from the train noise and that only made it worse. As I struggled to find sleep, my mind went back to the time when we did not have the a/c coach and we travelled the regular sleeper.
In the a/c car, you are insulated not only from the sound of the train while it is in motion, but also from sights and sounds of the station when the train stops. Vendors do not come to the window selling tea and snacks. The hectic activity outside looks like a silent movie. The atmosphere in the sleeper coach was vastly different from the quiet of the a/c coach. You were one with the scenery, whether moving or stationary. When the train stopped, you were greeted by the flurry of passengers getting in and out and vendors jockeying for spots near the window. It was quite a challenge to stay asleep, especially since the fans slowed down when the train stopped. You see, the voltage in the compartment fluctuated with the speed of the train. Lights burned brighter and fans got louder and faster when the train picked up speed. And when the train stopped in the middle of the night and the fans slowed to a crawling speed, you were greeted by the snore chorus in the ensuing quiet.
None of these bothered me when I was little. I would look forward to any trip by train with great excitement. From the moment you entered the station, everything was a veritable feast to your senses - the book stand, the food carts, fruit-sellers, coffee/tea vendors, uniformed porters with gravity-defying loads of suitcases on their heads towering over the crowd, and the general bustle on the platform. Every moment of the journey was savoured. Sitting by the window you could imagine that you were standing still while the scenery unfolded in a moving picture. As the train sped past the city, the rural landscape emerged offering wonderful vistas. You could watch the pink sky grow dark, turning distant trees into silhouettes, and see the star-studded sky unimpeded by city lights, or wake up in the cool air of the morning and enjoy a sunrise over verdant fields. Not even the occasional mishap of getting ash (steam engines ruled the day in my youth) in one's eye could dampen the enthusiasm.
I used to travel the Bombay-Madras Mail regularly when I worked in Bombay many years ago. This marathon journey which took about thirty hours and spanned two nights, was quite the endurance test. The distance was about 1300 kilometers or 800 miles and so the pace was leisurely, some would say, slow enough to try your patience. There were about two dozen scheduled stops on the way and some were quite long. The train used to stop for more than thirty minutes at Guntakkal, enough time to go into the waiting hall and take a shower there in the bathroom! I know, because I have actually done it. There are other stations which, I believe, were created solely as a service point for passing trains.
Seasoned travellers come to know the route very well. You find out that there were special things you could get in certain places. You get to know where to buy breakfast or lunch. I remember the gentleman who told me to ignore the vendors proffering tea at the train and took me over the footbridge to the canteen that he claimed had the best tea in Guntakkal station, in fact, in all of south central railway according to him. If you were lucky, you had a Gujarati family for company for they always carried lots of food and loved to share the same with you and even invited you to join their card games.
The train was like a lifeline to some folks. The local vendors would often bring their seasonal produce to sell on the train - a quickly sliced cucumber or tomato salad, peanuts, fruits and the like. They would board the train with their wares, go through a few coaches making sales and then get off a few stations later to wait for a train that would take them back. This was their livelihood. There were others who did not have anything to sell, but would bring a broom, clean the compartment (littered with peanut shells and other debris after the vendors had been through) and then ask for some money. Obviously, they did not want to beg and felt that they could provide a (much needed) service to the passengers. The passengers did not usually mind the unsolicited service, although only a few paid for it. The Travelling Ticket Examiners (TTE's) that rode the trains did not seem to mind them either. Talking of TTE's, I used to feel a little sorry for them. A lifetime of riding these trains is quite taxing in itself, but they had to wear a tie and a coat as part of their uniform on top of that. If I remember right, the shirt and the trousers were white, perfect for the dusty ride.
As one grows old, the magic of trains mostly goes away, but even now I enjoy looking out of the window from a moving train. If life is a journey, I would like it to be train ride. The destination is here and now. Life is just the passing scenery outside.
I must have fallen asleep sometime during this reverie despite the snores around me for the next thing I knew, I was being woken up by the attendant announcing that we were approaching Chennai Central. I got down from the berth and prepared to leave the train and face the next ordeal, the Auto Standoff, of which I have already told you everything.
This heavy, rough woollen blanket is quite in keeping with the style of the Indian Railways. The level of technology that goes in to the finishing of the carriage is somewhat crude. The ceiling looked like it had been painted by hand. The fluorescent lighting, the fans, etc. presented a tired look in tune with the blue-grey vinyl seats, with their hand-stitched seams. The fittings, the coat hooks, etc. were clunky and had sharp or hard edges. If you have tried to use the reclining mechanism on the chair cars, you would have noticed how clumsy, resistant and noisy that thing is. The faucets in the bathroom require an iron fist to operate. I could go on, but back to my present journey.
The rocking motion of the train started to make me drowsy and I expected to fall asleep soon. But unfortunately, that was not to be. The trick with sleeping on trains is to beat the other passengers to it because you never know how many of them are going to be snoring. Tonight, I was beaten by several others who were 'soundly' asleep before I could even count ten sheep. I could hear at least three distinct snores from the sonorous sleepers around me. As you have doubtless experienced, once your attention is drawn to snores, you cannot ignore them. After every note, your wait for the next one and the next one and so on. I was even trying to figure out if there was a rhythmic pattern in the stentorian rasps from my co-passengers. The a/c coach provided considerable insulation from the train noise and that only made it worse. As I struggled to find sleep, my mind went back to the time when we did not have the a/c coach and we travelled the regular sleeper.
In the a/c car, you are insulated not only from the sound of the train while it is in motion, but also from sights and sounds of the station when the train stops. Vendors do not come to the window selling tea and snacks. The hectic activity outside looks like a silent movie. The atmosphere in the sleeper coach was vastly different from the quiet of the a/c coach. You were one with the scenery, whether moving or stationary. When the train stopped, you were greeted by the flurry of passengers getting in and out and vendors jockeying for spots near the window. It was quite a challenge to stay asleep, especially since the fans slowed down when the train stopped. You see, the voltage in the compartment fluctuated with the speed of the train. Lights burned brighter and fans got louder and faster when the train picked up speed. And when the train stopped in the middle of the night and the fans slowed to a crawling speed, you were greeted by the snore chorus in the ensuing quiet.
None of these bothered me when I was little. I would look forward to any trip by train with great excitement. From the moment you entered the station, everything was a veritable feast to your senses - the book stand, the food carts, fruit-sellers, coffee/tea vendors, uniformed porters with gravity-defying loads of suitcases on their heads towering over the crowd, and the general bustle on the platform. Every moment of the journey was savoured. Sitting by the window you could imagine that you were standing still while the scenery unfolded in a moving picture. As the train sped past the city, the rural landscape emerged offering wonderful vistas. You could watch the pink sky grow dark, turning distant trees into silhouettes, and see the star-studded sky unimpeded by city lights, or wake up in the cool air of the morning and enjoy a sunrise over verdant fields. Not even the occasional mishap of getting ash (steam engines ruled the day in my youth) in one's eye could dampen the enthusiasm.
I used to travel the Bombay-Madras Mail regularly when I worked in Bombay many years ago. This marathon journey which took about thirty hours and spanned two nights, was quite the endurance test. The distance was about 1300 kilometers or 800 miles and so the pace was leisurely, some would say, slow enough to try your patience. There were about two dozen scheduled stops on the way and some were quite long. The train used to stop for more than thirty minutes at Guntakkal, enough time to go into the waiting hall and take a shower there in the bathroom! I know, because I have actually done it. There are other stations which, I believe, were created solely as a service point for passing trains.
Seasoned travellers come to know the route very well. You find out that there were special things you could get in certain places. You get to know where to buy breakfast or lunch. I remember the gentleman who told me to ignore the vendors proffering tea at the train and took me over the footbridge to the canteen that he claimed had the best tea in Guntakkal station, in fact, in all of south central railway according to him. If you were lucky, you had a Gujarati family for company for they always carried lots of food and loved to share the same with you and even invited you to join their card games.
The train was like a lifeline to some folks. The local vendors would often bring their seasonal produce to sell on the train - a quickly sliced cucumber or tomato salad, peanuts, fruits and the like. They would board the train with their wares, go through a few coaches making sales and then get off a few stations later to wait for a train that would take them back. This was their livelihood. There were others who did not have anything to sell, but would bring a broom, clean the compartment (littered with peanut shells and other debris after the vendors had been through) and then ask for some money. Obviously, they did not want to beg and felt that they could provide a (much needed) service to the passengers. The passengers did not usually mind the unsolicited service, although only a few paid for it. The Travelling Ticket Examiners (TTE's) that rode the trains did not seem to mind them either. Talking of TTE's, I used to feel a little sorry for them. A lifetime of riding these trains is quite taxing in itself, but they had to wear a tie and a coat as part of their uniform on top of that. If I remember right, the shirt and the trousers were white, perfect for the dusty ride.
As one grows old, the magic of trains mostly goes away, but even now I enjoy looking out of the window from a moving train. If life is a journey, I would like it to be train ride. The destination is here and now. Life is just the passing scenery outside.
I must have fallen asleep sometime during this reverie despite the snores around me for the next thing I knew, I was being woken up by the attendant announcing that we were approaching Chennai Central. I got down from the berth and prepared to leave the train and face the next ordeal, the Auto Standoff, of which I have already told you everything.
