My Life in the Shatabdi

Some trains, you have to understand, are not about getting anywhere. The Chhattisgarh Express is a train in point. It starts somewhere beyond the middle of the country, slowly strolls northwards, and by the time it reaches Delhi, it is usually several hours late. Standing in any part of the Northern Railways network it is not unusual to hear the announcers going, “Train no. 18237, Chhattisgarh Express, is 3 hours 46 minutes late, we regret the inconvenience caused.” By the time this has been repeated in three different languages about nine times in a row, we sort of expect it to be the inevitable outcome of the existential crisis of this train on a routine basis; forgive the train, we say to each other. 

Of course, once you are on board the train, you realise quite why you must forgive it. From Nizamuddin to Punjab, any logical train headed for its destination would set its sights on a north-north-westerly route. But no, this misnomer of an express train sets a course towards the east, rambling first to Ghaziabad, Modinagar, then to Saharanpur, taking in the sights of eastern and northern Uttar Pradesh at a leisurely pace. You become completely enthralled by the clear fields of sugarcane dotting the landscape and touching the horizon; call your relatives and well-wishers on stations in Punjab telling them to expect you “some time in the near future, but don’t bet on it”. By the time it stops at Meerut Cantonment, you begin to wonder if you will get to see the foothills of the Himalayas at Dehradun soon; but the train takes everyone by complete surprise and shoots back into Haryana, rocking into Ambala Cantonment suddenly from the east, then strikes a course northwards towards Rajpura, all the while grinning back at you broadly and saying, “Gotcha! And you thought you weren’t getting off today, right? No such luck, buster!” 

You sink back in your seat, much disappointed that, after all that preliminary excitement, your destination is drawing nearer without enough adventurous wandering having been packed into it. Some may even feel that they haven’t got their money’s worth.

Frankly speaking, the Chhattisgarh Express represents what life should be, right? You get onto a train not with the sole purpose of getting off it as soon as possible. You shouldn’t. Where’s the fun in that? It’s like being born only to die as soon as you possibly can. Well, not that you can dictate the duration, but certainly there may be something to be said about the metaphoric wandering possibilities available between exiting one tunnel and entering the other. 

Amongst these possibilities, the best ones are available on railway platforms.

The first thing you notice while waiting on a platform are the rats. Usually, they are not roaming around freely near your feet, but on the railway tracks. They emerge, or pop out, one from one hole and one from the other. There’s fierce rivalry too. Little bits of bread, torn packets of chips, anything with the faintest whiff of food has to be tugged-of-warred and then, the victor triumphantly bears it off. Actually, not. The victor scoots before the defeated can catch up with it. 

And then you turn your gaze towards the rats on the platform. Rats of every shape, almost every size, and almost every social class. The platform is a great leveller. The only social class incongruously absent, except when inaugurating new trains or during election campaigns, is the politician class. You look from the rats on the tracks to the rats on the platform and there’s a human face to the rat and a rat face to the human... that’s what Orwell wrote. Oh, yes, sorry, he was writing pigs this and pigs that. But much the same, so let’s not nitpick. 

Some platforms, by the way, are spotlessly clean. In fact, there is a chap with a long-handled broom who sweeps people and garbage without discriminating every ten minutes from one end of the platform to the other. Then there is a fellow on a motorised mop-machine who toots impatiently, regardless of who is holding him up - passenger, luggage or broom. Every ten minutes, these two pillars of platform hygiene sweep and swab from end to end, and helpful passengers, to ensure they don’t feel useless the next time they come around, find enough things to throw down immediately.

The fun and games in the compartment, of course, are the most delightful part of a train journey. Most people have graduated from “footsie” to a complex form of “elbowsie” - and control of the armrest of an AC chair car seat hangs in balance. First, the person next to you will try to get the back part of the armrest. You “adjust” and take the front part. Somehow not satisfied, they will then claim the front part. You “adjust” again and take the back part. At some point of time, they have got three-fourths and you are just hanging on to a bit of the territory - simply to not have to retire with dignity having admitted defeat. One little false move - to put the phone to charge, or get something out of the bag, and WHAM, you’ve lost the battle and the war! 

This is nothing compared to what happens if you have the middle seat. First this-a-way, then that-a-way. You are like one of those countries sandwiched between two avaricious countries, not to name any here, of course. 

The most interesting games can be played in the aisle seat, though. On the one hand, you must keep up the game of “elbowsie” with the neighbour, of course. Honour demands that you do. On the other, there is dodge the luggage (before stations), dodge the luggage (after stations), dodge the hips (at all points) and, if you are near one of the compartment doors, hold the breath - each time someone goes in or goes out.

Of course, it never does to travel alone. If somehow you are, invariably somebody will ask you to move to some other place because they are traveling with someone, or with a large family. Over time, one wearies of this. You gain a voice. You tell people that you bought a seat and you will sit in it, even if you are traveling alone. You are sobered by the thought of what society and communities do to people who choose to remain single and live alone - are they constantly being asked to move over for couples, families and groups?

Train journeys are too much like life!