In the second and concluding part, Dr. Roopali, shares the wows and woes of train journeys to the Twin Cities. An exclusive for Different Truths.

It is always past midnight when the 
rocking train stops at the lonely railway station. 
A big yellow board says ...Vijayawada. 
The sound of kofee kofeee
Kofeee going past the window
scrambles me awake.
The hurriedly opened window
and a tiny glass filled with frothing 
sugar sweet coffee.
He is in a hurry. Searching for 
change in my purse 
I hear, “chillar nakko maa.” 
Waving away the change 
I let those words bring on waves 
of nostalgia to immerse me,
Home was not far away after all. 
One had to wait for dawn. 
That's all.
The train would chug away again
leaving miles of platform behind as 
sleepy trains whizzed past. 
Words, voices, the taste of coffee 
and you were close, close, very close 
to where you spent your happy days. 
A parent waited for you eagerly. 
His forever young eyes smiling.

Superfast Train

The Andhra Pradesh (A.P.) Express from New Delhi to Secunderabad was a superfast train, which operated at the speed of 63.28 Kms/hour. It began its journey on October 3, 1976.

Leaving at the crack of dawn from New Delhi it took only 22 hours to take me home, covering 1676 kilometers. It stopped only at a few stations.  

Home was Father, who now lived alone in his sprawling house in the cantonment in Secunderabad.  In fact, some of India’s crack Air Force, Army and Police training academies are in the twin cities of Secunderabad and Hyderabad.

The coconut trees mom planted were now sentinels. The Bok Phool tree suffered a sad, neglected demise. I regret never seeing the Bok Phool flower. 

Memorial Tablet

The Krishno Chura Mayflower tree had grown tall and created a bountiful shade over the small memorial temple built for mother. “Death is not extinguishing the light” the memorial tablet said, quoting Rabindranath Tagore. “It is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.”

So, this super-fast A.P. Express was for me a wonderful five-star palace on wheels. It was a culture and cuisine trip. Holidaymakers, students, businessmen, armed forces personnel, political bigwigs and small-wigs all travelled on this train.

We passed through villages and cities and monuments and fields and lakes and rivers and bridges and towns and industries. A kaleidoscopic slice of India.

Comfortable and Affordable

At first, I travelled in three-berth compartments. These later gave way to two berths and air conditioning! So comfortable, and affordable! The three berth compartments were fun only if all six belonged to one family, or a group of friends. That way you had fun being packed in tightly like sardines in a can.  And you did not have to share space with any smelly strangers. 

Strangers always seemed to smell, we thought. If it wasn’t them, it was their food. Especially the pickles. Smalltown shopkeepers carried their business acumen and deals to the twin cities. Mostly from Gujarat and Rajasthan. They munched all kinds of stuff all day long. The pickles made us miserable. 

The political guys travelled first class. You see, as our representatives they must be pampered. Otherwise, they might just forget to talk about our problems. A three-tier berth could spill the beans about the plight of the common man. And then smelly pickle-eating strangers sidling up were a total no-no. 

Exotic Food

The catering on the train was five-star. Every few minutes exotic food prepared in the pantry came out on trays and was hawked by liveried waiters. Chilli Chicken, Chicken Biryani, Chicken 65, heart shaped vegetable cutlets, hot tomato soup in paper cups, thinly sliced tapioca, and raw banana fritters. No airline, not even the one with the Maharajah welcoming you could produce such an extravaganza. 

Anyway, it did not matter where you were and who you were. Three-tier, two-tier, coupe or first class! The exotic finger food goodies came at you with no respite. It drove the kids crazy. Especially the Chilli Chicken and the tomato soup. And the ice cream and cold drinks.

Every time a liveried waiter brought them around on trays, food hysteria burst out from the kid-stuffed top berths. The vegetarians looked away. Some even stuff hankies to their noses. The aroma was unbearable. A beginner’s taste of Hyderabadi mehman nawazi. Were we the smelly strangers now?

Non-stop Trains

Nighttime on fast moving non-stop trains can be somewhat disturbing to women passengers, I learned. Benumbed by the Chilli chicken extravaganza, I did not notice the tea drum kept at the edge of my berth. The lights had dimmed, and dinner was done. Most people were readying to sleep. Two potbellied men sat facing each other on the top berth opposite me.

A speedily passing waiter opened the tea drum and pulled out a long wrapped-in-newspaper object.  He handed it over to the top berth guys as if in passing. A little while later he returned with a small package and left it near the ominous quiet tea drum that had no tea.

Soon those men on the top berth asked me to pass them the package. At first, I had no idea they were addressing me. I also spied two glasses of a pale-yellow liquid. They were drinking alcohol, which was strictly prohibited on the train. There were notices everywhere.

A Saki

I lost it when I realised they were turning me into a Saki (female bartender). The package of mixture namkeen being the starting point. I offered them a piece of my mind in a loud voice and heard them mutter an abuse. A few rude words later the tea drum miraculously vanished. 

The next time, it had to be the ladies only compartment, I decided. I had had enough of sleazy co-passengers! But this turned out a traumatic wrong choice. Women meant children. Four berths, four women and eight kids. Screaming, wailing … bed wetting kids. And no security to speak of as men went in and out anyway.  

Over time, this train would become an exotic friendly home for 22 hours. One of those years, my nine-year-old and I spent Christmas Eve on board. Santa Claus knew my son was on the train.  We had earlier dropped off a letter at the post office. Santa Claus received the letter, sneaked onto the train at night and dropped off the much-desired robot, which brought huge excitement and laughter to a child and a wonderful Christmas morning on the train. We were making memories!  

Human Behaviour 

Trains, unlike airplanes, give you ample scope to observe human behaviour, and to also participate. Once, while travelling with my sister from Hyderabad to New Delhi by the Andhra Pradesh Express we met an interesting character. 

He boarded the train late in the evening from somewhere I can’t recollect. Perhaps it was Nagpur. Short stocky and middle aged. For us an uncle figure. It was the famous three tier ride. Since there were no fellow passengers, I had dropped the middle berth and was riding a comfortable time. Now, it was going to be a canned sardines ride.  

He officially claimed the middle berth. He promptly asked me to get up and let him make his bed. After which he crept in and lay down. For some reason I decided to hate him. 

An Angel 

Sometime during the night, my sister began shaking me. She said Uncle was all winded up and was going to get a heart attack. “So? Let him,” I moaned sleepily. The rocking cradle train had put me back into Mother’s womb. “Don’t be mean. Quick! Get the Gelusil bottle out.” I opened my eyes and saw this angel with wings with my sister’s face stuck on it. 

“He is burping, and his stomach is all bloated.” He had happily surrendered himself to the ministrations of the angel. The Gelusil was working fast, and all kinds of smelly sounds had started filling the compartment. Suddenly, it was a free for all. I had read about the Nazi gas trains.  

Anyway, daylight saw the uncle completely ignoring us. We waited for a thank you and a friendly biography.  Instead, he opened a briefcase which had a set of well pressed clothing and took out a toothbrush. After which he vanished. We kept waiting in vain for his return.  

Hilly Embankment 

The train came to a slow halt on a hilly embankment. A few curious people had got out. I looked out of the window and there was Uncle down a slopy space calling out. “Heylo heylo”. My sister jumped up. “Aap kahaan chaley gaye, Uncle?” Where did you go? He ignored her query and asked her to pass him his trouser belt that he had left hanging from a peg.  

At New Delhi railway station, we got out bedraggled and unrecognisable from 22 hours of three-tiered life. The Uncle instead stepped out all fresh and nattily dressed from the air-conditioned compartment adjacent to ours. Our jaws fell open. Someone had come to receive him. 

All night Uncle had travelled air-conditioned first class! What the hell. He had bluff established his wealthy successful businessman credentials. His client was bowled over. 

My silly sister persisted, “Bye Uncle!” But Uncle hurried away. 

Father’s Ashes

And then that day also dawned when the Andhra Pradesh Express carried my father’s ashes in a clay pot from Hyderabad to New Delhi on his way to the Ganga. Since then, I have only travelled with different indifferent airlines.  I miss the sights and sounds of going home.

The “Coffeeeee” the “Chilly Chickeeeeen”, and the “chillar nakko Ma!” 

Concluded

Visuals by Different Truths and the internet

Feature Picture Credit: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8f/12724_Andhra_Pradesh_Express.jpg

Dr. Roopali Sircar Gaur

Dr. Roopali Sircar Gaur is a poet, travel writer, and social justice activist. A former professor of English Literature at Delhi University, and a creative writing professor at IGNOU, she is a widely published academic and creative writer. Her book Twice Colonised: Women in African Literature, is a seminal text on women’s socio-political empowerment. In 2020-21, she co-edited two poetry anthologies – In All the Spaces: Diverse Voices in Global Women’s Poetry, and Earth Fire Water Wind.

See Full Bio