India Journal 4

Sunday July 6, 2008

The Ganges in Haridwar & Rishikesh.
The overnight train.

I just returned this evening from Rishikesh and Haridwar, an 8 hour train ride and 6 hour bus ride away from Jaipur. So much of the time I spent during this pilgrimage was en-route that the strongest images I have floating around in my fresh memory take place in bus seats and sleeper class train cots. I want to relate to you the beauty of being in the Ganges up to my knees watching flowers and flames float downriver while priests held fire and flower petals showered over head to the sounds of a deep metal bell and massive chanting crowd. I want to share with you the generosity and kindness of a Hindu family who fed us dinner at their temple. I want to describe the gooey chocolate cake we ate at a German bakery on the extension bridge across from the Ashram where the Beatles stayed. I don’t want to tell you about the trials of travel or the dangers involved...because most of you are already worrying anyway. But I have to write about the bad stuff first and then next time I will dazzle you with the hospitality of everyone we met along the way and the adventures we had in the mountains.

With 3 friends of mine, I arrived at the bus station from an always overpriced rickshaw, wearing only one backpack. The bus taking us to the train station in Delhi was a giant luxury Volvo with AC, reclining seats, and a bollywood-movie-playing TV screen. In that seat was the first time I have felt cold since I arrived in India. The 6 hours we spent on that bus were quite pleasant, and so were the following 6 hours on the 3AC overnight train ride. The train, which left Delhi at 11:55pm was full of upper middle class Indian men who only slept and paid us four white women no attention at all. In each car there are partitions in which 3 bunk-bed style cots are stacked on top of one another. It felt a little crowded but clean and cool. They gave us sheets, a pillow, and blanket. The bathroom was as nice as you can get in India and the ride was smooth and pleasant.

Now, fast forward to the train ride back to Delhi: past our entire amazing weekend at the Ganges in the misty, lush-green mountains of Haridwar. On the train back, because there were no AC tickets available for our return trip, we rode sleeper class back to Delhi. Now, mind you the “AC” tag is one that carries with it more than just a cool temperature, it comes with guards, with nicer amenities (like bedding and a clean bathroom), a faster train, and passengers who are well off enough to afford it. We had heard from some friends that sleeper wasn’t so bad and from others that the experience is not worth the slightly cheaper ticket. Never the less we were excited to experience all ends of the travel spectrum, and having been spoiled by our pleasant, safe incoming trip we imagined that whatever we were in for wouldn’t be so bad.

From the start, our side of the platform looked a bit different than before. All inches of the cement floor were scattered with lone barefoot people sleeping on plastic tarps or families sitting and eating on laid out sheets. They appeared to be in for an entire night spent in the station. We too sat with our bags and waited for the train, quiet and tired from our long exciting weekend.

As the tracks started to rumble the room began to erupt. From the moment our train came into the station everyone around us on the platform ran for the doors. They were shoving each other and screaming back to their friends and family to follow them into the crazy mob of people trying to fit into the doorway of the unreserved cars. The other people who had set up camp on the platform seemed not to be stirred by the mad dash at all. They just continued sleeping on their plastic tarps as they waited for their train to arrive.

We popped up and found our car and our bunker. We pushed our ways inside to discover it filled past capacity with standing men trying to get a free ride. Before we had even found our seats Kari had to slap away one of the many hands for having groped her behind in the crowd. She was strong and unfazed, and mostly just excited for getting to slap someone. We all sat down side by side on the lower bunk while we scoped out our situation. As the train pulled out of the station a man smoking a cigarette by the open door was boring into us with his gaze. As I went to shoot him a strong look he pursed his lips in my direction, raised his eyebrows, and gravely licked the perimeter of his mouth repeatedly with his tongue. From that moment my friends and I knew we were in for a long 8 hours, that everything we did would be watched, and that it was us against every one in that car. Bathroom breaks would happen in pairs while the other two guarded our bags. We would sleep with our heads facing the wall, feet toward the aisle, no ear-phones in, and one eye open. What’s more: we discovered the bathroom was a hole in the ground in a room full of standing water that smelled like sewage. Since we were the first bunker, closest to the open door and bathroom, the stench of urine washed over us every time the train stopped.

As we were setting in to the extreme discomfort, thankfully an Indian woman and another female traveler joined our car. So all 6 beds in our section were filled with women. As the conductor and guard came through to check everyone’s tickets I strategically yelled in the lip-licker’s direction so that the guards, too, could hear: “Mut Karo!” Meaning stop that right now. I saw that the conductor took notice and as he came to check my ticket and I told him in Hindi that that man in the white shirt by the door is very bad. He smiled sweetly under his grey mustache that that man and the others without tickets would be kicked off at the next stop. In less than a minute the train slowed and all standing passengers, including butt-grabber and kissy-creepo were shooed away by men in tan uniforms with rifles.

I felt infinitely better, but still guarded...and skeptical of one man left standing by the doorway. He was well dressed in a yellow polo and slacks and seemed unthreatening as he listened to his i-pod and stole small glances in our direction (as all people in India do when we are around). So we set up our beds, closed the windows, and used our bags for pillows. Everyone else was asleep already and we were dozing off as well.

Once all of us had fallen asleep for a couple hours we were groggily stirred by the man with the i-pod leaning in our section of bunks trying to have a conversation with Elizabeth about her book. She tried to tell him to leave but he just kept asking about her book, saying he had read it and I’m not sure what else because my Hindi is only so good. The Indian woman in our car ordered him to leave, told the man that Elizabeth did not want to talk to him and not to come back. He asked her what her problem was and moved closer. She raised her voice. I watched under a haze of just disturbed slumber; I hadn’t decided fully if this man was totally bad or not because he seemed to just be initiating conversation. But the older Indian woman was more quick-witted with stronger instincts and more experience on these trains. She got louder and protested again and he only got closer. She started rattling off the fastest, loudest, and most angry Hindi I have yet to hear. Despite her screaming and our broken Hindi reinforcing her commands he did not leave. All the men around us who were lying in their beds pretended to be sleeping and did nothing to help us. Not until the screaming woman said to an older man “Don’t you see what is happening?! Tell him to leave!” did anyone else speak up. I couldn’t believe that during all that commotion no one even looked in our direction. Finally the guards came. All they did was speak to him calmly and uninterestedly, then shooed him away. He did not leave the train, he only went to another car. Which confused me because he did not seem to have a ticket, just like all the others who were kicked off the train hours ago.

Having thanked the woman, I went to walk Jocelyn to the bathroom. As I waited for her outside in the hall, I saw the same man in the yellow polo standing in the next car. I told the guard in Hindi that that man in the yellow shirt with the black bag was the one who was disturbing us. He sort of chuckled and smiled at the novelty of my Hindi and beckoned me closer with his hand. The whir of the train was loud so I moved closer to repeat what I had said. He then responded by asking me what my name was and trying to shake my hand. When Jocelyn came out of the bathroom we walked back, followed by the lingering guard and I told my friends under my breath that this guard was not to be trusted at all. He continued to stand there until we all said “Jao” to move him elsewhere. Even though I was able to express clearly what I wanted to tell the guard it didn’t matter because he was no better than anyone he was guarding us against, only he had a gun (and maybe a job to lose). When he was gone and al seemed calm, I closed my eyes and before I knew it, it was sunrise and all of us were reaching our stop in one piece, without anything too terrible happening to us.

From that experience we all learned three very important things about protecting yourself while traveling: to make a very loud and public scene as soon as someone fishy approaches, to be skeptical of even those in uniform, and to never take a sleeper class train ever again.

Now that I have relived all that excitement I am exhausted and ready for sleep. I will write happy news soon: about the Taj Mahel and the North. And to my family and Hindi teacher back home, don’t worry, I am ever cautious and aware, always with friends, and learning quickly.

Continue reading: India Journal 5