15 Jul 2016
Bombay...or Mumbai?
“Is this candy? Or soap? Nope, no label on the box either…,” I hesitate, the little orange cube held in my hand, and look around the compartment for a clue. The seven other passengers are busy with their rice dishes and small talk has given way to the steady rumble of train wheels on steel tracks. Eventually I catch the eye of an older man sitting across from me. He grabs the little orange thingy from his tray, pops it into his mouth and smiles at me while chewing with relish. Ah, okay. Not soap then.
I lean back and enjoy the sweet, buttery taste of the dessert and wash it down with some milk tea. This was the first of four meals, snacks and teas served aboard the night train from Delhi to Bombay. I pre-booked this ticket before my trip to Manali, as apparently train tickets in India need to be booked well in advance. On the upside, I got a ticket for a AC 3A class carriage (technically mid-range but also the cheapest option the travel agent deemed appropriate for me). The downside of the pre-booked ticket: I took an overnight coach back from Delhi to Manali (14 hours, and yes, they played the same bollywood movie again) only to hang out in Delhi for half a day before embarking on this 16-hour train journey. Who needs sleep anyway?
In Delhi, a friendly family on the platform had made sure I got on the right train and into the right carriage. Each carriage was divided into four compartments of eight bunks each. One stack of two bunks on one side, the aisle and then two stacks of three bunks perpendicular to the carriage itself. Having walked past some of the other carts I was gladdened by how clean and orderly things were. I chucked my bag onto one of the top bunks and sat down on the bottom bunk to have a look at the other passengers. Two women, five men. Ages between 20 and 60. All neat and tidy and quiet. Before any real conversation took place the attendant brought around sheets and blankets, followed by meal trays. The scent of spicy curry filled the cart.
Full and happy I start chatting with the others about their backgrounds and plans. The elevator-like awkwardness of strangers pushed together quickly melts away. Since I’m so obviously foreign, curiosity overrides detachment and everybody becomes involved in the conversation. They, it turns out, are going to Bombay for work: Two programmers, two lawyers, a banker, a call center worker and an aspiring actor. All of them seem to be from Delhi, somehow, but work in Bombay. The young aspiring actor says: “You make your life in Bombay, but you live it in Delhi.” The others nod. All of them seem to be part of the growing middle class: educated, ambitious and dedicated to their jobs. The night train takes a while for the journey, they admit, but domestic flights are still expensive by comparison. A flight from Delhi to Bombay costs about 60€, compared to the 13€ or so I paid for the train. Good career prospects are easily worth the hassle.
We pass the evening with small talk. Another snack is served and people start preparing their bunk beds. The elderly man wishes everybody a good night and conversation subsides. The lights are switched off. Up on my top bunk the air conditioning is causing me to shiver: The AC vent is right above me and a few icicles hang from it. I curse the irony of getting hypothermia in a 35°C climate as I wrap myself in the blanket and my jacket. I don’t sleep much, instead I lie awake and listen to the keening sound of the wheels, steady snoring, distant whispered conversations and bursts of muffled laughter. Eventually I drift off into dreamless dozing.
The next morning begins when breakfast is brought into the compartment and we all gather on the lower bunks to eat. Apparently I’m not the only one who felt cold at night and some of the others look just as frazzled as I feel. Hot tea works its miracle on us all and the talking continues as the sun rises on the tropical landscapes outside. Palm trees and mangroves line the tracks and the air smells hot and humid. For about an hour the train speeds southwards through Bombay’s metropolitan region: Small towns, suburbs and eventually the outer districts of the Bombay itself. The scale of the city astounds me but as soon as the city itself comes into view the skies open up and a deluge falls upon the city. All I see of Bombay until the train pulls into Bombay Central is water. As the train comes to a halt I shoulder my bag and say my goodbyes to the others. Then I step out into the rain.
Until next time,
Arne