An Indian Railway Journey in 5 Parts

Pic Courtesy: Business Insider

I: Midnight at Waiting Room

The joy of going by train is to meet or observe strangers and watch stories unfold. But here I was at a waiting room, midnight and alone. Some women entered to make their way to the washroom. Some noticed me momentarily but no one sat. But soon life returned in the form a young woman in a beautiful sari and shawl. She made her way to me purposefully much to my delight. She wanted to know where I was from.  Without blinking I responded—Secunderabad. She was from some district in central India. I nodded my head as if I knew. Pleased she asked what  I was doing in her parts. I wondered what interesting lie I could tell her when she offered one herself—“Oh, did you go to the tiger sanctuary?” I readily agreed, stretching my track-pant legs-- “Yes, yes. But saw no tiger this time.” She consoled, “Aisa hota hai kabhi kabhi.” And then asked: “Aap English novel pad rahe ho? (are you reading an English novel?).”  I sat up as writerly as I could, “Yes” and hoped she would not realize I am reading an Agatha Christie. She lingered for a moment, almost wanting to hold the book. But the moment passed. “Jaana hai (I must go).” I smile broadly, and  notice her beautiful sari again.


II: Swach Bharat at 2:30 a.m.

The power hose makes it appearance on platform 1 at 2:30 am. Water sprays at full force and two young men wait behind with sweep mop tracking water around every inch of the platform. We are asked to huddle to a corner. There are many asleep. They wake up. The regulars of the platform—the coolies and hawkers wake up, roll up their cardboard sheets and towels. Few have blankets. The temperature at the platform is now 20 degree Celsius. Once the platform is dry, they will roll out their sheets again, right under the large banner “Cleanliness is next to Godliness” and return to their sleep. Every 15-20 mins a train will whistle by. They will sleep. The electronic board announces my train is entering the station. My bogie is S2 and the indicator above says the same. I stand confidently. But as the train approaching, the indicator abruptly changes to S12. I grunt to myself and begin a long lonely 3:30 am walk to the other side of the platform. The train approaches, headlights fierce and I see several paper cups lying on the tracks. Dang, for the Clean India program the Railways will have to first take care of the chaiwalas!

III: 3:30 a.m. meeting with 200+ men

I enter my bogie. I am the only one to enter. I am surprised to see many backpacks hanging near the entrance. As my eyes get used to the near darkness, I realize the entire walkway and in every which way there are men sleeping. 3-4 to a seat. Under the seat. Next to the seat. I even see couple of makeshift hammocks hung in mid-air carrying adult babies. 200+ men, I quickly calculate. I wonder if this is how a refugee train looks like. I sense panic in my breath. But I don’t leave. Growling, I begin pushing people “wake up, make way, else I may have to trample you.” Some men roll over to let me pass. Some just scrunch their tummies enough to allow me to place a foot. As I wade through the sea of humans, I ache for a wisp of a sari or the sound of an anklet or the smell of oestrogen. There is none. All that is woman is me. I track my seat and shout in my best possible “dudess” voice—“Clear the seat. That is mine.” Three sleepy men roll off. I sit and then force the man sleeping under the seat to make room for my suitcase. By this time I can feel the salt of the panic in my tongue. How can I sleep?

I do my assessment of possible scenarios:

Scenario 1: The 200+ men attack. I can’t do anything. Pray.

Scenario 2: Some attack. Others look the other way. Can’t do anything. Pray.

Scenario 3: Some attack. Some help. The two groups fight. There is a stampede. I need to make my way to upper berth.

Scenario 4: No one attacks. But someone snatches my laptop and purse. Hmm. The exits are blocked for quick getaway. I will catch him.

Scenario 5: No one attacks. No one snatches. But the man next to my suitcase steals the gifts packed inside. Oh well. Not end of earth.

The cold breeze continues to rush in through the wont-tightly-shut window. I shiver and yearn to sleep. Maybe few winks won’t hurt. After all, I can’t do much anyways. I pull out my blanket, wrap my head and sleep.

The 200+ men also sleep.

IV: Post noon meeting with Clean India

It is now close to 15 hrs of being around 200+ men. I haven’t fully eased out yet and have kept as tightly to myself as possible. No ticket checker. No RPF. I haven’t even managed to get to the washroom. I shudder to jump the human hurdle again. And then the sweeper comes. Full-uniform, with a large sweep mop. Somehow the walkway clears as he tracks the sweep, collects the dust and peels and plastic bottles. I look at him expectantly—my only connection with Government today. His eyes stay downcast, his face sunburnt and wrinkled. He just sweeps. He did not even come back for bakshish. As he fades out of sight, I feel a tinge of sadness. When will the next Clean India person come? Will I reach home safe?

V: Enlightenment at 4 p.m.

I demand to lie down. The three men scuttle and allow me to stretch. But in moments, they return, sitting by my feet. It is then I notice them carefully. They look young. I think to myself, if I had married at 18 I would have sons like them. And somehow the thought softens me. I ask: Who are you all? Where are you going? One of the young men replies: “We are going to write Railways exam, Group D.” I sit up. “How many of you?” The young man looks away and says gently under his breath—“Almost the entire train.” Clarity emerges like dawn cracking through night sky. The 200+ “men” that I was so freaked out about at 3:30 a.m. were young folks across country hoping to get a government job! I sit still. I now realize why there were so many backpacks and why some books were being passed around.

Dang! I wish I had known! I could have taken a class in the train :P The “men” also ease out around me. Tell me about various centres, the no of seats, the competition, and the corruption. 2800 seats for Secunderabad centre, they tell me, with 5 lakh students competing for it. I look around, filled with empathy. How many will make it?

The train reaches home. Students file out, in masses, filling every corner of the stairway and the bridge till the human deluge spits me out into the street. I turn around and wave them good luck.

Post-script

I return home in a midnight auto. I usually don’t. But I strangely liked the auto driver. Later I found out he was also writing the Railway exam, Grp D, Moulali centre. He drives auto 6 days a week for 7-8 hours a day. He is a commerce graduate from Osmania. He speaks fluent Hindi and English. I hope he cracks the exam.