Today's Thoughts...
It was 4 a.m.: we saddled up like camels preparing for our sojourn across the seas of sand. Combing our way through the dark, we arrived at the New Delhi Railway Station. True to Lonely Planet’s word, the day before every tout and uncle within sight swore till they were blue in the face that no tourist office existed in the ND Railway station. That we had to go to a special office, their special office. That there was a fire; that it was their lunch break; that rabid chimps had taken over the office and held hostage all inside (not as far-fetched as it sounds when I started to notice the oddly copious hordes of primates in Indian train stations). Whatever, we said, we want to see this for ourselves. And we saw it alright, in the form of two tickets issued by an official tourist office employee, posted price to boot. At 4 a.m., tickets in hand, we arrive at the station, sleeping babies and grannies and mommies and poppies everywhere. By about 5 a.m., our train appears to arrive. In our spare time, we had made a friend, a young guy heading to Jaipur to publish his new book on Rajasthani fabrics and the legacy behind them.
Chatting and rubbing our puffy eyes, we slog our way onto the train. We walk the length of the train and platform, with no luck at finding our “air con chair seats.” Disheartened, we assume we’ve been had and head to the car marked with the number on our tickets. A frightening-ish bunker in the wee light of the morn with dozing bodies stretched everywhere, pools of spittle on the floor, and remnants of what I expect must have been last night’s samosas, ah and Mr. Cockroach, the erstwhile tenant of our car. But something doesn’t feel right. Allison inquires if this is the train to Jaipur. Blank stares. Now the first thing that struck me when I got to India was the abundance of English speakers, a foreign concept coming from the khas and kops of Thailand. I tried my luck on a small child—no dice. Our friend did as well and turned to us in confusion— this is the train to DEHRADUN! As in about a gazillion kilometeres north of Rajasthan. His eyes appear panicked. Bloody hell.
We turn to exit and notice that our path of egress has been blocked by other entering passengers. Everyone is suddenly crowding quickly… the train is moving! We push and nudge our way politely to a door. A man stands mouth-wide, gaping at us as he washes his face and shaves in the sink. Allison makes a hurried gesture to the door. He continues to stare, holding his razor. Our friend waves his arms wildly. The man does not budge and the train has gained speed. I turn heel, and squeezing Allison’s hand run in the opposite direction. A single small child is the fatality of this action. Dazed, he lies on the floor, clearly puzzled as to how he got there in the first place. We jockey and elbow past him and the rest of the cabins occupants. I pause at the door. The tracks are now whizzing beneath us. FREEZE. This is the part where I say, “These are the things I’m sure if I ever knew were to exist when I came to Asia, I would solemnly swear to NEVER do.” This is the time when I do them.
Our friend acts first and tosses his bag to the platform, jumping off into a sort of jog. I follow suit, chucking my oversized pack to the ground and reaching for his outstretched hand as he now runs to keep up with the train. We tumble to the platform. I turn, but too late to offer a hand; Allison is in the air. Wordlessly we all rise and gather our scattered belongings. After a moment’s pause, a garbled loudspeaker announces that the train to Jaipur will arrive one hour late. This is Asia after all. We take one look at one another and burst into hysterics.
Passersby stare bewildered and perturbed. We are perturbed. It is something like 6 a.m. Crying with laughter and tears, we collapse onto our bags, our hearts finally keeping pace with our breathing. This is why I came to India.
