Desi Train

The year’s about drop its curtains. And a new one begins shortly. The Desi Train whistles into its second year. Why Desi Train? Why not some other name for your blog? Among many emails, this is most oft asked by readers.

Trains. Like many of my fellow Indians, I grew up in India, watching trains, listening to the early morning whistle, the talks about making reservations, spending a large amount of time in trains…pleasant memories of early morning fields with the rays of the sun seeping through them, the empty fast passing by railway stations with a lone guy in a dirty kurta pyjama, hands folded behind his back, watching your train pass by, the arrival of small towns, the sweet yet sharp sounds of “chai garam”, “caafee”, “petha”, “poori bhaaji”, the occasional walks around the station to spread your legs in the two minute halt your train’s taking, the sharing of seats with the middle aged woman with her two sons and daughter traveling for the next two stations visiting their Mamaji or Chachaji, conversations with the traveling salesguy whose spent most of his life selling stuff from Lucknow in Bombay or the occasional halting of the quickly moving tea seller in the compartments to buy two cups of tea – one for you and one for the ticket checker who has interesting stories to tell about his journeys.

My first vivid memory about traveling in trains is being pushed through the window of a 3rd class compartment in a train traveling from Bombay to Amritsar. No reservations and grand-dad was getting through the door to capture a seat, while Dad found the easy way out to get one for me and grandpa. At about 5 years old, I had proudly annexed my first territory. An unreserved seat for grandpa and me. We traveled for 3 days and 2 nights before reaching Ludhiana from Bombay.

A few years later, it was the utter joy of seeing heaven in a train. An air conditioned chair car. Wow! This is what a plane must be like. Ofcourse today, for me, it would be the most uncomfortable way of traveling through India, atleast if the journey entails spending a night in the chair. But the early morning breakfast of toast, cutlets and ketchup is one I still lust for.

Desi Train. The name brings back all those memories. Today, many of us may not even see a train or feel the need to travel in one, what with cheap flight tickets and dozens of airlines to choose from. Why travel for 18 to 36 hours (sometimes more), when you can complete your journey in 2-3 hours.

But there are plenty who still travel by train. The trains are one string which join all of India – north, south, east, west, bringing people from all cultures, states, religions, beliefs in one common compartment. You get in, strike a conversation, talk, enrich each other with experiences, your station arrives and you part….until you board another train and your journey continues.

Yet this sweet fabric joining us all together, is being stained and painfully being tattered. Search any news sites and you get this –

Armed men storm train, rape woman
Inquiry into alleged train rape
AIDWA condemns train rape incident
Activist fights for train rape victim
Hooghly link in train rape

Painful, hurting news. Sadly, but true. This is not what my sweet memories of trains hold in any corner whatsoever. But this is what’s happening in our trains in India. An interview with an official, bureaucrat and a politician lead to similar statements – These are just one or two minor incidents in the world’s largest railways industry.
Minor? One or two in the world’s largest? Pointing to the size our railways to justify harm to passengers occasionally goes to show how much care and ethical responsibility our officials have towards their jobs.

Ofcourse trains have been looted before, politicians’ goons have stopped trains at stations it wasn’t supposed to, some few odd morcha people boarded reserved compartments because they thought it was their right to travel free on seats in air conditioned cars, tickets for which were bought by the people now standing next to the restrooms of the compartment.

But this crosses the line. Goons are now entering your home to not only unseat you, rob you, but also to injure the honor of you and your family, your friends or your inner consciousness, when they point a knife or a gun at you while you and the others helplessly watch, with crying eyes some lady being raped right in your compartment. The suffering and burden which you will always carry for the rest of your life as much as the victim.

And when such news pours in, I goddamn wish I had never named my blog a Desi Train. Give me my memories of those sweet kids running along my train, those lonely stations, those waving women working in the fields, the beautiful landscapes drenched in the early morning light, those fading out in the darkness rivers, the fast crossing steel bars of a bridge, the utter joy of talking to strangers…Give me all these back…for I want my Desi Train to be pure, unblemished and soulful. I want my Desi Train to whistle again with joy and happiness…from 2006 and every year from here on…

This entry was posted on Monday, December 26th, 2005 at 9:37 am
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