One year off to travel with the boys

Kerala Photo Albuim

Having settled into a relaxing routine in Goa, it was with some trepidation that we took a taxi to the train station in Margaon, an hour and a half away. Our taxi driver, Mr. Pinto, was able to ease our fears somewhat on the way down. Before we came to India, I was ambivelent about taking the train for our long distance travel, such as Delhi to Goa. Part of the reason was based on my own experience traveling by train from Amritsar to New Delhi, 18 years before, a 12 hour trip in which my brother and I sat in very crowded wooden non A/C second class seats and met Indians from all walks of life. While it wasn't exactly Darjeeling Express, I look back on that journey as a hallmark of my travels. Despite having lived in Peshawar for six months until then, I found the sights, sounds and smells new and sometimes shocking. A few things stand out: a Sikh family offering me a morsel of their lunch -- I accepted and it was something delicious that I have not been able to find since. My brother teaching 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' to someone who didn't speak English and wore a hat that looked like it was from a wolf, and then telling jokes to the entire carriage as we rolled into Delhi. On the less positive side, I remember some horrific deformities on some beggars coming through the carriage, and the homeless children sleeping in the phone booths at Delhi station when we finally arrived. I don't remember the toilets on the train.

Now with family in tow, travelling overnight on a train doesn't quite hold the same appeal, especially from a security standpoint. I remember an Indian friend of mine telling me that on her Indian train journeys to college, she carried a long sharp pin to poke unwelcome admirers. While we weren't likely to face that problem, it seemed indicative of a certain unruliness.

We were booked into second class A/C sleeper, the highest class on this particular train -- the 2618 -- coming all the way from Delhi to Ernakulum in about 40 hours. This was the train we would have taken from Delhi to Goa if I hadn't been persuaded to take the flight. How were we going to fair on the 15 hour journey -- would any of us sleep? Would I have to watch our (considerable) luggage all night? Amazingly the 14 hour, 900 km journey costs only $40 for all of us.

On arrival at the station, we found the train half an hour late. The days newspapers had carried front page articles about recent thick fog in Delhi, creating trafffic accidents and train collisions. Our driver found us a 'coolie', a description for a train porter obviously left over from the days of the Raj, and he rolled our luggage onto the platform next to several rows of benches -- solely occupied by a group of traveling male musicians. The scene at the train station immediately transported us from our isolated environment in Albequerque Villas to the 'real India': people from all castes and classes, stray dogs, coolies, water and snack sellers. Families jumping down from the platform onto the track with baggage, carrying toddlers across several tracks, before clambering up the other platform. Utter chaos to our Western eyes, but all very normal to those that have lived here a while.

Our train arrived at 8 p.m. and the coolie carried the luggage to our open compartment where we found the other two berths occupied by two students coming from Delhi. Although I had given four passports at the ticket counter in Delhi, they had only assigned us two berths, probably on account of the kids' ages. The two students had been traveling for 36 hours and anxious to reach their stop: Udupi, where they would then make their way to a town nearby with about 50 colleges. Both of them carried laptops and music players stuffed with music and movies which they generously played for us. Both were second year students of mechnical engineering and obviously came from very well off families. I learned from them that students in India have two terms/semesters of about five months each and only get two months off a year. Initially, one of them told me that they were made to work really hard. Then later, as he was getting off the train, admitted that most of the time they play pool and drink, working only for the exams toward the end of term (sounds very much like British university life).

At some point before the students got off, a portly man boarded the train and announced that they were sitting in his seat but not to worry about moving. He sat down next to them on the sleeper chair and began chatting easily. Very different from the US or UK where rights would be enforced. Turns out he is a steel businessman on his way to Mangalore, and of the opinion that India will continue to dominate China despite their cornering iron ore deposits in Australia and other places. After a couple of hours he stated his need to lie down and the students came over to my side of the sleeper area. This was possible since Toby and Carmen were in the two upper berths (one belonging to one of the students presumably), and Ethan was vaccilating between upper and lower.

Eventually the students got off, the boys fell asleep and the steel businessman began snoring. I tried sleeping as well, but was concerned about having no more water with us. Our taxi driver had told us water bottles would be readily available on the train, but then remember he said the service stopped around 10 p.m. I tried to walk down through five carriages to the food stall (or whatever it is), but someone was busy closing steel shutters to segregate the different compartments on the train, presumably for better security at night. Just as I got there, someone arrived with a young homeless girl in tow asking for the 'train superintendent'. I didn't stay to find out what was going on and returned through the carriages -- filled to the brim with students in AC carriages less comfortable than our own: no curtains to seperate the berths from the corridor and no sleeper 'beds' either. I asked the attendant in our carriage about the water situation and he said I should try to get off the train at Mangalore, as the train would be stopped for ten minutes. At around 1 a.m., I ran down the long platform, purchased two bottles, waved goodbye to the steel businessman, ran back and settled into his sleeper chair.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, Toby woke up gasping for water. I handed the water bottle up to him but he couldnt open it. I opened it and handed it back up and then got up to make sure his blanket was on properly since it was cold, and gave him a kiss on his forehead. I didn't know it at the time, but Carmen was awake watching all this without her glasses on, and thought I was the steel businessman. She told me later that day, she was surprised about how nice a person the steel businessman was, even giving Toby a good night kiss after handing him water! Toby also related that he couldnt work out why when he asked for water, the man in the lower bunk was handing it up to him, even asking Carmen: "why is that man giving me water?"

After that we all slept until about 6 a.m. when the chai and coffee wallas started passing by in the corridor every minute or so, shouting: "Coffee Coffee!" or "Chai Chai Chai". Fortunately the kids didn't wake up, but it wasn't easy for us to continue sleeping through the noise. Somehow we managed however, and woke up around 9 a.m. An hour and a half later, we arrived in Ernakulam and requested a coolie to help with our bags. Surprisingly, he balanced the two suitcases on his head and then proceeded to carry all our other 5 bags on his shoulders. We couldnt believe it; he then proceeeded to beat us up the stairs, across the bridge, down the stairs and out the station. We all lagged behind and almost lost him several times as we waded through hoards of people.

Our taxi driver outside turned out to be a very amiable Keralan who was quick to see the funny side of things. He laughed when I told him several times during our two hour journey of the enormous trucks hurtling toward us on our side of the road (and that perhaps he should begin some sort of avoidance manouver). The Ambassador car was very rickety and felt like it was held together with pieces of string. Nevertheless, he was able to achieve 50 km per hour by continuously honking his horn to clear slower traffic and calibrating the wheel so that the right outer edge of the car held the center of the road. Not having seatbelts in the car did little for my comfort levels from the front row. At some point Carmen (who was not phased by any of this) remarked emphatically: "In the US, they don't know what danger really is. They have no idea". I have to say that before this I had no idea either. Either I've been in the states too long or become old...