India By Train

Well here it is, the end of a long and exciting adventure for me and I've just spent my last night in India. Ian has gone off to Igatpuri near Bombay to do his Vipassana Course and will be here for another 3 weeks.

We've seen some amazing sights ... unfortunately the Himalayas was not one of them ... and we've been to some amazing places along the way. We have met some wonderful people. We've also travelled several thousand miles by aircraft and by car and autorickshaw. But we decided we really wanted to experience the railways of India about which we had heard so much. So, my last long trip in India was from Bangalore to Chennai and Ian will be travelling by train from Bombay to Igatpuri.

We spent a quiet last night together in Bangalore before I was off to the Central Station at 5am to catch the 6am Shatabdi Express to Chennai, a trip of about 6 hours across two states in southern India. After 3 weeks together it was "Good luck Mate and thanks for the adventure. See you back in Sydney." From now on, we were on our own.

Unlike most other places we've been, Bangalore at 5am was cool and overcast, evidence of it's high location on the Deccan Plateau. My driver, Mohaamad (who had driven us to and from Puttaparthi without killing us) navigated our way through the pre-dawn traffic ... most of it without lights ... and deposited me at Central Station. Imagine Sydney's Central Station in rush hour but with sleeping bodies everywhere, both inside and outside the terminal, and you have some idea of what it was like.

Mohaamad hailed me a porter, who looked like Long John Silver in the movie Treasure Island, and who wore a red bandana and a look that said, "I'll slit your throat for 50 rupees." He was about 60 but deftly hoisted my 22 kilo suitcase up onto his head and roughly said "Shatabdi Chennai ... walking this way" and proceeded to step over and around the sleeping bodies towards the main station. Whether the prostrate bodies were travellers or just people with nowhere else to live I was not sure but passages of Kipling's various books came floating back and I suspected this was the India he knew and loved.

The main terminal was bedlam... travellers, porters, police, soldiers, touts, cabbies and beggars everywhere. But Long John Silver walked with purpose through it all and led me to an underground walkway which was home to many more, some begging and some still asleep on a bed of rags. Soon we ascended a stairway to a chilly platform, still in darkness and with little groups of people huddled against the morning chill. No train but the wizened old pirate assured me in his broken English that the train would "soon be coming". He insisted on payment of 100 rupees for his services which is highway robbery ... or maybe high seas piracy ... but considering I could only manage to lift the case with a lot of effort I reckoned he deserved it. It comes to about $3 and in Sydney you'd pay that for a railway trolly with a wonky wheel!

But Long John waited with me until the train was shunted to the platform and then pushed all and sundry aside to hoist the suitcase up into the overhead luggage rack, an effort big Arnie would have been proud of. He was worth the 100 rupees and when I gave it to him he kissed the dirty note and blessed me for my generosity. I was also rewarded with a broad smile through broken teeth. Everyone deserves a break occasionally and it was Long John's turn today.

As our 6am departure time approached the carriage filled with a mixture of people, some business types and some families with kids. This was a CC Class carriage and was air conditioned and the seats, although old were styled like aircraft seats but with much more leg room and quite comfortable. I had a window seat and could see shadows moving about the platform in the darkness as we slowly moved off towards Chennai, 6 hours away. I hoped this was not going to be a boring train trip like so many back home are but how mistaken I was.

As we weaved our way through the suburb of Bangalore the early morning light showed where the poorest of the poor live in this 21st Century IT capitol of the world. Crude hovels occupied vacant land beside the railway but behind large advertising hoardings. Large piles of rubbish were being investigated by squadrons of crows and dogs and people lived amongst it all. It would have been easy to look away, the tinted windows made it even easier, but to do so would have meant missing out on seeing the reality of what life was like for thousands of people. It really did make you appreciate life at home.

As we passed Bangalore Containment, which I assumed was a Raj era location, a team of smartly dressed attendants or Bearers came through the carriage and handed out bottles of drinking water, a small tray of snacks and deliciously welcome steaming hot coffee. I was beginning to like train travel in India... all the airlines could manage was a luke-warm cup of dishwater!


The express picked up speed now and I was surprised at how smooth the ride was. This was a very comfortable way to travel in anyone's language! As we passed the outer suburbs of Bangalore they looked just like those in Sydney. Neat tenements and blocks of units, cars parked in the street, shops on corners. The only difference was the occasional rickshaw or bullock cart which would have been a sight in Stanmore any day of the week!

The suburbs gave way to farming communities and villages, all waking to a new day, and that included groups of people, mostly men, squatting across paddocks and sometimes two together talking, as men do, and doing what comes naturally. It was rather confronting seeing this for the first time but on reflection, seemed perfectly natural and normal. India certainly is different!

The train continued its long downhill journey across the vast Deccan Plateau towards Chennai on the Bay of Bengal and I decided that this was the way to travel in India and the way to really see the country. It was infinitely more comfortable than travelling by road, with it's honking traffic and heart-stopping near misses.


The countryside changed almost minute by minute ... large stands of gum trees and open plains reminiscent of Western NSW and then rice paddies, dusty villages and groves of coconut palms as far as the eye could see. Accasionally a large hill strewn with enormous boulders would suddenly appear beside the line and in the distance. We tracked a large mountain range perhaps 2000 - 3000 feet high for about 10 miles and then it suddenly reverted to tropical plains with palm trees and rice paddies.

Villages that had changed little in the past 1000 years flashed past, but it was amusing to see satellite dishes atop some of the larger buildings... 21st Century entertainment had arrived even to the poorest of the poor. I think it was the villages that gave me the most lasting impression of this trip across India. Here was the real India, the India of Kipling and of legend.

But here in these villages, where people lived simply, I could see women doing the washing and the ironing, and I immediately thought of Liz at home doing the washing and the ironing ... they belted the tripe out of the clothes on a rock in the local waterhole, Liz used a fully automatic wash and spin cycle machine ... they ironed the clothes with a contraption filled with hot coals ... Liz used the latest teflon coated steam and dry model ... but at the end of the day ... we all got clean and neatly pressed clothes. It's a matter of relativity I guess.

The Shatabdi Express arrived in Chennai right on time and the head Bearer lifted my heavy case and deposited it out on the platform. All part of the service on Indian Southern Railways. I grabbed a cab to my hotel, the wonderful Residency Towers, and I was not even concerned with the madness of the traffic ... maybe I am becomming immune to it all.