up and down

the waiting game

2004-08-31T08:29:00.000-07:00

24 HOURS IN CHARBAGH
Lucknow, the city of nawabs, renowned for its ‘pehle aap’ syndrome, boasts of several historical monuments. Its railway station, Charbagh, is a magnificent building and, through its platforms run any number of trains. My first visit to Lucknow was in 1995-96. Subsequently, I have been to the city quite a number of times and have traveled by the conventional Kushinagar Express and the super fast Pushpak. Of course, the Pushpak was convenient only for the return journeys – provided one was willing to take a few risks!! Being a super fast express train, it had limited halts. In my route, after leaving Bhusaval its scheduled halt was at Igatpuri – nearly four hours away. It did not have any scheduled halt at Manmad or at Nasik Road – the two stations I would have loved it to halt. Still, I traveled by Pushpak and was lucky in three instances. Once, it slowed down at Manmad and I managed to alight from the moving train much to the annoyance of the TTE. The next time it actually stopped for a few seconds at Manmad giving me enough time to disembark. Similar incident happened only once at Nasik Road. However, the fourth time I was not so lucky and was carried up to Igatpuri and had to travel back to Nasik. Of course, times change and, with the passage of time, improvements take place. Today the Pushpak has a regular halt at Nasik Road.
All said and done, my memories of Lucknow and associated rail travel will not be complete without narrating the harrowing experiences of having to spend a pucca 24 hours in the premises of a railway station!! That too, all alone.
I had confirmed reservations; the departure time of Kushinagar Express was half an hour past midnight. Therefore, as I had done on umpteen occasions in the past, I left my company’s guest house after a hurried dinner, booked my suitcase in the cloak room by 9.30 pm and wandered around the platform waiting for the arrival of my train to be announced. Suddenly, a totally different announcement got me floored. Due to a flash strike by the motormen in Bombay, movement of trains was affected and, my particular train, the Kushinagar was running indefinitely late!! The PA system also informed that, in case one wanted to return his ticket, he could do so and claim full refund.
That was the longest day of literally 24 hours that I had ever spent.
Patrons of the Indian Railways (IR) are used to delays. Whilst the Japanese pride themselves on their tradition of punctuality, our IR boasts of delays. When one is in the company of relatives and friends a certain of delay is tolerable, in fact pleasant. But, when it involves an individual, the resultant situation can play havoc with ones senses, may even culminate in insanity!! Can you imagine that, just to spend the time, I would take a plate of pakoras on Platform No. 1. Then move over to Platform No. 5 for a cup of tea, return to Platform No. 1 to buy the newspaper and then, locate a vacant bench on which to sit down and read through the paper. At the end of it all, I had been able to spend around twenty minutes or so. Of course, looking at the brighter side of things, I was able to observe from close quarters how a large railway station gradually wakes up from its slumber to greet a new day, how utensils are cleaned, how people huddle together and take their bath, how the puribhajiwala prepares the highly specialised concoctions that go garam-a-garam to fill hungry mouths, how the urchins beg for morsels of food to whet their appetites, how the elders among these urchins, especially, the girls combine together to form groups and work out strategies of making people part with a few coins. They have perfected the art of appealing to your basic instincts by revealing just enough to evoke your sympathies.
Then, as the day progressed, the movement of trains picked up. Situations started to become normal except that there was no news of my Kushinagar. Breakfast time rolled on to lunch time and then on to tea time. I had seen practically all there was to see in the nook and corners of each and every platform. I had chanced upon some beggars under one of the staircases, they were high on drugs. A group of foursome was gambling with a pack of cards. A couple of young girls were trying to solicit customers in broad daylight. In between, I tried to steal forty winks in the retiring room and stretch my legs. By the time darkness started descending, I was fit to crawl up a wall, any wall.
At last, by 10 pm, the arrival of my beloved Kushinagar express was announced.
Immediately, I rang up my wife and relayed the good news.
Then, I went over to the restaurant and had a really heavy dinner.

close encounter

2004-08-31T08:26:00.000-07:00

The railway platform and station both were nondescript. There used to be a tonga stand just outside the station and the last bus would leave by 8.30pm. In case one arrived after that time, one had to perforce spend till morning among the mosquitoes of the platform and relieve the boredom by pacing up and down the deserted platform with a few mangy dogs for company.
In those days, there used to be three different classes – the first, the second and the third. In the third there used to be again two sub groups viz. the sleeper class and the general class.
I remember in 1971 I had booked a first class coupe for traveling home with my family during the Puja vacations. The reservation was confirmed through a written communication from the Chief Reservation Officer of Bombay. But, when the train arrived, I was shocked to discover that my name did not appear in the reservation chart. The TTE was ever so apologetic. He requested me to occupy the adjacent second class compartment promising to do the necessary checking and coming back to me by the time we reached the next station i.e. Manmad which was an hour’s journey. He even extended the services of the coach attendant to take us to the second class coach. And – by the time we reached Manmad, the TTE frantically ran up to my coach with the attendant in tow. ‘Sorry Sir, there has been a mix-up,’ he explained. ‘Your reservation was from Bombay. Hence, since you did not board the train there, your coupe was allotted to somebody else. However, the wrong has now been righted.’
Such was the dedication of railway staff in those days. They provided services of a very high order and, there were no ‘service tax’! Unthinkable in today’s scenario.
Then there was the case of a close encounter of the ultimate kind with my maker! It was summer once again and my family and I were en-route to Calcutta in the Super Fast Howrah Mail via Nagpur. The train was still quite some distance from Nagpur when it was discovered that there was no water available in the compartment! Whatever drinking water I was carrying was soon exhausted and the situation was becoming more and more unbearable with every passing kilometer, especially for my child. Therefore, when the train slowed down and halted at an unscheduled station and when I discovered that a water tap was visible from my compartment, I jumped out and made bee line for the source oif water. Unfortunately, there were a couple more enterprising individuals. So, I became the third person in the queue. By the time my turn came, the train was already in motion. I ran, balancing the water container on my shoulders. I missed my own compartment but was lucky to manage foothold on the third compartment from mine. Then, in desperation, I banged on the door requesting foe an entry. But, no one seemed to hear my entreaties. I hang on to the rods on either side and, perspiration made my palms wet and slippery. I could feel slipping and with tremendous difficulty, I managed to really hold on for dear life. Suddenly, the train screeched to a halt in the middle of a field. I was not knowing what to do. Would I have time to get down and run to my compartment? If the train started before I could reach, could I regain my lost perch? I was on the horns of dilemma and was debating on a sensible course of action when my attention was drawn to a couple of persons who were running towards me. ‘We have pulled the chain to stop the train since your raised an alarm,’ one of them explained. ‘You can now safely get down and come with us back to your family.’

destination india

2004-08-20T07:54:00.000-07:00

Children of any generation and of any country are fascinated by the trains. Like Apu and Durga in Pather Panchali, I also was thrilled when I boarded a train for the first time. I was fifteen and had just finished the last examinations of school. My aunt who was a Nurse in the Railway Hospital took me along with her for my first ever train journey – from Howrah to Palta, the next station. The year was 1959.
It is not that I had not seen locomotives earlier to 1959. There used to be a railway track running parallel to the Jessore road for quite some distance. When going by bus from Shambazar to Barasat, we could see the steam engines filling up water at the Belgachia yard. I wonder if anyone can recall those scenes!
As is known, those who live in Calcutta proper are experts at boarding and alighting from moving buses and trams. I was no exception. Just by managing a toehold, I like others of my time, used to move from one corner of the city to the other. Hence, it should come as no surprise that I boarded a train for the first time at the ripe old age of fifteen!!
Since that memorable day, I have traveled all over the country – mostly on company expenses (TDs) – by rail, by road and by air. With every travel, I have been rediscovering India. The experiences that I have gained over the past fifty odd years are enormous and varied and it is only appropriate that I share them with you, my fellow bloggers.
Let me start with my Kanpur experiences.
I was in Kanpur for a couple of years from 1963 to 1965. In those days, a general III class unreserved bogey used to be attached to the Toofan Mail from Kanpur. Most Bengalees traveled by that train when moving on short notice. The journey from Kanpur to Howrah used to take around 24 hours. But, I preferred the Kalka mail. It was super fast, had limited halts and completed the journey in 16 hours – leaving Kanpur at 4 in the evening, it would enter Howrah by 8 next morning. The reasons for my preference lay in the fact that when the train rolled into Kanpur, it was evening tea time and the dining car was the obvious choice for any young man. By the time one finished a leisurely high tea, it was dinner time. After dinner, a couple of rupees ensured that the waiters looked the other way and not disturb me till morning. Dining cars of the sixties were a place where reasonable secrecy was guaranteed where one could cherish each and every course. Not like today when meals are compressed into tiny aluminum casseroles and thrown at you.
During Puja vacations, my friend and I used to take pride in doing some social service like obtaining reservations for our seniors. Once the message is received that so-and-so dada has decided to go to Cal for the Pujas, our hearts would start fluttering. On such occasions, we would finish our dinner early and leave our mess in Chakeri on bicycles. Powered two wheelers like scooters and motor cycles were few and far between. One of my friends managed a motor cycle on his marriage! He was from Bihar where early marriages was and still is quite common.
On arrival at the railway station, our team would set up camp in front of the booking counter so that, when the counter opens in the morning, we would be the first in queue. We used to carry an adequate supply of playing cards, cigarettes and, of course, rum bottles. Our mission, in some cases, were to get two tickets for a newly married airman or four tickets for a family of an MWO – two of the family were two young and attractive girls!!