Smell of Life - Trains

One of my most enduring memories was a train journey from Mumbai to Chennai. I have done this circuit an umpteen number of times and always by general compartment. Very rarely, I used to book tickets. Somehow the train journey seemed to represent a journey from one time zone to another and one way of life to another. I was coming to Chennai after a year of hard ass working in Mumbai. It was Diwali time and I could smell moms avial in my dreams. The train got delayed after Sholapur and was re-directed via Miraj and Bellary towards Guntakkal instead of Raichur. 2 stations before Bellary, the train entered a non-descript station and stopped for a few minutes. It was 12.00 noon and the sun was scorching the brown earth. It was like before the rains came in Lagaan. Cracked earth and all. None of us had anything to eat since the dinner at Sholapur and the whole train was voracious. What was supposed to be a 10-minute stop became a 2-hour stop as all passengers stopped the train and refused to let it go unless food was prepared for everyone.

I had a few bananas and took a small trip into the near by field. There was one small agriculture well and a tree. A few people were sitting there and smoking beedi. As I approached them, they instinctively stood up (my trousers of course). I asked the to sit down and lit my own “Rajas”. The simple peaceful smoke calmed my mind and for a moment I felt that the purpose of my vacation was fulfilled. I felt re-charged already. I sat there for a few more minutes chatting with the farmers and I observed they were very very humble. I am still extremely cocky and self assured. I take a bad fall right on my face once in a while.I just get up and go. I am an expert at getting up and going. The equanimity and serenity these farmers possessed was amazing. Its not something unique and maybe most village people possess that sense of quiet. I was wondering and thinking up my co-ordinates (latitude and longitude).

It amazed me a Mumbai mole like me, standing in a village well and chatting with folks who had absolutely nothing in common. They were chatting with me and I was with them. Perhaps that’s what was common. It was an epiphany. I will remember that particular day, all my life. Nothing spectacular and life altering, yet spectacular and life altering. Simply !!!

Trains represent the slow but steady movement of life. Rarely does life move fast like a jet air craft or Does it ? I don’t know. And definitely life isn’t as easy as catching a plane. Neither is it as pamperous (I will stick with this word even if my vocab sucks) as a plane journey, fresheners, juices, entertainment and pretty little things they call airhostess. Life mirrors a train journey in a general compartment. The hard board sleeping quarters and the scramble for a place to rest your ass in peace. Goodwill is everything here, if you dont build goodwill, you cant even pee in peace (without forgoing your seat). Shitting for 2 days is out of reckoning. Still as the train moves from one station to another, people who you knew well move on and strangers come in (suspicios eyes, cautious glances and all). You have to build the goodwill all over again.

I love the chance of meeting new people, chatting with unknown folks on subjects of their interests. I love introducing myself to normal folks and explaining to them what I do sitting in a cubicle in a corner of a city and traveling to another corner by train. I love hearing their stories of life, trials, and tribulations. I love learning a different sense of humor much different from the city slick sardar bashing funny bone of mine.

I love the sweat, the grime, the dirt, the greasy poori baaji at Raichur. The soggy dosas with salty chutnis at Renigunta. I love the wonderfully happy sight of basin bridge junction just two stops before Chennai. For a long time the broken chimneys symbolized homecoming for the weary traveler into Chennai. I love the earnestness and nimbleness with which folks board and occupy every inch of train space at Arrakkonam. I love the sight of mango trees laden with green and golden fruits in between Puthhur and Tirutani.

My uncle used to say, there is great sense of calm and peace if you do a mundane and simple chore (his e.g. of jadu pocha / washing dishes). Something as simple and humbling as mopping the floor and doing it intensely, so intensely that you sweat and feel tierd. A train journey symbolizes the same kind of labour while traveling. Right from getting into the station and boarding the train (while it is coming in to the station) for a seat. I always managed to get an upper birth for myself. I would then chose a deserving candidate and share it with him. The logic was simple, if you don’t share it with someone, soon more than one would occupy it (to your misery). Why not share it with just one more tierd traveler and build some goodwill so that you get to lie down and he will be glad to just sit.

I have long watched the gujaratis/marwaris travel and eat. From chivda, to roti, gur dal, thepla and paan every thing is neatly packed with a lot of care and love. The whole families don’t just have dinner. They celebrate dinner !!!

Soon the ticket checker became a good friend. One particular checker used to say “enna Vasu sir”. He used to pride by the fact, that he remembers my name. And almost immediately he would quip “where is your sapna”. Though I used to be sick of hearing this “ek-duje-ke-liye” take on my name, I would smile and humor the ticket checker. You know why ;)

For my love of trains, I am a true Mumbaiker. Trains are a great equalizer. A metaphor of a public space, that belongs equally to all and not just a few rich. It’s a market place where one could buy and sell stuff. It’s a puja room, where one could do bajhans. Its my dining table, where I have my half pack (err.. full pack) “hide and seek” for breakfast. Its my singing room, where I sing on top of my voice and the dude pressing his sweaty back onto mine in a crowded borivili fast, doesn’t care. You see the rush to get last into the train so that one can hang free and breathe the smell of salty Mumbai air. There are the regulars, who play rummy on the go. Sitting, standing, leaning. If you stare long enough, smile and pick up a conversation one would get a place to sit and play too. That’s confirmed ticket in a Mumbai local. It can be had only by building goodwill.

It’s the heartbeat that never stops (only when it floods the tracks). Once in every 3 minutes. It’s the Dadak Dadak, with a harmonic shake that incessantly takes it to my destination.

As I am reading the book “Why everyone loves a good drought” by Sai Nath, My eyes adjust themselves to the incessant to-and-fro motion of the train and. My mind is amazingly still and is focused on the book. I hear myself say “Nowhere else can I do this but on an upper birth of a general compartment”. There is so much peace. I just close my book and drift into a dreamless sleep.