Trains..but Indian ones this time.

On a train heading north. I think it’s north. It could be sideways and at times on this trip I could have walked faster. Trains are slow in India. There is talk of a high speed one being built in Mumbai. And there are tales of a high falluting one that has a dining car and proper seats. But for everyone else they continue to cross their country slowly in ever-so-long trains made up of some twenty coaches.

It is hot outside. The kind of hot where clothing sticks. The platforms are full of people waiting for trains to arrive. Or for trains to depart.

There are little kiosks selling crisps of many flavours, drinks of many flavours, milk in many sizes. But dominating the platforms are these endless trains with bars on the windows and many people already claiming their place in the unreserved coaches. These are called Chair carriages. These consist of rows of blue benches. Each fit three people. Six across. The windows are open, the doors are wide open. The outside air is in; the inside air is pouring out. A gritty exchange. It must be so easy to fall out, but no one does because this is the way they travel. There are at least thirty fans hanging from the ceiling, whirring around, doing their best.

There is a luggage carriage ,but it must be for official things because it is locked. There is a slice of a car

riage way down the back which is labeled “ Ladies Only.” It is full. There is one carriage that has seats you can reserve. Just the one. they are also rows of three seats on either side but they are plush brown plastic. There is air conditioning, but somehow the backs of your trousers will still end up damp. There is pantry coach right next door and there are a small army of men in white hairnets who carry large trays of food up and down the carriages. Starting with omelette and bread. Which turns out to be exactly what they call out; an omelette inside two slices of white bread. Mid morning, it is the call of “ Biryani, biryani.” The couple sitting opposite me try both. So I can report that the “train biryani” is a lot of yellow infused rice with a couple of pieces of carrot.

The young couple were impressed with neither. But they also had a bag of snacks that I think they bought from the kiosks on the platform. Chocolate Bourbon biscuits without the cream filling called “ Hide and Seek” and bags of tomato flavoured crisps. And of course the Chai. Served in tiny paper cups. Which is actually just tea. Marsala Chai is where you get the cardamom. There are toilets in between all the compartments. A choice of western and squat. We were told to have a roll of toilet paper in our bags. I am rather relieved, that I haven’t had to use them. If I had to, I can do it. But the train rocks around like a fairground ride and I don’t trust my balancing skills.

It all feels very 1960’s. Industrial. Over painted. Sad yet enduring. Surprisingly it turns out that are train was not built in the 60’s. They are not post war. Or leftovers from the enthusiasm that came from the British Raj and it’s class system even when it comes to trains. Our old fashioned train and it’s twenty carriages were built all of 10 years ago. In 2017.