Romancing with Indian Railways- Part One.
I am yet to ride any other Railway… even in Egypt (I have lived over here for almost two years but haven't yet used the railways here, somehow ... Roads in Egypt are wonderful and so the road transport… even domestic flights are dirt cheap, so have used them instead)
Thus I will not be able to comment about the Railway systems in other countries… but I am sure that they will never be able to capture the magic of Indian Railways… not in the field of vanity… (For, of course, they will be miles ahead of it)- But in the field of the lively chaos and experiential uniqueness.
I grew up in a small town in the northern part of India… called Allahabad. My house was within walking distance of a small railway station called Prayag. It used to be an important railway station, connecting Allahabad to Lucknow, Varanasi and Gorakhpur. With time however an alternative route was developed for Varanasi and Prayag Railway Station lost its sheen, barring two otherwise non-descript trains of Ganga-Gomti Express that connected Allahabad to Lucknow and Nauchandi Express that connected Allahabad to Merrut through Lucknow. Many other important trains like Chauri-Chaura and Bundelkhand Express were diverted from this station. Today, for all practical purpose, Prayag Railway station is a ghost station… coming alive for few minutes with the passage of two or three trains in a day… barring them it remains a silent observer of some passenger trains that never seem to move….
I grew up seeing these trains… My father used to commute to Jhansi for work through this station (earlier he was also posted in a small town of Deoria, but the train for Deoria started from another station called Rambagh Station)… and I used to see him off, with tearful eyes every week. I didn’t see much of my father…during the childhood. Railways, in my childhood, meant an extreme emotion- one that snatched my father away from me every week… or the one that took me along with him to distant corners of my horizons- to Deoria, to Delhi, to Dehradun, to Bareilly, to Jhansi, to Lucknow, to Kanpur. I remember how Papa used to purchase a load of comic books during those journeys, and how we used to fight among ourselves to get hold of Phantom's comics (Yeah! the long forgotten creation of Lee Falk. Phantom is an amazing character. His family has been protecting the world since 21 generations and roughly 400 years… the present phantom is the 21st Phantom married to one Diana who works for UN, has two kids Kit and Heloise- one day Kit will become the 22nd Phantom, carrying on the mantle of his father…Phantom, till date remains my favourite character and represents one of the best examples of an open ended story-telling)
Of those small little remembrances that I have kept secured in the deep recesses of my existence, are - walking with my Papa along the rail track. And putting a 5 paisa coin on the rail track, to be pulverized by the coming train. I still preserve that coin with me. One day, I remember, a train with a circus troupe came over and stopped at Prayag Station… I dodged my Ma and went alone to see the train… among the crowds that gathered to see the circus animals, somebody shouted that the tiger has escaped from the cage- I rushed back home, forgetting my new slippers in the process. And had a nice roughing up by Ma, at home.
In the process of growing, Railways changed its meaning for me. I was alienated from it… it was a loss of innocence, for I realized that Railways is just a medium and is passive to affairs in our lives… It does not take away my father every week, but my father goes to work to another city. I stopped frequenting to the Prayag Railway Station. The small stretch of road that used to take us to it became longer and longer… till it was lost. However, upon insistence from a few friends of mine- who found a perfect refuge within the confines of a deserted Railway station- to have a cigarette, away from the watchful eyes of their parents… I used to go to the Railway station.
With life, I moved… came to the soul-less city of Kanpur, studied Engineering- moved ahead in life- arrived at Bombay for work- went to Jamnagar- came back to Bombay… life never gave me opportunity to feel the magic of the Railways…. Till one day, when everything changed.
During my stint at a B-School in Bombay, I got tired of the rat-race… of how people back-bite for getting Summers in a good company… and how your transient failures morph your entire lives… of how your grades define your employability and how your employability defines you as a success or a failure in life… and took the last outbound suburban train from Kanjurmarg to Karjat. (For those who do not understand what I am talking about, Bombay has an excellent public transport system of local trains… that connect the Bombay Business district areas to far flung suburbs. Thanks to this excellent network, millions of people come to Bombay City every day and leave at the day-end, covering some 75 kms in an hour at a meager cost of 25 cents)
When I arrived at Karjat, it was well past midnight and there was no place to go… Impulsively, I chose to wake up all night- sitting on a bench on the platforms of this deserted station- observing human activities around. I stayed awake for almost five hours of stay, after which I took the first train in the morning, going towards Bombay.
That night was eventful- I saw the dark underbelly of cosmopolitan Bombay, the poverty stricken people being intimidated by Goons… met a pimp who offered his services to me… and met an old couple who waited amongst this angst, for the morning train to Bombay, and who kindly enough offered me some food from their own share. I lived an entire life in those few hours of stay at Karjat. (Perhaps, that is why, I am so fond of Catcher in the Rye… having lived the character of Holden Caulfield many times over in my life)
There is something magical about nights… the dark hours of night have the ability to reveal a lot, that otherwise is lost in the cacophony of the daylight. But there is something more magical about a night on the platforms of a Railway Station.
And this was just the beginning of my exploration of this magic.
Thus I will not be able to comment about the Railway systems in other countries… but I am sure that they will never be able to capture the magic of Indian Railways… not in the field of vanity… (For, of course, they will be miles ahead of it)- But in the field of the lively chaos and experiential uniqueness.
I grew up in a small town in the northern part of India… called Allahabad. My house was within walking distance of a small railway station called Prayag. It used to be an important railway station, connecting Allahabad to Lucknow, Varanasi and Gorakhpur. With time however an alternative route was developed for Varanasi and Prayag Railway Station lost its sheen, barring two otherwise non-descript trains of Ganga-Gomti Express that connected Allahabad to Lucknow and Nauchandi Express that connected Allahabad to Merrut through Lucknow. Many other important trains like Chauri-Chaura and Bundelkhand Express were diverted from this station. Today, for all practical purpose, Prayag Railway station is a ghost station… coming alive for few minutes with the passage of two or three trains in a day… barring them it remains a silent observer of some passenger trains that never seem to move….
I grew up seeing these trains… My father used to commute to Jhansi for work through this station (earlier he was also posted in a small town of Deoria, but the train for Deoria started from another station called Rambagh Station)… and I used to see him off, with tearful eyes every week. I didn’t see much of my father…during the childhood. Railways, in my childhood, meant an extreme emotion- one that snatched my father away from me every week… or the one that took me along with him to distant corners of my horizons- to Deoria, to Delhi, to Dehradun, to Bareilly, to Jhansi, to Lucknow, to Kanpur. I remember how Papa used to purchase a load of comic books during those journeys, and how we used to fight among ourselves to get hold of Phantom's comics (Yeah! the long forgotten creation of Lee Falk. Phantom is an amazing character. His family has been protecting the world since 21 generations and roughly 400 years… the present phantom is the 21st Phantom married to one Diana who works for UN, has two kids Kit and Heloise- one day Kit will become the 22nd Phantom, carrying on the mantle of his father…Phantom, till date remains my favourite character and represents one of the best examples of an open ended story-telling)
Of those small little remembrances that I have kept secured in the deep recesses of my existence, are - walking with my Papa along the rail track. And putting a 5 paisa coin on the rail track, to be pulverized by the coming train. I still preserve that coin with me. One day, I remember, a train with a circus troupe came over and stopped at Prayag Station… I dodged my Ma and went alone to see the train… among the crowds that gathered to see the circus animals, somebody shouted that the tiger has escaped from the cage- I rushed back home, forgetting my new slippers in the process. And had a nice roughing up by Ma, at home.
In the process of growing, Railways changed its meaning for me. I was alienated from it… it was a loss of innocence, for I realized that Railways is just a medium and is passive to affairs in our lives… It does not take away my father every week, but my father goes to work to another city. I stopped frequenting to the Prayag Railway Station. The small stretch of road that used to take us to it became longer and longer… till it was lost. However, upon insistence from a few friends of mine- who found a perfect refuge within the confines of a deserted Railway station- to have a cigarette, away from the watchful eyes of their parents… I used to go to the Railway station.
With life, I moved… came to the soul-less city of Kanpur, studied Engineering- moved ahead in life- arrived at Bombay for work- went to Jamnagar- came back to Bombay… life never gave me opportunity to feel the magic of the Railways…. Till one day, when everything changed.
During my stint at a B-School in Bombay, I got tired of the rat-race… of how people back-bite for getting Summers in a good company… and how your transient failures morph your entire lives… of how your grades define your employability and how your employability defines you as a success or a failure in life… and took the last outbound suburban train from Kanjurmarg to Karjat. (For those who do not understand what I am talking about, Bombay has an excellent public transport system of local trains… that connect the Bombay Business district areas to far flung suburbs. Thanks to this excellent network, millions of people come to Bombay City every day and leave at the day-end, covering some 75 kms in an hour at a meager cost of 25 cents)
When I arrived at Karjat, it was well past midnight and there was no place to go… Impulsively, I chose to wake up all night- sitting on a bench on the platforms of this deserted station- observing human activities around. I stayed awake for almost five hours of stay, after which I took the first train in the morning, going towards Bombay.
That night was eventful- I saw the dark underbelly of cosmopolitan Bombay, the poverty stricken people being intimidated by Goons… met a pimp who offered his services to me… and met an old couple who waited amongst this angst, for the morning train to Bombay, and who kindly enough offered me some food from their own share. I lived an entire life in those few hours of stay at Karjat. (Perhaps, that is why, I am so fond of Catcher in the Rye… having lived the character of Holden Caulfield many times over in my life)
There is something magical about nights… the dark hours of night have the ability to reveal a lot, that otherwise is lost in the cacophony of the daylight. But there is something more magical about a night on the platforms of a Railway Station.
And this was just the beginning of my exploration of this magic.
4 comments:
The more I read your postings the more I know about your experinces.You did mention about this trip to Karjat, but never discussed in so much detail....When are you going to post about our trip to Zenith Fall,Khopoli and those evening walks around the lake behind IIT hostels...
Well Karjat trip was one of those trip, where nothing much happened to be told as a story.... it left you with certain thought that required time to develope...
Ahhhhhh... Zenith Fall, did you go there during the monsoons.... now that you have reminded me.... Zenith fall is more than a story to tell
And how can I forget those walks around the Powai Lake...remember how one day we tried walking around the lake... and developed cold feet after a kilometer or two....
Your wish is my command
Interesting read
Thanks
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