After many years, I travelled second class by train once again. It brought back memories of travelling during my college days... cooped up in cramped compartments, stinking loos, wonderful co-travellers, the Indian's bottomless patience... Every journey in a second-class sleeper is an unforgettable experience, further heightened when carried out around the Diwali vacation (when one half of India is travelling to meet the other half!). Travelling by air and by India's much vaunted Rajdhani Express are frigid experiences. Air travellers invariably have an air of self-importance around them, "We're all busy people," or "Time is money," or "I am off to meet some very important industrialist/ politician/ crook..." are the expressions plastered on the faces at airports and inside the aircraft. Rajdhani travellers are worse. Having probably just risen from the second class version but as yet unable to afford air travel (the ultimate status symbol in India), they come in two kinds. The first is quiet ("I really go by air but could not get the tickets," or "Hell! When will I get that promotion that entails air travel?") while the second kind is extremely loud, often a small-time businessman who is keen to let the entire compartment know that he has arrived. In the bargain, he also lets the entire compartment know what he does for a living, his marital/ sexual problems, how his son is a Tendulkar in the making ("My son drives just like Sachin!"), how India should bomb Pakistan and how he plans to take the flight back home. By contrast, travellers in a second class train compartment are more down-to-earth, with little airs or pretensions. In such compartments exists a mini-India and a montage of middle-class values, co-travellers who become friends and well-wishers for the journey's duration. Heading from Bombay to Delhi on the Saturday weekend after Diwali, I discover to my horror that a compartment built to carry 72 passengers has a load of at least 100! By the rules, those without reservation are not allowed to even board the train, but we all know that rules are made to be broken. Every non-confirmed passenger is supremely confident that there is a berth available for him. The TTEs (travelling ticket examiners), looking very prim in their black coats, white pants and jaded ties, are besieged by passengers. "My mother is ill,"; "I have an interview tomorrow,"; "Please do something for us, I have a wife and small kids." The air is thick with bribery and tension. And steely resoluteness. No one, but no one has any intention of turning back. When the Golden Temple Mail departs from Bombay Central at 2130 hours IST, the S-5 and adjoining compartments are chock-a-block with passengers. The TTE is missing. At Borivli, just half an hour from Bombay Central, another load of passengers troop in. Many of us are, by now, standing or sharing seats. When the TTE arrives, there is a scramble for any berth that may have been cancelled at the last minute. But demand far exceeds limited supply. When the TTE insists that there is no extra berth, they have no choice but to keep quiet. Here is where Indian fortitude comes in. There is no question of detraining anyone. When one passenger complains to the TTE about the extra passengers, he blithely replies, "But they have all paid their fines!" That means, all the extras in the train can now go down to Delhi or beyond, even if it means standing all the way. And that is just what they all will do. People soon lie down along the aisle, between the seats, near the toilets. In a sense, one feels that even after all these years, nothing has changed; only, the crowds are larger and, as always, the trains are in short supply. The TTE has received bribes from all the 'extra' passengers to let them stay on, even if it means spending the rest of the journey next to the already-stinking toilet. Yet, in another sense, what can the poor TTE or even the passengers do? Too many Indians travelling just after Diwali, the most crowded season, going home or back to work. How (and why) can the TTE actually stop someone from visiting home or reaching office? Better to allow the passengers to just go through a difficult night and let everyone be happy than risk a riot and lost jobs. And after the initial complaints, no one says anything. By the time the train trudges past Surat, there is pin-drop silence; everyone's asleep or dozing away, except for the sound of iron wheels on iron rails. In the morning, when the early wakers arise, they gallantly offer their berths to those on the aisle and to one young lady who was forced to sit all through the night. Soon the others awaken and the berths are like a submarine's 'hot beds,' now used by those who sat through the night. And as dawn gives way to afternoon, once again the beds are exchanged as those asleep awake, rested and refreshed. The spirit has triumphed once again over adversity. Delhi is just a few hours away and no one needed to leave the train. One large group is heading for the Vaishno Devi temple in Jammu. This may sound unbelivable, but this group of 11 persons -- despite booking their tickets weeks in advance and using much influence for the VIP quota (incidentally, the VIP quota is literally a berth on auction) -- were able to get only one berth confirmed. The group of five men, three women and three children were not deterred. Women and children sat on the lone berth and on the aisle near the berth. The men made themselves comfortable near the toilet. Later in the morning, the group is allotted get two more berths, giving the others a chance to sleep. "When we left Bombay, we were told that the Devi would make our journey difficult to test our resolve. Hence we were all prepared for hardships. But we will not turn back until we finish our darshan," the group's leader informs me. All through the day, the group was in jolly spirits, cracking jokes and eating well. While on eating, how things have changed. Just a couple of decades ago, food on the train was difficult to come by. Whenever the train stopped at a station, even briefly, men and women rushed out to the stalls to buy eatables and stock up water. No longer! Today, most long-distance and many short-distance trains invariably have a pantry service offering meals throughout the day. Available on board are complete meals, water, snacks, tea/ coffee, etc. The hygiene level is appreciably better, the catering staff dressed in clean uniforms. No longer does one need to carry food in huge baskets to see the journey through. And what the railways cannot offer will be available with the vendors who troop in at regular intervals. Nevetheless, carrying one's own food is a national pastime. One feels that we Indians almost distrust the cooking of others! Thus, come mealtime, one sees various baskets being opened up and an assortment of dishes appear. Secondly, the meals are complete, with rice, curry, dal, vegetable, chappatis and even pickle. Obviously, the concept of working meals or light meals/ snacks does not really exist. A meal is not a meal unless all the ingredients are there. If north Indians consider all those south of the Vindhyas as Madrasis, the fact also is that to most from the Deccan and seaboard states, all those north of the Vindhyas are Punjabis, completely ignoring the teeming millions of Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Bihar and Rajasthan. And how does one distinguish a Punjabi from a non-Punjabi north Indian? By language, certainly! Punjabis often speak Hindi, but the accents are different. And women can be distinguished in two ways. One is by the dress. Women from UP are mostly draped in a sari while their Punjabi counterparts wear the salwar-kameez. Also -- and this may sound like a generalisation -- the Punjabi women are more loquacious, holding forth on various subjects. The women from UP invariably sit quietly, heads covered by the sari's pallu, letting their menfolk do all the talking. Amberish K Diwanji was in Bombay to meet his newly-born son.
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