I The juddering sound of Indian rail will forever be etched in my memory. JawaharlalNehru, India’s first prime minister, famously compared India with a palimpsest. Each layer was not able to cover up the one before. It’s the way I picture Indian railway travels. The journeys inscribe our fellow travellers’ names, our languages, our landscapes and climate, as well as our thousands of ways.
I think of a rail journey I made in 1998 – that brutal summer of nuclear testing – setting out from Mumbai, in an ordinary three-tier sleeper, for Dehradun, 1,000 miles (1,600km) north. The frazzled train swerved off the schedule. The journey grew longer and hotter. It was now past 50 hours. I can still remember the metal burn on the window frames, the hot wind that blew them through, the sizzle when water dropped on my face from the platforms uncovered in the heartland of the country. It was only a fortnight after my trek to the mouth a Ganges tributary, that I could look back with fondness on the rail ordeal.
As I write, I wonder if this memory has seeped into the heat-addled adventure of the runaway protagonist in my novel. Railsong. She has been physically depleted by the time she reaches its conclusion, and is only sustained by the kindness and solidarity of strangers. She knows that she is on the other side when she lands in Bombay (as Mumbai was called at the time), standing beneath the gargoyles and the gothic masterpiece called Victoria Terminus, now the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus.
India offers train travel as a universal activity. Mahatma, who initially opposed the railway system (because it “accentuates the evil nature of mankind”), finally accepted this after returning from South Africa. He used the train to get to know his own country. This is why I recommend to the prospective traveller not necessarily the heritage or scenic routes – though by all means sample the quaint narrow- or metre-gauge hill railways, or the gorgeous run down the Konkan coast – but instead using the railways simply as a way of getting from one place to another.
One learns a great deal about themselves. Take sleeper travel. What could be more embarrassing than to share a compartment with a stranger? You might find yourself in stimulating company. Several months ago, three large policemen accompanied me on an overnight journey from Mumbai up to Delhi. One of them was nursing a toe injury, the other devoted himself to his paper, and the third to his phone. Each started out taciturn. The stories of the three policemen changed as we traveled. They were out to capture somebody. These officers were going to make the news again if it was anything similar to their last trip to Delhi when they chased a murderer for over 600 miles through three states. Another time, a painstaking manhunt had taken them to Mangaluru on the south-western coast, where they discovered instead the fellow’s namesake – himself wanted in a decades-old riots case. This led to the award of a medal.
The food is also an important companion to the railways. No matter that dining cars are gone, that regulations about open flames have restricted platform fare, or that the foil-boxed meals served on premium services trigger thousands of official complaints every year and much casual grousing – eating remains a crucial railway habit. It is possible, depending on the route and season, to get out onto the platform at a halt to buy the best farm-fresh fruits, such as lychees or custard apples.
Karjat vendors, on the Mumbai-Pune route, in the west. They are aligned with carriage doors and carry metal trays of Karjat’s famous vada pav – a deep-fried, lightly spiced potato ball, placed inside a soft bun with a mix of dry and wet chutneys (for the cautious, the dry is safer). Lonavala’s famous chaat is served along the same route as the banker (helper engine) engines push up the Western Ghats. chikki – an energy-boosting sweet made from nuts and jaggery (unrefined cane sugar) – and the more decadent chocolate walnut fudge. As I did some years ago, in the southern state of Telangana, you can have a vibrantly peppy breakfast of ograni – a mixture of soft puffed rice and an array of condiments and spices, similar yet so distinct from the crunchy, mustardy puffed-rice jhalmuri Bengal is located in the East. You can always share food with your new friends and pack a tuck.
In spite of the many challenges that Indian trains present, they are enjoyable, affordable and sustainable. We travel as much by rail as possible because of these reasons. The journey begins in Delhi and continues eastwards through the Gangetic plains. As the brown dusty landscapes become greener, we pass the tea plantations of the eastern Himalayan foothills. Through the Siliguri Corridor (officially known as “the chicken’s neck”), we travel into Assam’s bamboo-shaded Assam. This 24-28-hour run can sometimes extend beyond 35. They don’t feel cramped on the plane, it’s just the flights.
These delays can be dramatic and teach us a lot about Indian culture.
One time, a station footbridge collapsed under the weight of Kumbh Mela pilgrims – typically, a last-minute change of platforms was involved, causing a stampede – in the town then known as Allahabad (since renamed Prayagraj by a regime intent on scrubbing Islamic fingerprints off Indian history). More than 40 people perished, making my minor discomfort in waiting for the train to reach Mughalsarai (also named after philosopher Deendayalupadhyay) seem trivial. A derailment once sent us on an arduous journey through Bihar and Bengal. It was also the case when our rake, after mowing down three cows in the early morning, crashed into an idling Jeep. The occupants escaped. Unfortunately, it is not always true.
In 2012, on a monsoonal Assamese day, my train came to a halt beside a paddyfield. This was an inexpensive regional service, fitted with unreserved bench-seating – in Indian Railways parlance, a “passenger” train – and it was halting at the merest hint of a station. Even by the standards for passenger trains, it was an odd location. I finally climbed down to investigate. The autorickshaw was mangled in front of this locomotive. The bodies of 3 men were laying along the tracks.
I am not trying to scare you away from the passenger service. I would highly recommend them. In a country as diverse as India a passenger train offers a complete immersion into the local culture: the clothing, the produce that farmers bring, the food served by the vendors, the unknown halts where mail and express trains pass, which are centres of their little worlds. As in some novels, the intimate, the epic, and the local, and the national are all linked to make the whole.
Railsong by Rahul Battacharya, his latest novel, has been published You can also read about how to get in touch with us. Bloomsbury (£18.99). Order your copy of the Guardian to support it. guardianbookshop.com. Delivery Charges may Apply
