Train – A mini India

5th July 2008

(An account of my first journey on Rajdhani)

Train is like a small town, though moving, isolated from the world outside. Probably that is why you find people so impatiently waiting for the morning papers to arrive.

My decision to travel by train couldn’t have been more right, as I doubted of it while boarding the train imagining the train sickness. The 27 hour journey from Delhi to Guwahati was too short for me to feel much of it. To mark this day – my first trip on Rajdhani could be described as gratifying. The food service was wonderful unlike other trains where the food adds to more travel sickness.

By the 17th hour of our journey, the sun had risen but very less of it could be seen, for the place we were travelling at that moment was mostly covered by grey clouds indicating the likeliness of a probable rain.

The waiter came in with the morning tea pushing me by my leg to wake me up. I woke up with energy praising the pleasant journey. I finished my tea and went for a wash. With a foam of soap in my mouth and a brush dangling by the side of it I hung by the train doors letting the morning breeze wash my face. All this time we were traveling in an area abound with vast paddy fields with small ponds at places as if dark patches in them. The greenery can’t be more appreciated but from this moving town.

The cranes flew swiftly till they let loose their wings to splash themselves into the pool along with their brother buffaloes who were already bathing there. As they finished their bath and flew off in search of breakfast you could see the freshness in their white clean feathers.

The wonderful thing about Rajdhani is that it is the king of all trains. As we were passing an area where only a single track ran, the Goods carrier train waited for its turn saluting the king while the king swept past in pride in high speed not giving any notice to the gesture shown to it. The crossing of trains to me seems more like a cat fight, crying and grouching at each other. All along the way we saw no hawkers or eunuchs who previously have always been successful to clap out money off my poor pockets.

While I finished my washing we neared the Khagaria Jung station. As frequently mentioned by my mom whenever the discussion on train journeys came, I could see village folks all lined in a sitting posture, unlike mentioned – without their heads covered, answering the call of Nature. As we neared the station and all the tracks seemed to merge at different points the closeness of the folks grew. It seems they can’t manage without the tracks in sight. I failed to unnoticed a particular guy very-very close to the tracks undisturbed by the stranger’s intrusion shamelessly displaying his huge oscillator. With a smile I looked the other direction and the beauty of the place got me involved again.

I can’t help but appreciate the slow change my place has been witnessing; if not for it the place would have been developed but without life.

The train crossed a bridge (without supports by the sides) and me still hanging by the door, I could see the river below me and for a while it scared me to imagine what letting my hands loose would mean. Somehow the absence of ground below me made me insecure, though jumping into the river from this moving train is a safer option than onto hard earth.

As the 50 feet bridge was covered by my boogie I got back to appreciating Nature again. The symbiotic relationship we are taught about, birds biting the insects off cattle’s back is a common event here. People who spend all their lives in cities are devoid of any such views. There is a guaranteed difference between theory and practical.

As I saw farmers he-hawing their cattle and women shifting the new grown seedlings into the flooded fields, I realized it was summer here, when it rains heavily, the natural period for cultivation. In Chennai it is difficult to make out the change in season.

As the train covered more distance and time elapsed to never come back, it was school time; girls in white shirts and navy blue skirts with torn books in their hand, boys running like crazy with a tinge of naughtiness in their bright faces; a guy cycling with two heavy LPG cylinders by the side of his carrier on a narrow mudded path formed because of constant usage; women with huge baskets on their heads walking in a rhythmic motion – most effective to relax their muscles and bones from the heavy toil. If somebody ever wished to have a glimpse of true India it could be on a train.

I was still hanging from the bars by the door when the song sequence from the movie Bunty aur Bubli flashed in my mind. I always wondered why Bollywood movies had so many songs; probably this is the reason, to remind you of it when you come by across a similar situation and you could start humming it. Audio cassettes, Culture and Money are other reasons. If my parents had been here with me they wouldn’t have allowed me to be hanging like this, enjoying my freedom, my tune with Nature. There is a benefit of both parents around and their absence.

My compartment partner joined me and within minutes we were in a conversation about the much sought out topics; Politics, education, life, religion and India and its bigger issues. Since we both had more or less the same opinion about them the conversation was fresh and healthy, which during some of my previous travels have turned even better with varied opinions when the topic was carried over to the whole compartments concern.

You could see bare-chested men with loose lungies covering rest of their body parts sitting ideally besides their paddy field waiting for their baby to grow, all jobless. A blue net encircling a region in the pond, young energetic semi-naked men with water upto their chests throwing water inside the netted area to scare away the fishes which foolishly as expected run in all directions to finally get themselves caught in the trap set exclusively for them. At places in the pond you could see bamboo sticks hanging out installed to tell the depth of the pond.

Though I very much appreciate the beauty of the place, still in its natural form, on the contrary I sometimes pity it for its underdevelopment. For once lets stop criticizing the Christian missionaries for trying to get the people converted, lets stop analyzing the other similar Hindu social workers (who most of the time point their fingers on their counterparts), lets not talk politics and look at the brighter side, that they are providing food and education to the poor. If an outsider takes an initiative to start a business (service) at my place people criticize him on grounds that money is his sole motive. Well who works for free? Here people don’t work and do not let others work, talking is all they do. India will definitely change for the better. So will Arunachal. Young people questioning about it itself is the first step. There is hope.

As I waited for my turn in the lavatory, people came and left and I was lost, mesmerized by the beauty of the world outside of the little town I was now in; a mini India, a country of diverse culture where you could find a Bengali, an Assamese, a Bihari, a Punjabi, an Arunachali. Train – A mini India.