A very short train journey

'GE-1' misspelled the sms from IRCTC. So I  walked into G-1 compartment and confidently parked my ass there.  Another half an hour for the Garib Rath to Delhi to take off.  I decided to go for a stroll. Just 10 minutes before departure I return to find a seductively smiling bhabhiji occupying my seat. She cooed that 69 was her number and that GE-1 was a different compartment altogether. Shell shocked by this revelation, I hauled my luggage out and started looking for GE-1. G-1 was just behind the engine so there was just one way to go. The train seemed never ending as I walked/ran the platform. G-9,G-10....G-14, G-15...  Where was GE-1? Was it a part of the train at all or just a figment of Railway's imagination? A perfect case for Mr. Bond. Then the platform started to curve so I was not really sure whether there were any more bogies. Finally after a million miles, I see GE-1. Why shouldn't it be called G-20 since it came after G-19? Maybe the British had forbidden more than 19 bogeys from being named to a train and this was Indian Railway's ingenious way to circumvent the law.

An elderly hair dyed Auntyji immediately pounced on me seeing I had the coveted LB( Lower Berth). Since nodding my head and saying yes involved the least exertion, I did just that. Thankfully her berth was the middle one, just above mine, so I didn't have to climb to Mount Everest which was the height of the Upper Berth. The TTE (Train Ticket Examiner) came at the ungodly hour of 10:30pm to check tickets. I was really tired and was looking forward to a good night's rest.

The inside view of a Garib Rath coupe

The next thing I know my blanket is being pulled down and a torch is being shoved at my face. Thinking that either it's a hold up or rape attempt I go for the wallet hoping to pacify the attacker whatever his intentions, with money. I just wanted some sleep. But no this was the TTE asking Auntyji to get down at my stop. I tell him in a gruff voice that my name is Bond and I'm not Auntyji for Christ's sake ! He slithers away and I notice that Auntyji has already vacated my LB so I shift down. The time dear friends :1:30 am.

A couple of hours later the incident is repeated except that this time I don't use the Bond line but the choiciest Hindi expletives at Mr. A.K Singh the TTE villian. More like A.K 47 if you ask me and no where near fancy as Dr. NO. He slithers off again with no reaction and I lie awake the rest of the night anticipating the next intrusion. But all that happens to break the monotony of the rocking train is somebody yelling that their phone has been stolen in the wee hours of the morning.

An enduring love affair

                                        The train journey was uneventful in the Jana Shatabdi. It was amusing to see many people travelling ticketless standing in the doorway on this fast train to Dehra Dun. In the South, it’s pretty hard to get into a Shatabdi unless you have a ticket. Here the TTC only asked for tickets from people who were in seats. The corridorwallas and stepwallas (people standing on the corridors and sitting on the steps of the train) were not even given a cursory glance.

As I make my way through the crowds of ochre coloured sadhus in Haridwar, I am at ease again. I’m back home again by the Ganges, in the foothills of the Himalayas. I remember my first encounter with Gangaji. In Trivandrum of all places! As a teenager, in a movie hall enjoying a Malayalam film, I was caught unawares by the opening scene and song of the movie. The protagonist walks in Calcutta (not Kolkatta then!) by the banks of the Ganga searching for a long lost friend and there’s a song about the river in the background. My hair stood on end and an incredible feeling coursed through my entire being. This strange reaction was all but forgotten in the intervening years until I finally had my first real life darshan of her. My eyes thrilled by her sight welled up with illogical tears and again that strange elation coursing through the body. It was definitely love at first sight.

I have since been her companion in the mountains and seen her various moods. She is never the same ever. Her moods change every day and all along her course she constantly surprises you with her infinite hues. I’ve plunged into her icy waters at 4 in winter mornings chilled to the bones taking the ritualistic 3 dips before scampering back out for dear life! I’ve swam in her welcome cool embrace in the scorching summer never wanting to leave her. It’s not that I’ve not been with other rivers. Many have been bigger, wider and more beautiful but there’s something about the Ganga that always draws me back. Not surprisingly I’m not her only lover.

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Twice I had the audacity to raft on her waters. At the second outing,  on the most dangerous rapid on the river, the boat did a mini flip and I was thrown overboard. The last thing I saw before going down was the look on the raft guide’s face: pure unadulterated panic!  I was dunked under the water repeatedly by the huge screaming waves all around me. All I could see was water; all I could hear was water. I liked the way she played with me. When I went under, I held my breath, strangely thinking that there couldn’t be a better way to die than in her arms. I was OK with that. The raging waters took me way ahead of the raft. Later on her banks, dripping wet and recollecting the experience, I was surprised by my calmness. People usually drown in a rapid even with a life jacket because they drink too much water when the dunking happens. Not a single drop entered my mouth. A true miracle and relief all around especially the guide who looked like it was he who got the 2^nd life.

For 3 years she has been my constant companion. The first thing I hear on waking up is her gentle murmur or roar depending on the season. I sit by her at night gazing at the stars. Under the full moon her beauty transcends the mind. Sitting by her side gazing into her waters is meditation. I’ve swam, dipped, played and almost drowned in her. She’s beautiful when she flows gently over the rocks murmuring sweet nothings. She’s majestic like a queen when she tears through the land in her floods.

Ganga dazzling under the full moon

 I was there right by her side when the floods came earlier this year. As with many other people, we were cool because Gangaji has never flooded in June. When the levels kept on rising, we hurried with shifting things. But again I felt no sense of panic but just immense wonder at how a shy demure little thing suddenly turned into an angry vengeful woman. The room I was staying in was flooded for a day. When she went back she left a present, around 5 feet of Himalayan mud in the room! How that was cleaned is another story.

Like some women Gangaji has a peculiar beauty when she’s in one of her angry moods. I remember standing on the ghats in deserted Rishikesh during the floods and watching her make huge waves after waves. It seemed that the sea had come down to the land of the rishis! Oh what a performance it was! She carried with her everything from chairs, beds gas cylinders to humungous trees that defy description. The sound of her roaring waters still rings in my ears. The way we are abusing her and the mountains, I think, that this show was just the curtain raiser.

 The only evidence of her fury now is the enormous piles of sand and the scattered logs on either side of her banks. Uttarakhand  is deserted, one scolding from the Mother and all the bhaktas seem to have taken to their heels. Rishikesh resembles the town I’ve read about in the old travel chronicles and what I’ve heard from the sadhus who have been here for ages. I like it this way, especially because I have to endure less competition for her attention.  And she’s back to her inviting shy demure self again. My love affair with her continues…

Gangaji ki jai ho !

Another journey begins ...

Swarnajayanti Express sounded very fancy but knowing Indian Railways as I did, there was no expectation of gold plated furnishings, cutlery et al.  Of course being a magician and an acrobat helps in any train journey in the subcontinent. I didn’t want here to get started on the toilet first but it’s an integral part of long distance travel even though the actual time you might be spending there might be small, God willing. But let’s get the dirty part over with first. I don’t think the railway official who decided how long the chain has to be that ties the steel mug has ever travelled on a train or washed his ass for that matter. You have to be a magician to know how to use it. Being a yogi is also helpful if by your will power you can add several meters to the length of the contraption for it to be of any practical purpose. Previous experience of acrobatics and gymnastics is absolutely essential. It’s like passing motion in a washing machine in spin mode. But to give credit where it’s due, the toilets were cleaned twice during the 3 days trip. 

I travelled III A.C, putting the reality that is the heat and dust of India at arm’s length. There’s always romance in a journey, the romance of the voyage into the unknown, the unseen and a million other things even if your journey is preplanned to the minutest detail. Anything is possible including meeting a beautiful witty stranger as depicted in ‘Before Sunset’.  But as I survey the scene these days, all I see are people obsessed over their cell phones and laptops. How do you start a conversation?  But then I would have to remind people what exactly a conversation is…

  A family of three gave me company on this journey. The dad, mom and daughter all lost in their respective mobile world. I’m still fascinated by India speeding along outside a train window but it seems very few people are. They talked in monosyllables and occasionally glanced in my direction as well. There were so many kids in the compartment that we could have started preschool but they were surprisingly silent and well behaved.  

The trip to Delhi from Thiruvananthapuram took 50 hours most of it spent in deep sushupti. There’s something deeply relaxing at being rocked to sleep in the AC compartment in a train. Quite a few fellow travelers spent a considerable time curled up under the blankets. Alluring as this is, it is always a good idea to step outside once in a while to smell the ‘fresh’ air outside. In India the possibilities are endless.

On the outskirts of Vijayawada, the train stopped on top of the bridge over the river Krishna. It was fascinating to look down from the door of the train into steps and then a sheer drop into the green waters swirling below. The gentle lapping of the water could be heard clearly , and one could see fishermen struggling with their catch on a boat not far away.

In Bina jn, I saw that somebody had come to see their family off. She was so arresting in her appearance that I had to click some pictures…

HOLY COW !!!

Before Sunset

                The train sped along the blossoming English countryside and he began to nod off.  The journey was an impulsive one. Krishna had been in the country now for almost 3 years and had recently taken a fancy for taking long walks in the countryside on weekends. Time Out magazine had come out with a book which listed walks with easy access from London. There was also a timetable for walks where people could just show up on a designated day, usually over the weekend. The detail provided was meticulous including the train timings from London. Usually he liked to walk with the group but today he thought it would be better off if he walked alone. So he took the later train in the day.

He got off at Wadhurst, the terminal point, fiddling with the book, trying to find the correct page. 

‘Oh, are you doing the walk as well?’ He spun around to face a smiling young woman who also had the same book in her hand. So they set off together chatting like old friends. Because they were having such an animated discussion they soon got lost. But because of that they were rewarded by the sight of bluebells in full bloom on a field on the way. Vaneesha was good with directions and they were soon back on the path. She had bought the book just the day before and had missed the earlier train because she got up late. Krishna joked that fate had conspired to bring them together. 

They exchanged their personal stories while at the same time enjoying spring unfolding all around. It had been a long time since Vaneesha ventured into the countryside. She was like an excited kid stopping ever so often to smell the flowers. At one stretch of the walk, they had to walk through webs made by caterpillars and it was amazing to see them spin webs just like spiders. At the end of that stretch through the woods, they were covered with webs and caterpillars. 

‘Looks like Spiderman has zapped us’, he said. They picked the cobwebs off each other and laughed.

Krishna looked into her light brown hazel eyes. She had a prominent nose which somehow complimented her beauty. Her dark brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. She was wearing one of those walker’s trousers where you could detach the part just below the thighs to convert it into a shorts, which she did one hour into the walk. She had beautiful legs and exquisite skin. I’m walking with a Goddess, Krishna thought smiling to himself.

On some stretches he walked ahead of her, for there came a time when there was nothing left to be said, when there was no necessity to speak or for physical proximity. Once he turned to look behind him and she had stopped at the stables that he had just passed. She was patting a huge white stallion. He walked back towards them secretly wanting to do the same. He had never patted a horse before. She told him that she had grown up with horses in a farm and had her ways with them. Without asking, she took his hand and placed it on the stallion’s neck. His heart beating fast he marveled at the touch, the soft touch of her hand on one side and the smooth skin and underlying hardness of the stallion’s. She took pictures of him hugging the horse and nuzzling his head against the beast.

Summer was just around the corner and the day never seemed to end. All along the walk, she was competing with nature for his attention. But were they really different from each other? He marveled at the sheer physicality of this woman’s beauty, the sonorous voice, the carelessly swinging hips and the rise and fall of her breasts. On the way she shared her knowledge of plants naming almost all the flowers they saw. He was happy to be silent, listening to her, feeling love well up in his heart for her, the incredible beauty around them and the power that made all this happen. 

To be Continued...

A tatkal affair

'It's the season of ripe, juicy sweet mangoes,
Of humid heat, threatening clouds and smell of new earth
So does one need more reason to set sail for Kerala? '

Hence I found myself in Rishikesh railway station at 5:45 am for a tatkal ticket. Trains are the cheapest way to travel in India short, long or medium distance. The fares have been frozen for ever and so tickets especially for long distance travel are very popular. Bookings for overnight trains open 2 months before departure date and on some trains get booked within an hour. Unfortunately the train I wanted to board fell in that category. Once a week to Trivandrum, and the decision to go home was taken just a couple of days back. The Railways brought in the tatkal scheme for people like me who wanted the ticket at short notice but dont mind paying the extra odd 150 or 300/-.Bookings for tatkal start 2 days before the journey and on popular routes finish in minutes. So it was crucial that I be first in the queue when the counters opened at 8 am. I was first in the queue but when the action started the reservation clerk started entering the details of people who were not in the queue at all. I learn later that if you care to pay a baksheesh of 100/- per person your details are entered first in the computer. No standing in queues ! 3 minutes and he was still slamming away on the keyboard. The guys at the back thinking that I was just hanging around even after my ticket was issued started heckling me. The clerk finally got to my ticket but by that time I was on the waiting list. I had to take the  ticket anyway and board the train.

Three days on a train is hard enough but without a ticket, well well... I had come prepared mentally so the first    day I slept on the bunks whenever one was free. During the night I just rolled out the bedsheet and lay down on the floor. Anyone trying to duplicate this stunt be warned that it can be only done at ordinary 2nd class sleeper class not the air conditioned coaches. They dont let folks without a confirmed ticket anywhere near the AC coach ! To tell the truth, it was not that uncomfortable except when people crushed my head when they were sleepwalking to use the loo. The timing is important, you unroll your 'carpet ' after more or less everyone goes to 'bed'. There were a fair number of people like me sleeping in the corridors lying down, sitting, standing, etc.

 You feel the train up close , all the little jerks and movements and also the big jolts. Like knowing a woman intimately for the first time when you see that little balck mole on her hip , that knowledge which makes the relationship so special, if you care to notice it. So my relationship with the railways have taken on a whole new intimate level. Be that it maybe I have gone ahead and booked my next ticket well in advance !