RAIL TRAVAILS

Travels has not been misspelt in the heading, it is there by design as rail travels are more of a travail than travel. Most of you would probably agree, as each one of us has had his brushes with the Indian railways where we have not come out with our egos intact. In fact at times it has actually ended up reducing us mortals to where we belong; less our false sense of grandeur. The trappings of power are meekly surrendered when we face the mighty railways.

 My first introduction to this mode of transport was rather late, considering the fact that after that I became a frequent traveller long distance, if not in terms of kilometres at least in terms of the time taken to complete the journey. My father was posted in a tribal area, which till date is bereft of this giant caterpillar doing the rounds there, in fact I know of a number of friends who actually undertook a journey to Indore, the nearest rail head just to have a glimpse of the steam engines those days. So, deprived of this means of communication, naturally we were a bunch of curious kids!

My maiden venture was a non-descript affair as the enthusiasm gave way to boredom soon as the train barely moved and halted for longer duration than it moved. The journey was undertaken on a meter gauge rail track connecting Guna and Indore, where I had gone to participate in State level Table Tennis tournament at the sub-junior level. But the time that the behemoth actually trudged along, it was good, especially when we could actually sit down at the gate itself with gushes of wind splashing against our faces like the waves in an ocean. The journey was in a second class compartment which provides a kaleidoscope to what our great nation is all about, it covers the complete spectrum of our society which itself has many hues and colours. Soon I was to move to RIMC Dehradun for my studies, which provided me with ample opportunities to hone my rail travel skills. In fact, even prior to my move to Dehradun, we had to go to Allahabad for my medical examination prior to joining school. Although the nearest MH was at Mhow and there was another one at Bhopal and also one at Jabalpur, but I think the authorities wanted us to have a feel of things ahead so decided to despatch us to Allahabad.

Naturally I was overjoyed at the prospect of such a long journey by train. Those days number of trains was too few and a travel during summers without reservation was a nightmare which could drive even the toughest travellers nuts. Khandwa was the junction which was our boarding station on a train which was on its way from Bombay (Mumbai is rather recent in its origin). The junction at Khandwa also was quite remarkable as without any means of entertainment or engagement, a daily visit to the railway station was mandatory for the intelligentsia and the commoners alike for an intellectually stimulating discussion on all possible issues facing our young nation. In fact the arrival, departure schedules of trains, availability or otherwise of reservations, the going rates of various TTEs for provision of a berth in the trains and their tout coolies were all discussed quite animatedly. 

So my father and me, a young lad all of eleven armed with our ignorance of travails ahead landed at Khandwa junction and were shooed off from the reservation office for being foolish enough to even dream of a berth on a train bound towards Allahabad with two days notice, because that was the notice given by our hierarchy. It was only later that we realised that 48 hours of notice was actually a luxury as more often than not we didn’t even get four hours. A good Samaritan took pity on us wretched souls and introduced us to a coolie who could provide us with two berths at a princely sum of Rs 50/- each which was almost double the cost of the ticket itself. But we did not have a choice and succumbed. So we travelled with reservations as the TTE was kindness personified having received his share of the booty. This was my first exposure to bribery, very much a part of our culture today. Yes there were qualms about it, my father was not comfortable with the idea but he took the Yudhishthir way “Ashwathama mrito naro va kunjaro va”, letting his friend take care of the actual payment. Not directly involved, despite the conscious; a strange bedfellow, doesn’t let you alone and keeps nagging. Like a patient and indulgent husband you just learn to ignore it.

The return journey was actually rather eventful. Having completed the medicals in a record three days, there was no way we could have got a reservation and no good Samaritans there to bail us out, the only option was to travel in a general compartment. Those of you who have actually stood in queue in sweltering heat to obtain just a ticket, not reservation can empathise with us, but having endured the heat for almost three hours, we learnt that there was a ticket counter somewhere in the city which not many knew of and there were chances that we could get our tickets over there. We did manage to get hold of the tickets and there somebody also confided in us that since the passenger train starts from here, the only way to board the train comfortably was at the yard. So we marched on to the marshalling yard with coolies refusing to carry our luggage all that distance, my father actually carried the suitcase on his head. 

Sure enough we found the train absolutely empty and we could pick and choose the bogey. Gradually more people trickled in and by the time the train actually moved towards the station, the bogey was full capacity. But we were very comfortable and the passengers promptly locked the bogey from inside with strict instruction not to open it under any circumstances. But when the train actually docked on to the platform there was deluge awaiting us and it was practically impossible to ignore their hammerings on the gates. I am sure the bolt would have given way had one of the passengers not opened it, we were soon submerged under this deluge, and a crowd of almost three- four hundred bhils (the tribals) were everywhere. They were migrant labour who were returning to their village, the summer drawing to an end, back to their shifting style of farming from the drudgery of a daily wages labour. We were perched on the luggage space cramped but we did not dare to move as we would have landed up on some part of the anatomy of our worthy co-passengers. The smell was obnoxious and even the lavatories or the passage were not spared, every inch of space had a homo-sapien, we realised as to how the sardines must be feeling in their cans, thankfully they are not alive when they undergo this ordeal. We were on the verge of suffocation, but survived miraculously. Of course the night was spent without a wink, there was a sage also amongst the crowd, after a while we heard him voicing choicest expletives as a kid had apparently decided to give him a mastak-abhishek, you can't blame the kid after all how long could he have controlled his bursting bladder. Mastak-abhishek for the uninitiated is the pouring of water or milk or honey over a deity during certain rituals. The most famous being that of Lord Bahubali at Shravanbelgola in Karnataka. Just short of Jabalpur, the bhils simply disappeared, the train had slowed down and they jumped out lock stock and barrel.

It was only later that I realised the special significance of Allahabad in my travails as I had another interesting journey couple of years down the line. More about that later, but my journey to Dehradun was so breathtaking and picturesque that it got me hooked to the hills forever. Although major part of the journey was in plains but firstly the availability of a reserved berth did wonders for the pleasure of this travel. I was also enthusiastic about the period ahead, as I was actually looking forward to RIMC rather eagerly and that also would have added to the spell which I was under right from the time we crossed Saharanpur. The first glimpse of the holy Ganges at Haridwar and the thick jungles, flowing rivulets and streams provided the icing. By the time the train chugged into the railway station, it was dusk and the electrifying beauty of Mussoorie was at its full splendour for us to relish. The lights shone like a million fireflies. It was indeed breathtaking. I was hooked line and sinker!