[Nearly] Two days on the Indian Railway

Our home for the next 41 hours

After two weeks of weddings, meeting Pranoti’s old friends and generally stuffing our faces, we were done with Mumbai. Done with the crowds, the air (or lack of it) and done with the rat race that consumes your whole head. Everything was about to change.

We had tickets out of here.

Plane tickets? Nah, you know us Brokepackers we aren’t about to be taking internal flights. Bus tickets? Well, maybe, but we are going long distance and in style. We had Sleeper Class tickets for the Dehradun Express. Leaving from fancy old Bandra and arriving in Dehradun right up in the North of India, 41 hours later!

We travelled 1,682 km, just a bit shorter than London to Rome

Pranoti’s knowledge of the Indian Railways meant that we got tickets at a fraction of the normal “tourist ticket” price. Our thriftiness did mean that we would be in the Sleeper Class compartments. Sharing our booth on the train with 8 other people, but that’s all part of the fun, right?

Bags packed, tickets in hand and enough snacks to feed an army (or half the carriage at least). We boarded the train.

We have taken trains in India plenty of times. We travelled between states, and across most of the South by rail. So I had some idea of what to expect, but let me paint a picture for you, so we’re on the same page.

First of all the trains themselves are ridiculously long. You have to take care that you are at the right bit of the platform before the train arrives, or you risk having to sprint to find your carriage. Alternatively, you could run the gauntlet, walking through the train itself. The average number of passengers is probably larger than a Scandinavian country, and this number is almost doubled by the number of vendors also walking up and down.

Once we had boarded the correct compartment we had to find our seats. As with most other things in India, there is a precise - but elusive - logic to the seat numbers. Seasoned train travellers would look at your seat number and be able to tell you exactly where you have to go. We were desperate for upper berths. The top bunk is fixed in place, so you can hide away in relative comfort. The middle and lower bunks convert into seats during the day, so you are stuck sitting until everyone else goes to sleep.

While we walked down the carriage, everyone stared. I guess, sleeper class doesn’t see many couples like us.

We found our seats, and it was bad news. We had the aisle seats. This means one bed below and one bed above. Lying longways along the walkway. The busiest and most exposed seats in the house. No problem, we were only going across the country. I instantly set about introducing myself to our new friends, the people sitting all around us and staring, and asked if any better seats were free.

No luck.

Regardless, it was late, we were knackered, and excited to be on the road again. We climbed into our beds, with our bags as pillows (safety, not comfort) and soon passed out. Me on the bottom bunk and Pranoti tucked away above me.

---

I woke up and it was still dark, and loud. The train was stopped and people were streaming into the carriage. Legs and bags banged against me. Local commuters use the long distance trains to try to travel with some peace, but then again if one person does it, hundreds do it. This is India of course.

I had covered myself completely with the sleeping liner, so as to be a little less conspicuous. Through the small gap in the blankets I could see that the train was swiftly filling up. People were sitting in the walkways and trying to find any space they could. It wasn’t long before I felt someone sit on my bunk by my feet. Okay, that’s fine, wasn’t like I was comfortable before anyway. I could hear Pranoti defending her territory upstairs, like a cat defending her lunch, but who was I to deny one person a place to sit. A fool is what I was. As soon as I looked down, his friend sat right next to him, bending my legs into the train wall I was able to accommodate. I don’t want to pick a fight here, I just want to sleep. I adjusted and tried to get some shut-eye.

Just then, I felt someone sitting on my head.

I yelled and jumped up. The lady wrapped up in her sari, stared blankly back at me and adjusted herself against my backpack pillow. Now, I had a choice: kick up a fuss and try and ask this older lady to get the hell off my pillow, or I could lie down across her lap and make myself comfortable. I chose the obvious answer. I sat up and resigned myself to a night squished in between my unwanted travel companions. Looking around the carriage I saw that everyone was awake and (wilfully - or not I don’t know) they were accommodating the new arrivals. How western of me, expecting that my reservation guaranteed me a seat. Not feeling social in the least I cocooned up and waited for sleep to come.

The train carriage is filling up.

“Chai, Chai, Garram Chai”

The call echoed further down the carriage. “Chai, coffee, coffee Chaiiiiii” What a way to wake up. In the night the carriage had emptied out and the occupants were now going about their morning routines. I gathered my stuff and jumped up to the top bunk with Pranoti so we could watch the early traffic file past from a height.

“Do Chai dedo” I tried in my rubbish Hindi.

“Kya?” Came the confused response.

“Errr… two chai please”

With an officious nod he started to pour hot sweet tea from the huge urn. There is an army of vendors that support these moving cities. They hop on and off at the different stations selling everything you can imagine. Food, drinks, electricals, stationary, even kitchen appliances. All sold by hawkers who patrol up and down the carriages calling out with their own distinctive flair. Think fish markets crossed with children’s entertainers.

• Chai Check: 6/5. A simple chai, but I needed it so badly after the rough night and he gave me a big cup. We caught him on the way back up the train too.

It is definitely an experience in itself trying all the various snacks and drinks they have. We had thepla a kind of flat bread savory snack that comes with its own mini bag of sour mango chutney. Biryani was another staple, the filling rice dish came packed into a box with a whole boiled egg in there for good measure. The stand-out food for me though was definitely the humble Vada Pao. Leaving the state of Maharastra the train stopped at this random little station and in-hopped a man selling these mini potato burgers wrapped up in newspaper. Chilli, fried potato and bread so soft, fresh and full of butter that it almost melted in your mouth. I had to run after him to get more.

What else was there to do on this train but eat, and eat some more.

We stopped at so many small stations along the way.

We chatted to our fellow passengers. There were groups of guys, families and workers, travellers of all kinds constantly getting on and off at each station. Pranoti was able to translate for some people, and they all had diverse stories and destinations. With the Indian railways being so heavily subsidised, it is the common transport for the every man of India. Weddings, Funerals, new jobs, holidays and pilgrimages are just some of the stories we heard.

At one point, a group of policemen boarded the train. My natural reaction was to sit straight and try and remember where my passport was. They all had bags with them and sat near us. I saw them looking over and started chatting, sometimes it’s easier to instigate the conversation than take the inquisitive looks. They were on their way to a new posting in a different city, we talked about the family they left behind, what they were expecting in the new place, but most of all, like most people we spoke to on the train - they were fascinated by our stories and what we were doing.

It can be quite a challenge travelling the way we do, scrimping and saving wherever possible, to go as far as we can. Looking wistfully at the AC taxis, from the sweltering side of the road. Eating as cheaply as possible and sticking to water, while everyone around you is throwing back beers. Even still, you come to recognise the privilege we have, because of our passports, our parents out-look on life or because of the doors our education has opened. This privilege means we are able to up, leave and travel the world. To some of the people on this journey we may as well be millionaires, there is no comparison trying to explain the debts we have, the fact that their family probably has more property than ours or that we have been stuffing our face with bargain (albeit damn tasty) potato burgers because we are too cheap to afford the huge lunches they where tucking into.

Privilege means we are able to choose the cheapest coach, it also means they have to take it.

The second night was closing in and we had managed to swap seats so we had top bunks. This was perfect because tonight we would be passing through Delhi.

Tucked away on the top bunk

We had tried to sleep early, but of course it was tough with the noise of the train, people and endless chaiwalas - I was too sugared-out to drink another cup. I had picked up a novel by Irvine Welsh and was trying to distract myself by stumbling through his Scottish prose. If you have ever been on a long haul flight or journey that never seems to end, like this one, you’ll know the pain of losing focus on anything that can help you pass the time. You watch movies, read or play games on your phone for some time, try to sleep realise you can’t and then start the cycle all over again.

I must have passed out at some point, because in the middle of the night a new ticket conductor came through and woke us up to see our tickets. Fumbling to find mine, I panicked, the whole train seemed to be getting off. Was there a breakdown? Looking around I could see a nearly empty train. Ah, we were in Delhi. The ticket conductor could hardly believe us, and kept insisting that we wanted to get off here. No sir, not yet. Our plan was to swing back later and see the Indian capital, but for now, no big cities please. We were running away to the mountains.

Awake now, I took advantage of the empty seats below and stared out at Delhi station. Wide concourses dotted with vendors, all packed up for the night, swept up and down beside the tracks. I could see a waiting room, with closed windows and AC for first class passengers. Only a few people sat on the padded chairs inside, whilst outside travellers slept on the hard concrete outside the glass door. As though being closer to the waiting room might be cooler, or give them relief from the eternal mosquitoes that move in clouds across the station. It was too enclosed to see any of the city itself, I could feel it’s presence just outside. Like the elephant in the other room. Climbing back to my bunk, I could only think about those people sleeping outside, and wondered where they would rather be.

---

With the arrival of morning, the chai came too. Only this time, the chai walla had none of the characteristic banter of the southern tea peddlers. Perhaps he was also anxious to get off this train.

• Chai Check: 2/5. It was a tiny plastic cup with a tea bag inside. A tea bag!

The view out of the window had changed too, gone was the wet jungle landscape I had grown used to and instead now there were lush green forests. It was almost European, like a temperate forest in Germany. The stops were further apart now and each town looked less developed. The people looked different as well. I’d learnt early on in our travels that there is no such thing as an Indian look. From dark skinned southern India, to light faced northerners, and even more traditionally Asian features in the north east, there is such a diversity in appearance, language and culture; it's hard to believe we are still in the same country.

Only an hour left until Dehradun. I didn’t know what to do with myself, not enough time to watch another movie, I had abandoned the book for now. The train was nearly empty and Pranoti and I were sick of being inside, like kids on the back seat of a road trip. The only thing was to look out the window and watch the hills come closer. The forests gave way to drier landscapes and the afternoon settled in to welcome us with a cool breeze.

After 41 hours, the train finally pulled into the station. Pulling our bags on our back, and forcing our legs into action, we said goodbye to our compartment and stepped off the train. Feeling like a spaceman stepping onto the moon. The air was clear and had an exciting chill. Without the humidity and smog of the cities it was a welcome change. Walking along the length of the train, I could see the cleaners walking up and down, already people were boarding for the return journey. Putting their luggage in place, unfolding their blankets and settling in for the way back. Was anyone going the full length of the line back to Mumbai, suddenly missing the certainty of what I knew back in that city, I wanted to pass them a message. “Bring me a Vada Pao, please”

But this train has places to be, and so do I. On to new adventures. I still think of that train, going up and down the line. Even today someone is on that journey staring out that window or sleeping on my bed.

Have a chai for me friend.