Contents

Chapter
Preface
Where do We Go from Here?
Slow Train to Rameswaram
Visit Abdul Kalams Museum, its AC
A Southern Sunrise
Fort Kochi and Bob Marley
Protests in the Hills
Confident Men
Sick in Ahmedabad
Luxury in Udaipur
No Ghosts, Just a View
Of Temples and Jingoism
The Capital
Yes, Ive seen the Taj
Orchha
Take the Long Way Home
Epilogue

Page
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4
8
14
21
24
27
32
36
38
42
47
52
54
56
58
64

Aloke Mukherjee 2014

All opinions expressed in this travelogue are those of the authors. If you dont
like them, well too bad.
Pictures from this trip can be viewed at on.fb.me/1ctLuVa
Some names have been changed in this narrative to protect privacy.

Preface
As a culture of travel, my observations are that backpacking in India is yet to gain
traction among Indians. For many, a holiday involves travelling to a single place,
possibly visiting a few nearby attractions in the process. A family holiday might
entail visiting several places in a region, as would a pilgrimage, but I would
hesitate before calling either of these backpacking. More often than not, the
journey isnt considered a part of the holiday; rather, a necessary burden that
must be endured to reach the destination.
Since extensive backpacking is something many people do during a gap year, and
that very few people here take gap years to travel (or are allowed to do so by
family), this could be a strong contributing factor. I suspect that this disinclination
towards backpacking is for the most part - symptomatic of the attitude towards
travelling for the sake of travelling in India. Unless you have a specific destination
in mind, and specific things to do there, youre probably wasting your time; time
that could be spent better studying or working. What will employers think of the
potential gap in your resume? Shouldnt you concentrate on your studies?
Shouldnt you be a little more serious?
Being granted a leisurely break exceeding two weeks is very unlikely in most
companies, unless you have the willpower to save all your leaves during the year.
Most people cannot do this for various reasons, and those disciplined souls who
can often travel abroad instead. In general, people prefer to take shorter
holidays, often weekend breaks, and with time at a premium, choose to fly, or if
the destination in mind is close enough, travel overnight by bus or train.
What about students? Student life is studded with scheduled and often
extremely generous vacations; many of which are ideally positioned to plan and
execute a long trip. While most of my friends still studying are very enthusiastic
about the idea of a slow, long trip, it is a minuscule fraction that actually converts
the idea into reality. Possibly the process of planning breaks most people. Then
theres the issue of getting permissions from parents, finding like-minded friends
and negotiating the inevitable differences of opinion within a group. This apart,
many people take up a summer internship of some sort. The amount of
competition for places in good educational institutions and companies is
staggering, and should you want to get in, having travelled during vacations on
your CV might not endear you to prospective employers, right?
This might be changing I see signs of this from several peers and juniors. Is this
(potential) trend a good thing? I would hesitate before passing such a sweeping
judgment people respond differently to the same experience. However, for me,
it is fairly obvious travel is easily the best way to learn practical life lessons. You
2

understand yourself better when youre forced to make decisions out of your
comfort zone. As a student of the social sciences, I find that travel allows me to
see first-hand just how many social, economic and political structures and process
work in the real world and it is this practical knowledge that has shaped several
of my academic and career choices. After all, what use is mere theoretical
knowledge without practical experience?
***

Where do We Go from Here?

I like trains.
I may as well get this off my chest right at the start, so if you dont happen to
know me, you will be able to situate many of my (strange) choices in a rational
context.
Assuming that you dont know me, you now have two useful pieces of
information about me I like trains, and I like travelling. That, coupled with the
title of this travelogue, and you probably have a fair idea of whats coming your
way in the next fifty-odd pages.
Of course, it isnt as easy as just knowing that you like travelling and that trains
are your preferred mode of transport. You need to figure out where you want to
travel, when, whom with, not to mention the budget. Im not a big fan of
travelling alone for extended trips its always nice to have people to chat with.
This apart, travelling alone is significantly more expensive than travelling in a
group.
This trip was born like most extensive trips of mine out of an idle
conversation in which several places were mentioned. Cochin. Amritsar and the
Wagah Border. Udaipur. I began to think of possible ways these destinations
could be stitched together into a big train trip. Throwing in a few stopovers, the
route I initially drew up was:
Bangalore Cochin (Kochi) Goa Mumbai Udaipur Amritsar and the
Wagah Border Delhi Agra Orchha Bangalore
Finding people to make this trip with would be difficult well, except Anay, a
close friend from college whom Id already travelled with extensively on previous
excursions across India. We share similar ideas about travelling and tend to
agree on budgets. Travelling with people you dont know well can be dicey you
can grow to become the best of friends over the course of a trip, but if you dont
get along well, god help you. Being cooped up with somebody you dont
particularly like for a long bus or train journey is excruciating you really cant
escape. With all these considerations in mind, the both of us agree that searching
for more people that might want to make the trip will be counterproductive at the
moment too often, earlier trips Ive planned havent worked out simply because
too many people dropped out at the end. Here, there will be no such problem.

Anay prefers a small change in the route hed rather skip Goa and Mumbai,
visiting a hill station somewhere on the route instead. I settle upon Wayanad as it
falls on the route, necessitating no detours.
At this point, I realise I can save a lot of money by purchasing what the railways
call a circular journey ticket. The rules surrounding this ticket are fairly complex
suffice to say that if your route is roughly circular, you can buy this ticket and
save as much as a third of your fare. The only problem here is that our current
route isnt quite circular we head south to Kerala and then backtrack. To
correct this, I need to find a route that takes us southeast first preferably as far
south as possible before beginning to head up north. Finally, I revise the route
to this:
Bangalore Rameswaram Kanyakumari Cochin (Kochi) Wayanad
Udaipur Amritsar and the Wagah Border Delhi Agra Orchha
Bangalore
This is eligible for a circular journey ticket; we save over Rs 3,000 each and get
tickets in Second AC at a fare that works out to less than a rupee a kilometre. I,
however, want to travel by as many different classes of travel during the trip.
This is a pretty hectic trip; it has to be completed within Anays semester break
holidays that last from 13th October to 4th November. In the end, the entire trip
is scheduled to be completed in a span of less than three weeks we leave 13th
October, returning 1st November.
Heres a quick description of the places were visiting:
Rameswaram: Island just off Tamil Nadu; fairly close to Sri Lanka, famous as a
major pilgrimage site for Hindus; closely associated with the Hindu epic
Ramayana.
Kanyakumari: Southernmost point of the Indian mainland, also of religious
significance; the confluence of three seas; famed for beautiful sunrises and
sunsets.
Cochin (Kochi): Cute town in Kerala; fort area lined with gigantic trees and old
buildings, cobbled roads and little traffic; houses a major synagogue.
Wayanad: Mountainous and forested district in northern Kerala; several
interesting caves and lakes; coffee estates.
Udaipur: One of Rajasthans most charming cities; cute narrow roads and two
beautiful lakes.
5

Amritsar: Major city in Punjab; home of the Golden Temple and the Jallianwala
Bagh.
Wagah Border: Popular border crossing between India and Pakistan fairly close
to Amritsar; famous for the ostentatious border closing ceremony every evening.
Delhi: Well, the capital; logical stopping point before heading to Agra.
Agra: The Taj Mahal!
Orchha: Ruined town in Madhya Pradesh; the erstwhile capital of the Bundela
dynasty a large fort and several interesting palaces.
Our final route is a very squished circle, but anyway.

The Route

Slow Train to Rameswaram

A typical October morning in Bangalore leaves little to complain about, and
October 18th is no exception. It is cool and crisp, but not cold; slightly cloudy
but not overcast to the point of being gloomy. In short, it is the perfect morning
to set off on an adventure, which is exactly what were doing.
Due to certain unanticipated commitments, Anay will not be taking the slow,
roundabout (albeit picturesque) route to Rameswaram that I had initially planned.
He will instead take a faster set of trains leaving Bangalore eleven hours later in
the evening, yet reaching Rameswaram just three hours after mine. I am thus
travelling alone on the first two trains of the trip.
My train is scheduled to leave at 8 am, and having taken up on my fathers offer
to drop me at the station, I reach a good half hour ahead of time. I finish a quick,
tasty breakfast with my father at the small darshini next to the station, and with 10
minutes left to departure, I find myself on platform 2, ready to board the first of
many trains I will be taking over the course of the next few weeks.
The Chennai Express (no relation to the mediocre movie of the same name) is
certainly not a very high-priority train on the line, and it is only after the arrival of
the Express from Jolarpettai that the light turns amber, followed by a terse honk
from the engine and a rather weak waving of the green flag by the driver. We
pull out slowly, 7 minutes behind schedule. I wave goodbye and watch my father
recede into the background, and then make my way inside the coach. The
journey has begun!
Coach C1 on this train an air-conditioned sitting coach is fifteen years old and
shows it. On its last overhaul, some bright spark appears to have decided that
laminating the coach walls with a wooden trim would give it an air of luxury.
What with the laminate peeling off at various places and the coachs general state
of disrepair, it does an excellent job of looking gaudy. In any case, this is not a
very long journey less than four hours before we reach Katpadi, where I make
the transfer to another train bound for Rameswaram.
The first journey is uneventful enough, this route being one Ive travelled
umpteen times. I alternate between staring out the heavily tinted window,
sleeping, and arranging various railway-related paraphernalia for the journeys
ahead a railway atlas, a sheet with the schedules of all the forthcoming trains,
apart from a detailed plan of the routes well be taking. Call me geeky, but hey,
knowledge is power! The train is not too delayed, and reaches Katpadi just
before noon, eight minutes behind schedule.
8

Boy, is the view from the AC coach deceptive! The sickly-tinted windows and the
efficient AC would make it seem like the weather throughout was as benign as it
was in Bangalore earlier this morning. Im in for a rude shock it is a very hot
afternoon at Katpadi, especially as the suns view of the town is totally unobscured
by clouds. That I am nearer the sea the coast approximately 130 kilometres
from Katpadi is evident from the increase in humidity.
With close to four hours to kill before the arrival of the connecting train, the first
order of business is to deposit my backpack at the cloakroom a left-luggage
room found at most important stations. This done, I decide to see what Katpadi
has to offer.
It soon becomes evident that there isnt much to see in the immediate vicinity of
the station. A narrow, dirty road leads out, witness to the not unusual scene of
various bikes, cars, buses and bullock carts jostling for space. A Hotel Monika
advertises Pure Veg food, with a small addendum that non-veg food is also
available. There is a biryani restaurant nearby, and I can see a few crates of
chickens stacked at the back for slaughter presumably the diners will not have
to worry about their food being fresh. An extremely seedy looking bar is
attracting a constant stream of equally seedy looking men.
Venturing further provokes little of interest. Several poultry shops dot the road,
apart from a few petty mechanic shops. A few food stalls are doing brisk business
around a small bus stand. After about twenty minutes of walking under Katpadis
unyielding sun, I tire of the exploration and head back to the railway station.
With time to kill, I decide to head to the reservation office and modify one of my
onward reservations. This is a slightly tricky process, and I successfully confuse
the staff to the extent that they have to discuss it for fifteen minutes all the while
shooting suspicious glances at me before issuing me new tickets. Amused, I
head into the station for lunch at the Vegetarian Refreshment Stall. A cheap and
fairly satisfying meal later, I search for a peaceful area of the station to relax.
Before this can happen, I am accosted by a monkey on the overbridge. Seeing
my sling bag, he assumes (not incorrectly) that I might have food with me, and
further assumes that he can appropriate the aforementioned food with a quick
snatch. With these intentions, he heads purposefully towards my bag. I wave my
water bottle ferociously and yell, HUT! This probably would have looked very
amusing to any passersby, but thankfully the monkey is sufficiently intimidated by
this to slink away with a parting snarl.
The last two hours pass fairly fast. I find a shady spot on the platform, and am
soon in conversation with a man who wants to know when the next train to
Bangalore departs (3.30 pm, this platform). He then tells me hes an English
9

teacher at SV University. Interested, I ask him which courses he teaches; which

aspects of the language he specialises in.
No no no. Not like that. See, there are some textbooks. Some guides are also
there. These I am explaining to the students
***
The Tirupati Rameswaram Meenakshi Express is a good fifteen minutes early
pulling into Katpadi, giving me plenty of time to locate the First Class non-AC
coach. Coupe-E is a two-berth cabin which I have entirely to myself. It has a
sliding door which when shut isolates me from the other passengers of the coach.
This turns out to be very useful, especially as the coach is filled with noisy kids
and their (equally loud) chaperones. Since the coach isnt AC, I have a wide
openable window from which I can gaze unhindered at the scenery outside.
Apart from the heat, it is everything I could have wished for.
The train departs on time and makes the crawl through Vellore, within kissing
distance of the many ramshackle houses that abut the railway line. The
atmosphere soon begins to feel more rural and there is a strong smell of gobar
from the surrounding roads. After a brief halt at Vellore Cantonment station, we
set off again, and are almost immediately trotting through massive green fields.
The sudden departure from civilisation is quite dramatic, not to mention
welcome.
We are now heading into the heart of the Central Carnatic region of south India.
As a region, the area is replete with historical significance. After all, just around
300 years ago, the region was the setting for some of the most significant wars in
south India; the three Carnatic Wars. These wars, primarily fought between the
British and the French with different Indian rulers supporting each side were
as instrumental in establishing British rule in South India as the battles of Plassey
and Buxar were in establishing their dominance in the east of the subcontinent;
not to mention confining French rule to Pondicherry and Chandernagore.
Today, of course, there is no such political intrigue, just a train peacefully
chugging through the afternoon. However, I cant shake off the images of these
political conquests from my mind. The surrounding scenery forms the perfect
backdrop for such adventures; lush green fields, sparsely interspersed with trees.
Just when the flatness of the terrain begins to lull you into boredom, a massive hill
pops out, seemingly from nowhere, providing an excellent vantage point to
observe potential approaching armies. Indeed, several of the hills in the region
have small forts precariously perched on their peaks.

10

The greenery is extremely soothing. The line isnt passing through any major
towns at the moment; this is fairly evident from the freshness of the air. The
train, too, appears to have succumbed to the general tranquillity of the area, and
is cantering along at not more than 50kmph. The hustle and bustle of Bangalore
seems an eternity away it is hard to believe that its less than half a day old.
As the hot afternoon yields to a pleasant evening, I am treated to several signs that
suggest the line doesnt see too many trains. At almost every of the (few) towns
we pass, there are scores of children excitedly pointing and waving at the train.
As the clock ticks past five in the evening, we pass yet another field. A herd of
cows is being taken home. One bovine, terrified by the honking of the engine,
darts in the opposite direction, pulling the woman holding it by the reins. I can
see a young boy presumably her son grinning, very amused.
At 5.30 pm, we pull into Tiruvannamalai. It is arguably one of South Indias
most auspicious Shaivite pilgrimage centres, apart from its association with Sri
Ramana Maharshi, and every train on this line has a stop here. While the
timetable stipulates a one-minute halt, weve arrived a whole half-hour early,
which means well be here a while.
I use this opportunity to search for two things; a cold bottle of water, and an
equally cold bottle of some soft drink. I am partially successful in this endeavour
the sole shop on the platform only sells lukewarm water and soft drink, a
power illai from the vendor explaining the ineffectiveness of the refrigerator. I
take a short walk around the station and stretch my legs. Promptly at 6, there is a
long honk from the engine, and we set off again. As we begin to pick up speed, I
catch a glimpse of Tiruvannamalais sacred hill; now a dark silhouette, outlined in
fierce gold by the setting sun. Magical indeed.
As twilight sets in, I spend some time at the door. It is always interesting to watch
the landscape speed by as it gets dark. After Tiruvannamalai, civilisation has
vanished again and pinpricks of light houses, towns are few and far between.
The transition to darkness is quite fast and the numerous fields so vibrant and
green earlier now look desolate and bleak. After about fifteen minutes at the
door, I head back to my coupe and read for a while.
Civilisation makes its reappearance with the arrival of Villupuram, a large town
and an important halt. We have a scheduled ten-minute stop here, but as were
extremely early yet again, a halt of over half an hour beckons. I pick up tonights
dinner a fairly passable dosa following this up with a short stroll up and down
the platform. At 8 pm the train creaks its way out, at which point I lock the
coupes door and make the bed. It has been a long day, and Im fairly tired. I
also feel fairly sticky from the days humidity, but it will be quite a while before I
11

can have a shower almost two days away in Kochi. As the train begins to
accelerate and clatter its way into the Kaveri delta, I fall asleep.
***
At some point, I wake up not sure why. Looking out, I can see were passing
through a series of rice fields. The water in these fields is brightly illuminated by
the moon. The scene the reflective water and nobody around is quite eerie.
I go back to sleep.
***
At 2 am, the train pulls into Trichy. It might be the middle of the night, but the
station is buzzing with activity. I am abruptly woken up by the announcement
that the Sethu Express from Rameswaram will arrive shortly on platform 3. The
announcement is followed by several others. The Pothigai Express from Chennai
is running late. In the other direction, the Ananthapuri Express to Chennai is on
platform 1. The last announcement I hear is that the Rameswaram Express on
platform 5 is ready for departure, but this isnt entirely correct our train has
already slunk out of the station.
I wake up at 6.30 am to find a dramatic change of scenery. Gone are the green
fields. The area around is quite sandy, and there are what appear to be several
palm trees in the area. The humidity has increased significantly; todays going to
be a sweaty day!
***
The Pamban rail bridge connects the mainland of India with the island of
Rameswaram. It is a major tourist attraction, not to mention an engineering
marvel, especially considering that it is a hundred years old. The cantilever
bridge Indias first sea bridge is two kilometres long; its centre can be opened
to let ships and barges past. Given its age, there is a severe speed restriction of
15kmph for all trains on the bridge.
Standing at the door as we groan our way onto the bridge, Im treated to a view of
the strait that separates India from Rameswaram. The sea isnt too far below, and
if you dont look down, it feels like the train is slowly flying across the water. A
few minutes on the bridge and my entire field of vision becomes the sea. The 2
km stretch takes nine whole minutes, and after the crossing, the train quickly
picks up speed. Less than a quarter of an hour later, we pull into Rameswaram
ten minutes early, despite being an hour late at all the previous stops of the
morning.
The first frontier has been breached. It has taken a whopping 24 and a half
hours from Bangalore for a journey that would have taken 12 hours by car (or,
for that matter, 16 hours by a faster set of trains). But, to appropriate a real
12

clich, I took the route less travelled by, and the experience was definitely worth
it.
***

13

Visit Abdul Kalams Museum, Its AC

8.30 am at Rameswaram sees me getting off the train and searching for a place
where I can breakfast and (equally importantly) charge my phone it is too early
in the trip for me to miss calls from assorted relatives. The issue resolves itself
without too much trouble; there is a rather fancy looking restaurant just 100
metres from the station. A breakfast buffet that essentially offers idlis, vadas, toast
and juice for 200 rupees is rather overpriced, but the place is empty, allowing me
to have a relaxed breakfast that lasts close to two hours, catch up on the days
news and charge my phone without fear of being kicked out.
Satiated, I head back to the station to await Anays train. It is supposed to arrive
just before noon, but turns up 45 minutes early not that Im complaining.
Initial pleasantries exchanged, we head to the cloakroom to deposit our luggage
for the day. This cloakroom is a dingy room slyly tucked away in the most
inconspicuous part of the station. A burly man Ill call him Selvam is
lounging around on a chair at one end, and we assume correctly that he is the
custodian.
Inspecting our bags and satisfied that theyre properly locked, Selvam proceeds to
write out a receipt. There is a small hitch the sole pen in the room is being
used by another railway employee to fill up several assorted forms.
See, he is using pen. Waste fellow, says Selvam, following this up with a
Thoo! to signify his displeasure.
I rummage around in my bag and pull out another pen. The receipt is
laboriously written out. Then, Can I keep pen?
Anay promises to buy him a pen and give it to him when we come back to collect
our backpacks. Selvam appears less than convinced, and returns my pen. You
will get, no? Youll not forget? Anay assures him that he will indeed get a new
pen at the end of the day and amused, we both head out of the station.
Rameswaram is a major pilgrimage destination for Hindus, and the
Ramanathaswamy temple at the centre of the town is of especial significance. It is
one of the four most divine Hindu sites (Char Dham) as defined by the Hindu
philosopher Adi Sankaracharya, the other three being Dwarka, Badrinath and
Puri respectively. After a quick lunch for lunch at a small roadside restaurant, a
short auto ride sees us outside the temple.
The afternoon sun is unrelenting. The temple is very crowded there is a long
line of devotees waiting to enter, and when I realise my sling bag cannot be
14

brought in and that there is no place I can leave it safely, I decide to skip the tour
of the temple. Anay goes inside, leaving his bag with me, as I wait in the shade.
There are quite a few auto drivers hanging around, offering tourists a guided tour
of Rameswarams important sights. I ask one where he can take me. Im given a
printed card with a list of destinations (with images, no less!) and the rates. A
short tour is Rs 300, with a longer tour heading to the abandoned hamlet of
Dhanushkodi (more on this later) at an additional Rs 200, though the price can
be reduced if we share an auto with other tourists. This appears a better
proposition than blundering around Rameswaram cluelessly, so I signal my
interest, telling the driver that I have to wait for Anay to return. However, fairly
soon, he finds another set of customers, so he bids me adieu, signalling to
another auto driver of a potential moneybag customer.
Anay is out soon, and he agrees that a guided tour might be the simplest way to
see the island in the limited time we have. Not particularly keen on sharing the
auto with several other tourists, we charter it for a full tour of Rameswaram and
Dhanushkodi for Rs 500. Our driver is Saravanan. To my surprise, all the
autodrivers are very fluent in Hindi probably a result of the amount of north
Indian pilgrims visiting. The conversation is thus a weird mix of Hindi and
scattered Tamil.
Saravanan appears to be a very genial driver and is eager to start the tour. In no
time the large auto is cruising around Rameswarams dusty roads. The first order
of business is the Kothandaraman temple, which is significantly smaller than the
Ramanathaswamy temple. Im interested in this temple for less than godly
reasons; it is situated on a small hillock and offers excellent views of the island.
Rameswaram isnt too large; on three of four sides I look, I can see the sea. I can
also see a large TV tower, which appears to be a major landmark in the town.
Heading back down, Anay buys himself a juice from a roadside stall. He also
offers one to Saravanan, who looks surprised and politely declines. A few
minutes later, the auto is purring its way to Dhanushkodi.
Dhanushkodi is an interesting and tragic story. It was a thriving fishing and
pilgrim town about 20 km from Rameswaram. One stormy night in 1964, a
massive cyclone swept onto the south-eastern part of the island Dhanushkodi,
that is. With wind velocities touching close to 280 kmph, the little town didnt
stand a chance, especially as the cyclone brought with it tidal waves close to seven
feet in height.
There is railway interest to this story as well. At 11.55 pm, just as the waves
struck, a local passenger train from Pamban happened to be entering
Dhanushkodi. With the power out and the signals having failed, the driver
15

decided to take the risk of pushing forward into the station a risk that eventually
proved fatal. The small train was washed away by the waves, killing all 110
passengers onboard.
Today, Dhanushkodi survives primarily as rubble. You can see signs of
civilisation as you head in; a wrecked railway station, a mangled post office, a
hospital in ruins. This afternoon, nature doesnt happen to be in a particularly
vengeful mood, and apart from being hot, the day is calm.
The fairly long drive allows us to see what the island itself looks like. Apart from
the routine mounds of garbage piled up on the sides of the road, Rameswarams
scenery is interesting, varying from dense vegetation palm and eucalyptus trees
with several nondescript shrubs to large, barren, sandy patches. The roads are
well-tarred and soon after leaving the town of Rameswaram, the fairly empty road
is surrounded by trees. There is a holiday feel in the air; it reminds me of some
of South Goas less inhabited areas.
The arrival of Dhanushkodi ruins apart is announced by Dhanushkodis
beach, which turns out to be a massive expanse of (almost white) sand leading
inexorably to the sea. It looks rather surreal, and I end up ogling it for quite a
while.
There is another temple located in the vicinity, this one the Kothandaramaswamy
temple. It is the only structure to have survived the 1964 cyclone, and the temple
is fairly significant in the context of the Hindu epic, the Ramayana. Vibhishana,
brother of Ravana, is said to have requested the army of Rama for refuge at this
spot. After the killing of Ravana, Rama is said to have conducted the ceremony
for Vibhishanas ascension to the throne of Lanka at the very same location. As
such, the inside of the temple is adorned with murals depicting these scenes from
the epic.
We are not too far away from the closest point to Sri Lanka at the moment I
am told the distance at this point is just over a dozen kilometres, and it is possible
to see Sri Lanka. Saravanan says this point is a further 8 km away from where we
are, and says something about normal vehicles not being permitted beyond a
certain point, adding something about some sort of sand vehicle for any further
conveyance. He also says Lankas lights are best visible at night, which doesnt
work for us, as our onward train is at 8.45 pm. It is not in his interests to
discourage us from heading there; the additional travel would have earned him an
extra hundred rupees. Thus, we decide to head back towards Rameswaram.
Saravanan has an ace up his sleeve for our next stop: it is air-conditioned! We
are now going to visit the museum of former president Abdul Kalam, who hails
16

from Rameswaram. This tribute museum which is free is also AC, which
apparently makes it an unbeatable combination.
Saravanan has a few more amusing things to say. Before we head into the
museum he will wait in the auto he says this:
The museum is on the second floor. They will also tell you to go to the third
floor; there is a shop there. Dont want to do that. There is nothing worth
buying,
Amused, we head in. The museum itself is less than engrossing it is tackily
done, and fails to actually highlight the life of the man; just a few quotes, some
awards, and several (to be honest, extremely unimpressive) poems. As we head
out, one of the attendants beckons us to the third floor, but we know better.
The museum is followed by a visit to a floating rock. I must admit I was
extremely intrigued when I first heard of this, anticipating a huge rock floating in
the middle of a small pond or tank. This turns out to be incorrect; the rock is
inside another temple, in a small, waist-high enclosure protected by an iron grill at
the top, possibly to prevent some of the more opportunistic pilgrims from making
off with the rock itself. It is slightly larger than my fist, but yes, it is indeed a
floating rock. I suspect it has something to do with its porosity?
This signals the end of the three-hour tour we are now to be dropped back at
the station. Considering the fact that we have covered over 40 km, the agreed
rate of Rs 500 isnt too bad at all; less than the per kilometre fares of autos in
Bangalore.
As we near the station, Saravanan tells us where we can wait for the train and what
else we can do in the meantime; we have over four hours before our train
departs. My dealings with auto drivers have told me to associate overfriendly
behaviour with subsequent compensatory demands for such friendliness, but
Saravanan is an exception. On reaching the station, he cheerfully accepts his fare
without any signs of asking for more, wishes us a pleasant journey, and heads off.
He is easily one of the most pleasant auto drivers Ive encountered.
With time to kill, we spend an hour at a relatively unoccupied, shady part of the
platform. As evening sets in, we head out in search of some grub there will be
no food available on the train.
A five-minute walk through Rameswarams extremely dusty streets sees us pass a
small chai stall that also serves vadas. Anay decides to eat two. Im slightly more
apprehensive given the amount of dust around, and having no idea how long
17

these vadas have been sitting there, I am about to pass on the opportunity when a
fresh batch of vadas is upended onto the pile.
Well Whats the harm?
The vadas are easily the most delicious Ive ever had. With steam virtually rising
from them, crisp on the outside and soft on the inside, they disappear very fast.
Add to this some excellent coconut chutney, and it is only after eating seven of
them that I can muster up the willpower to stop. We wander around for a little
while more, stopping at another place for a dosa. The curry that accompanies it
tastes suspiciously non-veg, but then the place was called Bismilla Military Hotel.
We are back at the station by 7, with close to two hours before our train departs.
We decide to pick up our backpacks and relax on the platform; the weather is
now extremely pleasant. We enter the cloakroom.
Selvam has not forgotten the mornings promise. His first words are, Where is
pen?
Anay has actually bought him a pen, much to his surprise. His face breaks out
into a huge grin, and as we leave, now laden with backpacks, his parting words
are, I am waiting your next arrival
***
Travelling on the night of October 14 (the festival of Dussera) between two
southern towns Rameswaram and Kanyakumari that are both popular pilgrim
destinations requires booking train tickets as soon as bookings open. I did not
realise this, and despite booking tickets 59 days in advance, we were 113 and 114
on the waitlist. This waitlist position has slowly improved over the succeeding 58
days, but not enough to get us confirmed berths. We have thus been allocated
RAC seats, which essentially means that both of us are sharing a sleeping-berth.
If any passengers in the coach fail to show up, we will be given their berths.
I, however, have other plans I want to travel in one of the unreserved coaches
for this journey for the sheer experience of travelling unreserved. Since we
anyway have to sit up all night, travelling unreserved for one journey will add
another dimension to our trip.
Unreserved is well, to put it simply an adventure. As the name suggests, there
are no reservations, and it is the cheapest class of travel, often the only option for
the poor. An unreserved coach is supposed to seat 90 passengers, but in any
popular train, the actual number of passengers often touches (and exceed) 300,
with passengers cramming into any space available; in the aisles, in between seats,
18

in the luggage racks, at the doors, and in extreme cases, even in the toilets. The
Rameswaram Kanyakumari Express is unlikely to be this crowded, but one can
never really say.
As we make our way to the train, we pass the unreserved coaches at the rear.
They are not overflowing, but are full. Continuing the walk, we reach the
unreserved coaches at the front, and much to my surprise, I find the unreserved
coaches here almost empty. We stow and chain our bags to the luggage rack and
occupy two corner seats, waiting for a sudden influx of passengers.
At 8.45 pm, the train leaves, with no addition to our coachs sparse population.
Soon, we are gingerly crossing the long Pamban Bridge again. It is nearing the
full moon and the sea is brilliantly illuminated. There is a strong breeze blowing
as we cross. My mind decides to misbehave at this point and starts to visualise
several different scenarios, all of which end with the old bridge collapsing while
the train is on it. This does not happen, and the train is soon picking up speed
into the night.
I shift from the single corner seat to a longer adjacent seat, and lie down. The
whole world will probably board at the next station and I will rudely be dislodged,
but a short nap will come in handy I am quite tired from the days efforts.
But as the next stop Paramakkudi comes and goes, followed by
Ramanathapuram, with nobody boarding, I realise that I will have the whole seat
to myself till Madurai at least, and with this reassuring thought, I fall asleep.
***
11.30 pm. Madurai.
We have come to a halt, and will be here for at least 15 minutes, as the train has
to leave in the opposite direction from where it came, necessitating a
cumbersome procedure of detaching its engine and reattaching it at the other
end. I can see people boarding, but hardly the influx of people that would result
in somebody challenging my claim over a space that is essentially meant for four
passengers. Brushing away an annoying group of mosquitoes that is buzzing
around my face, I stare out groggily until the train finally leaves, now secure in the
knowledge that I can sleep all the way till Kanyakumari. Anay has also bagged
one of the longer seats and has fallen asleep.
As the train begins to gather speed and heads through several towns of Southern
Tamil Nadu, I drift into a disturbed sleep.
***
19

At 4 am there is an almost imperceptible reduction in speed and five minutes

later, we pull into Indias southernmost station, precisely on time. The journey
has been surprisingly comfortable, and the move to travel unreserved paid off
very well.
Kanyakumari!
***

20

Southern Sunrise
Kanyakumari is not a long stop on our schedule; we have just six hours before
our next train to Kochi the Island Express departs. The plan is to catch the
sunrise from the southernmost tip of Indias mainland.
The cloakroom at Kanyakumari station is functional even at 4.10 am, which
means we dont have to lug our backpacks around. There is also a helpful map
that points out the major places of interest in the vicinity of the station. Sunrise
Point is two kilometres away, and armed with this information, we head out.
The roads are reasonably well illuminated, and most unexpectedly there are
quite a few shops open at this hour, including a departmental store. We stop for
a quick chai at a small stall and continue onward to Sunrise Point; a set of rocks
overlooking the sea on the eastern side of Kanyakumari. It is very dark, and save
a tea seller, it is just us and the waves. Far away, near the horizon, a few pinpricks
of light indicate the presence of several ships that have laid anchor for the night.
The Vivekananda rock is vaguely illuminated in the distance, as is the statue of
Thiruvalluvar, the legendary Tamil poet and philosopher.
Ive always found the sound of waves crashing against the shore extremely
relaxing. I close my eyes and just listen for a few minutes. It feels surreal to think
that two days ago at this time, I was asleep at home.
As the clock ticks towards a slightly less ungodly hour, the sky begins to change
colour. From blackness to air force blue with a tinge of red, we are moving closer
to sunrise. The silence of the morning is disturbed by the sound of a motor; a
small fishing boat is heading out into the sea.
As the sky grows paler, it becomes evident that today is a cloudy morning; the sun
isnt going to obligingly peek out from the horizon. Slightly dismayed but fairly
content to enjoy the beauty of the morning, we wait for a while. At around 6.45
am, the suns golden rays precede it and we spy it lurking behind a few clouds.
Not quite as dramatic as hoped, but Ill take it!
The reason for the early riser shopkeepers and tea sellers is revealed when we
finally get up and turn around there is a crowd of close to a hundred people
that have also gathered to watch the sunrise. Coming in this early has reaped
huge dividends we got front row seats, and our view of the show was
unobstructed by annoying tourists.
We have plenty of time to kill, and after a leisurely breakfast of (fairly decent)
dosas at a roadside dhaba, we stroll to the southernmost tip of Kanyakumari. For
21

obvious reasons, this is a popular part of the town this is where the Bay of
Bengal, the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea meet.
There is a large market consisting primarily of stalls selling souvenirs shells,
small conches, cheap trinkets and so on. There appears to be a fair amount of
competition between stalls, especially the name on rice stalls. The first one
advertises:
NAME WILL BE WRITTEN ON THE ONE RICE
A neighbouring stall has one-upped him, though:
ONE RICE TWO NAMES
This isnt the end, though we also encounter this:
ONE RICE FOUR NAMES
Apart from the amusement of the quarrelling stalls, there is little of interest in the
market. The southernmost tip affords a view of the three seas converging. It
does look like there is a difference in the colours of the water, but this is more
likely a result of my mind imagining that there is.
After this, we head back to the station for our two-hour wait for the onward train
to Kochi.
Kanyakumari railway station is one of the most clean, relaxed stations Ive
happened to visit recently. It is a terminus (obviously, as trains cant head further
south) with three platforms. We walk a hundred metres up one of the platforms
and settle on a bench in the shade. There is nobody around except a couple of
bored crows and a sweeper meticulously removing litter from the tracks.
There is a constant breeze flowing in from the sea it is extremely cool in the
shade. Anay has a small portable speaker which we connect to my phone.
Supertramp and Led Zeppelin at Kanyakumari station might seem like an odd
mix, but it works very well. At 9.45 am, our train is brought on to the platform
and we go to our coach. We are travelling Second AC this time, significantly
more luxurious than the previous journeys.
At 10.30 am, the Island Express pulls out of Kanyakumari and starts its
northward journey. We are travelling upto Ernakulam Town, one of the closest
railway stations to Kochi. The route, passing through most of southern Kerala is
quite scenic, though the scenery is definitely going to be wasted on me. Tired
22

from the lack of sleep and yesterdays hectic activity, I climb onto the upper berth
and am fast asleep as soon as our tickets are checked.
I wake up at 2 pm feeling hungry, and find that the train is nearing Quilon.
Hoping to find something interesting to eat, I step out when the train comes to a
halt at the station. I am reminded again how deceptive AC travel is today
afternoon is a real scorcher.
Failing to find anything interesting at any of the stalls on the platform, lunch
becomes a packet of chocolate chip cookies. Dissatisfied, I soon fall asleep
again, as the Island Express makes it way up Kerala. At 5.45 pm, again precisely
on time, the train pulls into Ernakulam Town, bringing us to the third stop of the
trip the first one where we stay overnight. Finally, the prospect of a shower!
***

23

Fort Kochi and Bob Marley

Ernakulam and Kochi are fairly close to each other, and there are several ways of
transiting between the two. When it comes to public transport, though, the
simplest not to mention the cheapest way is to take the ferry. Though rickety
as hell, the ferries are an extremely relaxing commute, and cost a princely Rs 4
per passenger. It looks like fares have been increased; the last time I was in
Kochi approximately a year ago, it cost Rs 2.50 per passenger.
We catch an auto from Ernakulam station to the jetty. There is an extremely
long queue for ferry tickets, but once obtained, it is a fairly hassle-free journey to
Kochi at twilight.
Fort Kochi hardly suffers from a dearth of accommodation. On any of its
principal roads, you could chuck a stone and in all probability hit a hotel or
homestay. We have no problems finding ourselves a place to stay in fact, Id
say we got an excellent deal for the Rs 600/night tariff we paid; an immaculately
clean double room with an attached bathroom, a TV and a small balcony. First
things first a shower. Three days worth of sweat and grime to be washed off!
***
At around 7.30, we head out for dinner. There is a small open-air food court
with several small cafes and stalls. We are beckoned to the first of these
restaurants. The waiter is a heavily bearded man with lively eyes, wearing a Bob
Marley t-shirt. Quite the showman, he is trying to impress a Spanish couple by
talking to them in Spanish. He tries his hand with French to a few French tourists
passing through. His French isnt bad at all; I am fairly impressed.
Since Im on the coast, I try a fish fried rice, which turns out to be rather
uninspiring. Ive been on the coast for over 48 hours now without any decent
fish! Dinner done, we head back, bidding adieu to Bob Marley, as I now
remember him. My bedtime reading for tonight is the guidebook Ive decided to
lug along for the trip. Flipping through the entries on Kochi, I find one on the
food court weve just eaten at.
The food served in these cafes is notoriously unhygienic, regularly causing
stomach upsets
Well, isnt that nice.
***
I wake up the next morning to the sound of fluted music. It seems out of place
from the usual street music one tends to hear, and I spend ten minutes marvelling
24

at it, wondering what the occasion could be, until I realise Anay is playing it from
his portable speakers. Feeling stupid, I get dressed and ready for the day.
I have family in Kochi and soon get (to quote an aunt of mine) nicely caught.
Im invited to a birthday party that night in Ernakulam. It sounds fun, though
Anay wont join me for this he plans to attend a Kathakali dance performance
that evening.
Breakfast is at the pleasant Kashi Art Caf definitely worth a visit if you
happen to be in Kochi. It feels so laidback that you cannot but realise that youre
on holiday.
After breakfast and an obligatory visit to the famed Chinese fishing nets, we head
to the interestingly-named Jew Town, once home to a thriving Jew community.
The synagogue there is still a major tourist attraction, and we spend a good halfhour in the peaceful building. There is a rather amusing police museum nearby,
along with a rather cryptic art gallery whose signage states, Absence/Presence.
We also visit the erstwhile Dutch palace, now a museum. It has several exhibits
of the (short lived) life of the Dutch in India, along with many murals depicting
the Ramayana. This feels far more relevant, as we were in Rameswaram just two
days ago.
The evening sees me heading to Ernakulam. The event is at the Taj; quite an
upgrade from the last few days of unreserved travel and cheap food. I spend an
enjoyable three hours there and head back to Kochi on one of the earliest cars
returning I have an early morning tomorrow and a long journey to Wayanad.
I am almost locked out of the guesthouse as everybody has gone to sleep.
Thankfully, my persistent knocking finally bears fruit and a very sleepy proprietor
lets me in. Anay is already asleep, and without too much delay, I crash out as
well.
***
We are up early the next morning, and after settling the bills, head out to the jetty
to catch the ferry to Ernakulam. From Ernakulam, we take a train to
Kozhikkode followed by a two-hour bus ride to Wayanad.
It is a cool albeit humid morning, and the ferry jetty is rather empty. A few
people are fishing with a rudimentary assortment of tackle on the side. I watch as
a struggling crab is hauled out of the sea and deposited into a bag, never to see
the water again.
***
25

The journey to Kozhikkode is uneventful. We are travelling second-class nonAC on the Jan Shatabdi Express. As our train is closely trailing a slowpoke
Intercity Express bound for Bangalore, we are frequently halted for want of
clearance. The delay balloons to half an hour at Shoranur Junction, where we
have a scheduled change of traction from an electric to a noisy diesel engine.
The new drivers are desperate to reduce the delay and we are soon flying through
the lush-green coast of the Malabar. We reach Kozhikkode ten minutes late.
***

26

Protests in the Hills

On reaching Kozhikkode railway station, we try to make our way to the bus stand.
A policeman helpfully points to a bus waiting just outside the station. About ten
minutes into the journey, we realise that the bus is heading somewhere else
entirely, and have to hop off at the next stop to catch an auto to the bus stand.
Autos in Kozhikkode are very cheap, so there isnt too much damage done.
Finding the right bus to Wayanad at the main bus station is easier - there is a
Karnataka State bus bound for Mysore that will pass through Wayanad, leaving in
twenty minutes. I use this time to grab a quick lunch Anay prefers not to eat
immediately before a long bus journey.
The bus ride begins to get scenic after an hour as we enter the hills. Another plus
is the steady drop in temperatures as we ascend a nice respite from
Kozhikkodes sweaty heat. Soon, we are quite high up and can see for miles.
Sadly, the bus driver appears disinclined to stop at any of the viewpoints on the
route. His strategy for tackling the numerous hairpin bends on the mountainous
road is also fairly interesting; a long blare of the horn as the bus approaches the
curve, followed by a high-speed swerve around the corner irrespective of whether
there is an answering honk from a descending vehicle. I am fairly relieved when
the hairpin bends end.
Two hours after boarding the bus, we disembark at Kalpetta, one of Wayanads
largest towns. It is not a particularly pleasant looking town, and Im hoping to
find a peaceful homestay away from the centre of town. Judy, an erstwhile
classmate, is also in Kalpetta on a research project. She will be done with work in
about half an hour and we decide to walk down a quiet side road in the
meantime. After a ten minute walk, the road crosses a small brook. We sit on
the railing of the bridge, cracking silly jokes.
Anay has picked up a flower from somewhere and has it sitting out of the pocket
of his kurta. A few minutes later, a child passes by and casually almost jauntily
plucks the flower out of his pocket and strolls away. Anay has been deflowered,
all too literally!
We meet Judy a little while later to find out that there are no nice stay options
within walking distance at least, none that are isolated from the noises of the
town. Our plan of arriving at a town and seeking out nice places to stay so
successful in previous trips has failed here. When heading to Wayanad, it
makes more sense to decide and prebook a resort located away from any of the
towns.
27

Judy has yet more cheering news there is a dawn-to-dusk strike tomorrow as
people are protesting against the recommendations of some committee studying
environmental degradation in the region. Or maybe theyre protesting that it be
implemented. I dont really care exactly what the issue is about it means that
our Wayanad visit is a big fail, as we have only tomorrow in the district before
catching a train up the coast close to midnight.
Wait, will we be able to make the train? I have a momentary panic attack,
wondering if public transport back will be completely stalled tomorrow. Missing
a 31-hour journey will seriously mess up our schedule, its not like you can just
hop on a bus and get in a little later. I am soon reassured that the strike, like
most strikes, is from 6 am to 6 pm, leaving us with more than sufficient time to
head back to Kozhikkode to catch our onward transport. It doesnt avert the fact
that were going to be stuck indoors tomorrow. We could have just spent more
time in Kochi.
Dinner is pretty bad the food overpriced and flavourless. Kalpettas lodging
also leaves plenty to be desired. The Affas Lodge costs more than our lodging in
Kochi. Our room is painted a dismal shade of green and doesnt look like it has
been cleaned any time in the recent past. The toilet is a peculiar contraption
one that tries to be both an Indian-style and a Western-style commode. It is
essentially an elevated squat toilet. Thankfully, the room has a TV, so we can be
assured of some mindless entertainment tomorrow.
***
We are woken up at 5 am by insistent knocking on the door. Im not too
enthusiastic about opening it so ignore the knocking until it eventually stops.
Later, we find out that the adjacent room had asked for an early wake-up call and
the staff had confused rooms.
The morning is fairly lazy. I read William Dalrymples, City of Djinns while
Anay flips channels on TV. I deduce there arent too many non-vernacular
channels showing when he settles on Friends with Benefits. It obviously isnt a
captivating movie as I can see hes pretty distracted. I return to my book. Since
Im going to be in Delhi in a week or so, why not read a bit about its long history?
As no restaurants will be open until the evening, my (extremely nutritious)
breakfast is a packet of Hide and Seek biscuits.
A while later, I notice the TV has been switched off. I didnt hear any ending
credits.
What happened? Got bored?
28

That yes, but the movies over. Theres a break now, and theyll make you wait
till it gets over for the credits,
Oh
Bastards
Both of us say this simultaneously, and burst out laughing.
***
In the afternoon we get bored of sitting in the room and decide go for a short
walk. Everything is peaceful outside; this doesnt appear to the smash everything
down kind of strike. The roads are empty, spare the occasional truck heading
towards Kozhikkode. After about ten minutes of walking, we veer off the main
road onto a small road leading through several coffee estates. This is the
tranquillity we sought when we decided to visit Wayanad, not the ugliness of
Kalpetta. Oh well, the next time I visit (and there will be a next time), Ill know
what to do here, strike or no strike.
Apart from a suspicious cat and a couple of workers, we encounter nobody on
the walk not that were complaining. After about twenty minutes of walking
down the twisty road, we reach a small village full of political posters. Everything
is in Malayalam, but we decide to avoid heading further into possible enthusiastic
protestors and head back to Affas Lodge.
***
At 6 pm the town springs to life. We do too; we have a two hour bus journey
back to Kozhikkode, followed by dinner and the wait for our train to
Ahmedabad, which is scheduled to depart shortly after midnight.
There appear to be no Kozhikkode-bound buses that start from Kalpetta at this
point, necessitating a wait for a passing-through bus. After about twenty minutes
of waiting, a crowded bus shows up. Other passengers at the bus stand confirm
that it is indeed bound for Kozhikkode, but just as I am about to enter the bus, a
passenger asks me something in Malayalam. I have no idea what hes saying, so
just go with the safe answer of Kozhikkode.
This doesnt appear to work. He fires off a rapid sentence in Malayalam
followed by vigorous pointing, and as I stare, bewildered, the door of the bus is
slammed shut and it zooms out.
What was that about?
Beats me
29

I look resentfully at the departing bus. Inhabitants of the bus are still looking at
me and I watch, I can still see them gesturing, pointing in the opposite direction.
Oh wait, I think I know whats going on
And yes, there is another bus closely following the first. It is almost empty, too, a
significantly more enticing prospect than standing for two hours. We get in, wave
goodbye to Judy, who has come to see us off, and settle down. For the first time
in the trip, Im actually feeling chilly; theres a strong, cold breeze blowing in
through the windows of the bus.
Thankfully, a rather slow truck is just ahead of our bus, preventing our driver
from trying out any fancy night manoeuvres on the hilly road. I soon pull out my
headphones and listen to music; this also has the effect of insulating my ears from
the constant breeze. As AC/DC salutes those about to rock, the bus passes one
of the many viewpoints on the road, with the seemingly never ending valley
illuminated by the silvery moonlight tonight is a full moon night.
***
Ive asked some of my friends from the area for restaurant recommendations in
Kozhikkode with a fairly universal answer: the Paragon Restaurant. This is also
the first suggestion in my guidebook, so it is a fairly easy choice. A short auto ride
from the bus station takes us there. Its location is less than charming, the
restaurant being situated under a flyover, but as we enter, the bustling atmosphere
of the restaurant suggests that it is a popular and probably good eatery.
Starved of fish despite being on the coast for over three days, I order a fried fish;
this time rewarded with an absolutely delicious one. I lose no time in repeating
my order. I help myself to Anays vegetarian dish as well helpings are most
generous. This has easily been the best meal of the trip so far Im not sure
Rameswarams vadas could be considered a meal per se.
Satiated, we walk to the railway station. We have plenty of time before our train
arrives, and find our platform without too much trouble. I find a bench roughly
where I expect our coach to stop and we settle down. Apart from a few other
passengers and a small group of boys who appear to be sniffing something up in a
dark corner, the platform is fairly empty. Well, there are two hours left
The boys they look fairly young have come up to us and are requesting for
something; I suspect water. Anay is too lazy to attempt communication and just
says, Malayalam no. Unimpressed, they go away.

30

As the midnight hour draws close, the platform begins to fill up. An elderly
gentleman has arrived with a large entourage of friends and a zillion bags. Anay
immediately notices something Ive missed. The man has no right arm.
***

31

Confident Men
We are due for a long journey now; it is a 31 hour journey to Ahmedabad from
Kozhikkode on the Okha Express. Visiting Ahmedabad wasnt part of the intial
plan, which was to head straight to Udaipur from Wayanad, but there is no direct
train, and train connections dictate that we must spend a whole day in
Ahmedabad. At 12.20 am our train is announced as arriving shortly and five
minutes later, it pulls in, right on time.
Trains that are maintained in Kerala like the Okha Express which we are taking
tonight are notorious for old coaches and poor maintenance. As the train slows
down to a halt, it appears our train is no exception most coaches are close to a
decade old, and the rake bears a general layer of grime. Our Second AC coach is
older than I am!
We board. A few minutes later, the one-armed gentleman enters with his retinue
of helpers. Somehow, all the luggage manages to find space in the four-berth
cabin. It soon transpires that he is travelling alone. The fourth person in our
cabin boarded at Ernakulam, the trains origin. He is meticulously reading a
study guide of some sort. During the entire 31 hour journey, he leaves his upper
berth just twice.
The one-armed gentleman appears to be fairly chatty, and soon asks us where
were travelling. He is travelling pretty much the same distance, getting off a stop
earlier in the suburbs of Ahmedabad. Ten minutes into the journey, I know his
name (Aneesh), the purpose of his travel, his place of work, and that he has two
kids. The ticket examiner appears and verifies our reservations, and as the train
rocks its way up the Malabar Coast, everybody falls asleep.
***
I wake up a little after 7 am to find the train standing at a small station called
Senapura. While everybody was asleep, the train has passed Mangalore and
Udupi, and were back in Karnataka again for the next few hours at least. We
are now on the Konkan Railway the coastal railway line connecting Mangalore
and Mumbai one of Indias most scenic rail routes. The train is well-timed to
enjoy the scenery; for pretty much the whole day, it will pass through dense
forests, span large rivers and dissect innumerable mountains. After a while,
another trains hurries past in the opposite direction, and were cleared to
proceed.
Aneesh springs to life as the train is crossing the massive bridge at Honnavar.
Buying me a cup of tea, he tells me about his life. He has spent several years
living in Tanzania. He also shuttles between India and Canada, where he used to
32

be a professor at a prominent university. His wife works there as well, and both
his children are employed (salaries duly mentioned). He has opinions on pretty
much anything, and soon asks me what I think will happen in the upcoming
general elections. Not particularly enthusiastic to be drawn into a political
argument, I venture the most diplomatic, safe opinion I can. Aneesh appears to
be satisfied with this view, and proceeds to volunteer his as well. He feels
something bad might happen to Modi and in response to my quizzical look,
says that he is sure Advani will not tolerate the rapid rise of his protg; one that
threatens Advani himself, the claim bolstered with several (uncomplimentary)
metaphors of the man. He claims his hunches are always well-founded, and
offers this clincher. Lowering his voice and looking around furtively, he says, I
had this same feeling of danger towards Bhutto during the previous elections in
Pakistan
Fair enough, I guess. The elections are still two months away at the time of
writing this (February 2014), so there is plenty of time before this prediction can
be either proved or disproved.
An attendant from the pantry car arrives, asking if wed like to order lunch. Anay
and I decline, not particularly keen on bland pantry car food. Aneesh and the
quiet man on the other upper berth both order veg meals. I am hoping that the
train will be early at Madgaon (Goa), where it has a scheduled ten-minute stop
just before noon, and that it will arrive on platform 1, where I know we can pick
lunch up from the fairly decent station restaurant. However, the Okha Express is
most uncooperative. Not only is it over half an hour late at Madgaon, it is
brought onto platform 2, platform 1 being occupied by the more important Jan
Shatabdi Express to Mumbai. I have no desire to run across the overbridge to
platform 1 and order food, all at the risk of suddenly watching the train leave
without me.
I search for a vendor on the platform, passing the gaggle of disembarking
passengers, one with a message on his t-shirt: When God Made Me, He Must
Have Been Showing Off (I have my doubts on this one). It looks like there is
almost nothing to eat apart from sandwiches and junk food. Oh well, such is life.
Back in the coach, Aneesh is with great enthusiasm telling Anay about some
sort of blood chutney he has eaten in Tanzania. Apparently, this blood chutney
is created by boiling the blood of some animal I think a goat and adding an
equal quantity of oil. The mixture is then left to simmer until it reaches the
consistency of well, chutney. Even a few bites of this chutney will leave you full
for a few days. He is less effusive about the lunch served from the pantry,
throwing it away after a few bites.
The halt at Madgaon eventually stretches to over half an hour I could easily
have got some food from the restaurant and as the afternoon hits its peak, we
33

resume our northward voyage up the coast. Everybody is a little drowsy after
lunch, and there is relative peace in the cabin for the next two hours. I in
particular am tired; I feel a cold coming on. It could be a result of the frequent
changes of weather, or an allergy of some sort. The AC in the coach isnt helping
matters much it has an annoying habit of switching itself off until everybody
feels warm; then switching itself back on with such enthusiasm that the coach
begins to resemble an icebox.
Somewhere in the afternoon the train loses time, and by the time we reach our
next important halt, Ratnagiri, we are running an hour and fifteen minutes late. I
pick up some peanuts and some bhajjis from a stall on the platform. Aneesh has
an opinion about the peanuts as well they are not a patch on the ones found in
Tanzania. This conversation soon devolves into one on the flora of Tanzania
and after a point, in an effort to not have to continue the conversation I pretend
to doze off, leaving Anay to continue the chat. Soon, I actually do fall asleep.
The last thing I remember of the conversation seems a bit incongruous; Aneesh
saying something about how abstinence is very difficult.
I wake up around sunset. The scenery has grown wilder the train is within
touching distance of a small range of hills, and we pass a waterfall at close range.
I stand at the door for a while, watching the sun set over the Western Ghats. The
sky turns a brilliant shade of pink, slowly changing to a dark shade of blue as the
sun disappears for the day. Weve made up some time as well, only 45 minutes
late at Mangaon, our next halt. I head back to our cabin, sneezing a few times on
the way. Yes, a cold appears imminent.
I have missed a bizarre conversation during my nap. Soon after I fell asleep, the
topic switched from Tanzanias horticulture to Aneesh himself. He begins to talk
about his numerous woman friends, most of who are significantly younger than
him. He is, after all, fairly old I would estimate him to be in his late fifties or
early sixties. He is fairly proud of his skills with women; especially chatting them
up. This is not arrogance, he assures Anay.
It is not priding, it is confidence!
This isnt the end of the conversation, though. Aneesh is the model of propriety;
he would never take advantage of these young female friends probably the point
where I heard the comment about abstinence.
Even if she strips, I will not touch her! Even if she says take it, I will not take
it!
I wonder how I would have reacted had I been awake. I suspect I would have
been lost for words, a rather rare phenomenon.
34

As the evening turns to night, my cold progressively gets worse. The medicines
and antihistamines Im carrying have no effect on what I suspect is an allergic
reaction to something. The sneezes are gaining frequency, and I decide to turn in
early, hoping it will blow over by morning.
Aneesh hits the nail on the head, as usual.
You are having bad cold
***
The train gets further delayed in the night it appears to have very low priority
north of Mumbai. Aneesh disappears about half an hour before the train is
supposed to reach Maninagar, his stop. Half asleep at that point, I wonder later
how he managed to get his many bags and suitcases out. He must have spent a
long time at the door; the Okha Express is now crawling, being stopped at
practically every signal. It eventually reaches Maninagar, and half an hour of
crawling later, arrives at Ahmedabad over an hour late.
I hop off, looking around. Then I sneeze.
Hey, we never found out how he lost his arm!
***

35

Sick in Ahmedabad
Ahmedabad, like Rameswaram, is a full day stop, but not an overnight stop our
metre gauge train to Udaipur is at 11 the same night. Thus, we are not checking
into a hotel or guesthouse for the day we will leave our bags at the cloakroom
and spend the day exploring the city.
Or at least, that was the plan. After breakfast, we wander around the old city for
an hour. My cold/allergy makes this less than fun it is difficult to concentrate
on anything when youre sneezing every few minutes. I have a slight headache as
well and am soon too tired to continue walking. Since we have no hotel
organised for the day, the simplest refuge is the railway station. I flop down on a
chair in the unreserved waiting room. The sneezing attack and headache are
worsening to the point that even thinking becomes a chore. Out of sheer
desperation, I try to sleep. This is difficult the design of the chairs is hardly
conducive to lying down, and every few minutes, an announcement about an
arriving or departing train is shouted out on the PAS. Somehow amidst this
chaos, I fall asleep Im not really sure how.
We head to a nearby dhaba for lunch. I am not hungry at all and just have a
plate of dal rice. This actually helps a lot; I feel a lot more energetic, though not
energetic enough to explore the city. We head back to the station. The
unreserved waiting room has no toilet, so I head to the reserved waiting room
next door. The official manning the entrance asks to see my ticket.
This is an AC ticket. Go to the AC waiting room at the end of this platform
But Im not well; I really dont want the AC
You cannot use this waiting room. This is for non-AC sleeper class passengers
But my ticket is for a higher class. Why cant I use this waiting room?
Go! Go!
Apparently the luxury of air-conditioning is mandatory here. We sit in the AC
waiting room for a couple of hours, after which it gets a little too cold for my
liking. We relocate to one of the platforms.
Ahmedabad is not the most charming station. It is incredibly dirty though a
massive drive to revamp the station appears underway and the stench of urine
from the tracks is overpowering. I will be quite happy to see the back of this
station.
36

***
At 10 pm, the Udaipur Express is shunted onto platform 11. This is a metre
gauge train much narrower than any of the previous trains weve taken. From
the outside, the train hardly looks charming our Second AC coach is 25 years
old and maroon in colour, with the paint peeling off near the windows. It looks
like a relic from one of the world wars; one that has narrowly escaped being
bombed.
The inside, though, is a different story the coach care depot at Ahmedabad has
taken some care to refurbish and maintain the coach. It is pretty clean and
divided into cabins that can be locked from the inside. The berths are far more
comfortable than those in the last train; the bedding is crisp and clean. At 11 pm,
the train makes a slow departure from Ahmedabad.
We are shifted from our original cabin (D) by the TTE to another cabin (A).
The other occupants of the cabin are a couple of quiet foreigners. I spread out
the bedding and sink into my berth with a sigh of relief this has easily been the
worst day of the trip. Soon, the cabin lights are switched off. Outside, it is pitch
dark, the only source of light being the dim headlights of our engine.
***

37

Luxury in Udaipur
Since the train only gets into Udaipur at 9.20 am, I sleep in late, waking up only at
8. The sleep has done me well; I feel far more refreshed and relaxed this
morning. Anay tells me Ive missed some fantastic scenery. The metre gauge
line from Ahmedabad to Udaipur passes through the Aravalli hills, and earlier
that morning, there were spectacular views of the valleys to be had.
Cursing, I head to the door. The train is trotting along at 30kmph (I suspect that
is the speed limit on this section) through pretty if not especially scenic fields.
After a while, we come to a dead halt in the middle of nowhere for seemingly no
reason, allowing me to hop off and take a few pictures. After a while, were
allowed to proceed. Soon, signs of civilisation begin to appear, until it becomes
obvious weve entered the city of Udaipur. At 9.15 am, five minutes ahead of
schedule, the train arrives at the station.
The auto driver we flag down is desperate to put us up in the city proper no
doubt he gets the highest commission from some hotel there. Having been to
Udaipur earlier, both of us agree that there is no point staying far away from
either of its lakes. We know that the Hanuman Ghat area has a generous amount
of hotels, so tell him to take us there. It appears that hes tied up with a hotel
there as well; soon highly recommending a place called the Wonder View Palace.
I am sceptical of any place with a name like that, but theres no harm in looking.
***
The Wonder View Palace turns out to be a fairly nice hotel just next to Lake
Pichola. On arriving, the canny receptionist first shows me one of the fanciest
rooms in the hotel. It is on the second floor, with huge windows overlooking the
lake. It is AC, has a comfortable double bed as well as a small sit-out on the side.
The bathroom has luxury of luxuries a bathtub!
How much for this?
Two thousand five hundred per night,
My look of horror gets the message across. Since today is a Monday, hardly a day
of the week with high guest traffic, he senses that he might lose a potential
customer.
I can bring it down to two thousand two hundred,
He also shows me some of the cheaper rooms on the floor, none of which
command a view of the lake.
38

I mull over this for a few minutes. Anay has decided to wait downstairs in the
auto, telling me hes fine with whatever choice I make. This is certainly more
than any of our previous lodgings, but could certainly justify the price. We will
also save money later in Delhi as both of us will be staying with friends. There is
no point, I think, in being so stingy that you lose out on a fairly good deal. Oh,
what the hell.
Okay, well take it
***
Anay is initially a bit surprised by my expensive choice, but the room talks for
itself. A relaxing bath does wonders for the mood. My allergy has not totally
disappeared, but is behaving much better. I decide to not do too much today lest
it decide to return with a vengeance. It is important I stay in good health at this
point our next stop will involve several local buses and a lot of walking.
City of Djinns is polished off and I move on to my next book. After a while,
Anay decides to out for a stroll. I decline, and in a fit of laziness order room
service. The food isnt too bad, but definitely is overpriced. Seeing the number
of restaurants in the vicinity, I doubt I will eat here again.
An afternoon siesta sees me feeling much better. In the evening, we decide to
take a ride to the Karni Mata temple. To get there, you take a cable car up the
hill, with excellent views of the city. The plan is to go around sunset, but a slight
delay in departure means that the sun has set long before we reach the bottom of
the ropeway. The drop in temperatures that succeeds the sunset is quite
remarkable there is a sudden chill in the air, a sudden reminder that winter is
approaching.
There isnt too much of a crowd when we go; the cable cars are fairly empty. It is
a ten minute ride up the hill with the twinkling lights of Udaipur visible in the
distance. There is a small restaurant at the top of the hill, with two pathways
leading to the shrine and a higher viewpoint respectively. The Karni Mata temple
itself is not crowded at all. I wonder how many people using the cable cars
actually go to the shrine. In all probability the majority of visitors just want to ride
the cable car and look at Udaipur from the hill admittedly, this majority
includes me.
Dinner is at a restaurant called Millets of Mewar, about five minutes away from
our hotel. It has a rooftop terrace with a few tables. The weather is fairly
pleasant and service is prompt. I order some mushroom noodles.

39

I wake up in the middle of the night with an upset stomach. Evidently I cant
catch a break with the allergies and illnesses.
***
Our train to Jaipur is at 10.20 pm tonight, and as we dont want to spend another
two grand for half a day in the room, we check out twelve hours earlier. The
hotel offers to safeguard our bags for the day. Im feeling quite tired and slightly
dehydrated from the stomach bug and decide to just sit in the lobby of the hotel
after buying some Electral.
I am not really sure how we ended up at a rooftop restaurant for lunch. Not that
a rooftop is a problem in itself, but climbing four flights of stairs can be extremely
daunting when youre down with a bad stomach. I guess neither of us realised
how high up the roof was, and by the time I reach the restaurant, Im absolutely
exhausted. Thankfully the place is almost empty, and the staff let us chill there
for over three hours. In this time, I down an entire bottle of Electral-water mix.
***
At around 5 pm, we head to Udaipurs other lake Fateh Sagar where the plan
is to watch the sunset. There isnt any decent place to sit, and in the absence of
shade, I soon feel too tired to hang around, opting to head back into Udaipur.
We decide to meet again around dinnertime.
Back in Udaipur, I kill time at an internet caf for a while. I also drop off a few
postcards into a post box that looks like it hasnt been opened in the last decade.
Finally, I head to a lakeside restaurant and order a soup (bad). Anay gets back
and we meet for dinner. His evening has been more fruitful than mine after
watching the sunset, he decided to walk back from the lake and found a very
interesting curio shop.
The place where we have dinner has a whole bunch of comfortable diwans, and I
stretch out on one. Finally, we head back to the Wonder View Palace, pick up
our bags, and head to the station.
***
The Khajuraho Express which we will be taking to Jaipur is a popular train for
tourists, and our cabin-mates turn out to be a large group of French travellers also
bound for Jaipur. The train departs on time and is soon speeding out of
Udaipur.
Sanjeev Malik is a rather sloppy looking ticket examiner. His paunch is most
generous, and he lacks the black coat that most TTEs wear. He isnt carrying a
clipboard and his reservation charts are spilling all over the place. When turning
40

over any of the pages of his charts, he sticks his pen in his mouth. I am not sure
whether professional displeasure or amusement is a better approach.
I have the upper berth tonight, settling down and falling asleep quite fast. The
Khajuraho Express is well maintained and enjoys good priority in Rajasthan,
reaching Jaipur a minute ahead of schedule.
It appears that Ive missed another interesting train event while asleep. At some
point in the night, one of the French guys must have rolled over in his sleep,
inadvertently bumping into his music player stored in the berth pouch. This
causes it to start playing what initially appears to be a Frank Sinatra song, before
(rather bizarrely) metamorphosing into a metal version of the same song. This
has the effect of waking up most of the coach except, well, me. The other French
travellers, mortified, wake him up and tell him to turn it off.
***

41

No Ghosts, Just a View

Our initial plan was to take a later train to Jaipur and spend half the day there
before catching the overnight train to Amritsar. Having visited Jaipur before and
not being too enamoured, it just happens to be a pit stop to change trains a bit
like Katpadi (which feels like an eternity earlier) and Ahmedabad. There is no
direct train between Udaipur and Amritsar.
However, a little while after booking, I come across a very interesting place fairly
close to Jaipur the ruined fort of Bhangarh. It is not a particularly well-known
destination, and I suspect not too many of you would have heard of it earlier. It
is, however, quite famous for a very specific reason it is supposedly one of
Indias most haunted places.
So what is the back story behind these ghosts? There are two legends about how
the town was abandoned; you can choose whichever one you prefer. The first
story goes that the place was initially inhabited only by a sorcerer. When the
royal family of the existing dynasty wanted to build a town in the area, the
sorcerer allowed its construction with a caveat should the shadows of any of its
buildings or palaces touch his dwelling, the town would cease to exist. At a later
point in time, an ignorant descendant of the family did just that raised the height
of the palace to the extent that the sorcerers dwelling was covered in shadow. It
appears he wasnt bluffing when he said he would curse the town, and it was soon
destroyed and abandoned.
The second story is slightly more predictable, and goes like this: a tantric lusted
for one of the princesses living in the palace. He was aware that there was no
chance whatsoever that he would be able to get her to love him voluntarily, so he
cast a spell on some massage oil of the princess. Somehow the legend doesnt
elaborate on this part the princess saw him enchanting the oil, and threw it at a
stone. This caused the stone to roll down the hill, eventually crushing the wicked
tantric. His dying words were a death curse upon the entire town with no chance
of rebirth. A year later, there was a war between two opposing dynasties during
which Bhangarh was sacked.
There are reports of lights in Bhangarhs fort when nobody should be there, not
to mention tales that the (now ruined) marketplace comes to life at night. The
Archaeological Survey of India had initially put up a rather odd sign at the
entrance to the area:
ENTERING THE BORDERS OF BHANGARH BEFORE SUNRISE AND
AFTER SUNSET IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED
42

This was not the smartest thing to do, since this caused many people to believe
that even the government had acknowledged the existence of the paranormal in
Bhangarh. The number of thrill-seekers visiting the area after sunset increased
exponentially. It is also said that none of these thrill-seekers ever returned, a la
Bermuda Triangle. How true these rumours are, Im not really sure I dont
know anybody who either went there after dark and survived to tell the tale (or,
conversely, disappeared without trace). We arent visiting to challenge
Bhangarhs ghostliness, especially since our train to Amritsar is from Jaipur at 8
pm the same night.
Finding out how to get to Bhangarh was rather a challenge, requiring a fair
amount of my public transport skills. Most accounts of Bhangarh online are by
people who drove there, so directions to the fort simply told me which roads
would take me there, with no mention of whether local buses headed there as
well. The Rajasthan State Road Transport Corporation website refused to
acknowledge the existence of Bhangarh at all.
This forced me to break the route down into two parts Jaipur to the closest
major town to Bhangarh, followed by an investigation into whether there were
local buses from this town to Bhangarh.
This town turned out to be a place called Dausa, about 60 km from Jaipur. A
road from Dausa headed northward to Bhangarh, and on investigating further on
Google Maps, I found that there was a village called Gola Ka Bas fairly close to
the fort. The RSRTC website admitted that Gola Ka Bas existed, but insisted
that it operated no bus on the route. Wondering if the only way to get to
Bhangarh was to take a taxi or auto from Dausa, I finally realised what I was
doing wrong I was searching for reserved buses between the two places. On
searching for unreserved buses between Dausa and Gola Ka Bas, I received the
heartening news that there was a bus every half hour or so (it also says there was
only one bus back, but I make the fairly rational assumption that a bus going to
Gola Ka Bas must come back from it, unless the ghosts of Bhangarh devour them
all).
The planning aspect of the Bhangarh leg of our trip was complete, but there was a
good chance the Bhangarh visit would be cancelled if I didnt feel well enough,
a very hectic day would make life miserable for me. Thankfully, I have been very
careful with my stomach on the second day in Udaipur, and the frequent
hydration has done me well. I finally certify myself fit to make the trip.
Reaching Jaipur at 6 am by the Khajuraho Express, we encounter our first
roadblock the lady at the cloakroom refused to accept Anays backpack on the
grounds that it wasnt locked. Cloakroom rules clearly stipulated that only locked
luggage can be accepted for safekeeping. My backpack has a set of zippers that
43

open/close it, and a small combination lock is enough to satisfy most cloakroom
staff. Anays backpack, on the other hand, opens/closes from the top by means
of a drawstring a bit like a pyjama. It is impossible to lock this, and Anay has
attempted to allay the suspicions of cloakroom staff by tying the backpack with a
long chain and a fat lock. The cloakroom lady is undeceived.
A big lock means nothing; anybody can open this bag. Either you lock it
properly, or take your bag with you,
With no option, Anay elects to carry his backpack for the day. This is going to be
quite tiring; we have a lot of walking to do.
Reaching the bus stop early enough and enquiring about the next bus to Dausa,
we are beckoned into a waiting bus by a conductor. It leaves pretty soon and isnt
crowded. The weather is nice and the roads are in excellent condition. This is
going suspiciously well, and the good run is soon broken when we realise the
conductor has misunderstood our destination. Twenty minutes after leaving the
bus stand, we find out the bus is actually bound for Kota. We are forced to hop
off the bus, backtrack to a previous bus station, and catch another bus that is
actually bound for Dausa this time. We are still reasonably early; it isnt even 8
am.
The road to Dausa is in great condition, and even the rickety old bus manages to
cover the 60 km stretch in an hour. A short tea stop later, we transfer to another
bus stand in the town from where the buses to Gola Ka Bas (which most people
pronounce Golabaaz) depart. It isnt much trouble finding one, though the bus
takes forever to leave. We are now well and truly off the usual tourist beat, in a
heavily turbanned bus heading down a narrow road.
We reach Gola Ka Bas and ask for directions to Bhangarh fort. There are a few
seconds of anxiety; what if my calculations (and Google Maps) are all wrong, and
theres no such place nearby? Thankfully, this isnt the case; Bhangarh is a three
kilometre walk away.
The entrance to the area of Bhangarh has the usual signs from the Archaeological
Survey the place should not be defaced or damaged in any way. The sign
strictly prohibiting entry to the area after sunset has been replaced with a far
tamer one that simply states visiting hours are from sunrise to sunset.
Passing through the entrance, the first sight is a small shrine on the right. It
appears to be still in use; signs of habitation and recent worship are evident.
Ahead of us is a massive complex of ruined buildings and walls. Most walls are
waist high I suspect they were higher and have either been demolished or just
subject to the vagaries of nature for several centuries. It is quite an interesting
44

sight, reminding me of several explorer video games. A few buildings have

managed to withstand the destruction; some are two stories high. There arent
too many people around apart from the security at the entrance, there are a few
goatherds and several cows lurking around in the shade.
Moving in further, we encounter yet another temple this in the middle of a large
garden. I have to say, the place seems very pleasant and is quite peaceful.
Internet accounts of Bhangarh say that many visitors report a queasy feeling, but
my ghost radar is extremely silent this afternoon. There is a large troupe of
rhesus monkeys frolicking around the garden. They are fairly well behaved
though and dont bother us in the least bit.
At the end of the complex, in the backdrop of a cluster of hills, lies the Bhangarh
fort-palace. It looks quite grim even in the middle of the afternoon. If this was a
movie, this would be the part where they play dark, suspenseful music.
The fort is quite big and spans several stories. A few raucous tourists have
entered the complex. I can hear them emitting ear-splitting whoops, probably
trying to emphasise their manliness. This would be a good time for the ghosts of
Bhangarh to swoop down upon them and shut them up, but it appears the ghosts
are strictly nocturnal. We ascend further, using the forts narrow staircases. On
reaching the top, we realise the fort is on the hillock to the some extent it is
definitely on a raised platform. The view from the top is magnificent; miles and
miles of green countryside with very few buildings to interrupt the view. I can see
how it would be difficult to attack the area without being spotted, though if you
believe the account of the tantric and the princess, this is exactly what happened.
We get a good view of the complex as well the idiotic tourists are now taking
thousands of selfies on the lawn.
***
The journey back is fairly uneventful we get a bus to Dausa without too much
trouble, and the onward connection to Jaipur is also hassle-free. We have a few
hours to kill and head to one of Jaipurs bazaars, picking up a few trinkets for
friends and family back home. After walking around for a bit after that, we have
an early dinner at a small caf before catching an auto to the station. I recover my
bag from the cloakroom, and we wait on the platform for the train to arrive. It is
Anays turn to feel unwell the tiring day definitely aggravating whatever it is he
has.
***
The Ajmer Amritsar Express arrives ten minutes early. I dont have very high
expectations from this train, and am quite surprised to find the coaches new and
extremely well-maintained. The reservation system has somehow managed to
45

split up almost every group travelling in our coach, and there is a fair amount of
confusion in the aisles with several seat-shifting requests being made. This
happens to us as well, but as the seats weve been asked to relocate to are better
than the ones we initially had, this is hardly a problem. We are travelling Third
AC this time, and after the last three Second AC journeys, the class feels
positively cramped. We depart punctually, and in little time the short train is
speeding through Rajasthan on its way to Punjab. Just before I fall asleep, the
train pulls into a small station for a scheduled halt. I peer out. It is a familiar
sight; we are at Dausa.
***
I wake up at 6.30 am to find the train pulling out of Dhuri. We are now in
Punjab - the tenth state we are passing through or visiting on the trip. It appears
to be quite a foggy morning, but not foggy enough to deter our drivers we are
trotting along at a respectable clip of around 80kmph. I go back to sleep.
I wake up again to find the train pulling into Ludhiana. This is supposed to be a
twenty minute stop, but drags on for well past the scheduled time. A whole host
of vendors are passing through the coach hawking breakfast. Just when I decide
to actually buy something an hour into the halt the train starts moving.
Eventually we reach Amritsar 52 minutes behind schedule.
***

46

Of Temples and Jingoism

It takes a little while to find a decent (but not awfully expensive) place to stay in
Amritsar. The place we finally find isnt too far away from the station and is fairly
close to the Jallianwala Bagh and Golden Temple as well.
We spend most of the morning relaxing, especially since Anay isnt feeling too
great. In the evening he perks up and we head to the Jallianwala Bagh.
***
The Jallianwala Bagh is a garden in the heart of Amritsar and is famous for all the
wrong reasons. In 1919, when India was still under British rule, a group of nonviolent protestors were at the garden, despite the fact that the British had called a
curfew. It was the thirteenth of April; the time of the festival of Baisakhi.
The Jallianwala Bagh has a few entrances; most are narrow; many were kept
permanently locked at the time, and a high wall deters any other way of entering
or exiting. On hearing that the curfew was being defied, the British BrigadierGeneral Reginald Dyer decided to teach the protestors or, for that matter, the
whole of India a lesson. Surrounding all usable entrances to the garden, he
ordered his army to open fire on the protestors firing to kill. In the melee,
several protestors threw themselves into a well located in the Bagh to avoid being
shot, killing themselves anyway. It is estimated that over a thousand people died
in the massacre, which was brilliantly portrayed in the movie Gandhi. As such, I
was quite excited to finally visit the garden and see for myself first-hand how this
happened.
The Jallianwala Bagh, however, is a big disappointment. Some idiot in the tourist
department had at some point decided to beautify the place, and when we walk
in, we are greeted by what appears to be a park. Manicured lawns, paved paths
with steel railings, and to top it off, a memorial for the deceased in the centre
that looks well, phallic. While the bullet marks on some walls were still
preserved (and highlighted), the revamp of the Bagh makes it hard to picture the
scene as it happened. Even the well has been carefully meshed up; you can
hardly see the inside of it.
On the plus side, the Harmandir Sahib (better known to most people as the
Golden Temple) one the holiest sites for the Sikh community is less than a
two minute walk away. We appear to have gone at the perfect time it is twilight;
a deliciously cool evening, and the evening prayers are being sung.
I think what particularly strikes me is the degree of organisation and efficiency of
the temple. There are several counters for safely storing shoes, ensuring that
47

nobody has to wait for long in the queue. A standing rule is that your head must
be covered when youre inside the Golden Temple, and to ensure that nobody is
disadvantaged by this, you can also pick up a bandana to cover your head at the
counter free of charge. The entrances to the temple are wide we enter through
the northeastern gate and in spite of the large number of people streaming in, it
doesnt feel crowded at all.
At the centre of the structure is the Hari Mandir or divine temple; the gold-plated
building that usually comes to mind when visualising the Golden Temple. One
might think the gold plating would make it look gaudy, but it actually looks quite
elegant and regal. The Hari Mandir is surrounded on three sides by a pool of
sacred water known as the Amrit Sarovar (pool of nectar). There is a bridge on
the northwestern quadrant that allows pilgrims to cross over into the Mandir.
The area around this pool is paved with marble, and this is where we sit for a
while, just looking at the Mandir. People are walking around; people are sitting;
people are touching the holy water; people are joining in the prayers the
atmosphere feels very spiritual. It helps that (barring the Hari Mandir), it is openair, not feeling claustrophobic at all.
Hefty Sikh guards are walking around with spears, so you probably wouldnt want
to try anything too smart.
After about half an hour of soaking in the atmosphere, we decide to head inside
the Hari Mandir itself. This being a Sikh temple, there are no restrictions on
people of other faiths entering.
The lines to enter the Mandir are longer, but the way the queues are being
managed is quite efficient. There is no pushing and shoving and guards closely
monitor the inflow into the divine temple. The inside is slightly crowded as its
enclosed, but the crowd is moving forward at a steady pace and theres still no
pushing and shoving. We get to see the prayers being sung out in relative peace
by heading up to a quieter balcony on the second floor.
After spending close to two hours at the Golden Temple, we finally head out.
Before heading back, we decide to eat at the langar (free kitchen) next door.
The degree of efficiency is yet again extremely impressive. The langar
consists of several rows of mats inside a large hall. Once all places are filled up,
the doors are closed until the group inside has finished eating.
The first volunteer distributes plates and tumblers. He is quickly followed by
another volunteer handing out rotis. Another volunteer distributes some sort of
sweet rice (the exact name of which I cant recall) along with black dal. The last
volunteer wheels around an interesting contraption it resembles a large steel
cylinder. A nozzle protrudes from its left side. He stops his machine in front of
48

each diner. A quick press of a level causes water to flow out of the nozzle straight
into our empty tumblers, simplifying a process that might otherwise have resulted
in a lot of water slopping around the canteen. In twenty five minutes the entire
group of diners is finished and we head out through a different exit, leaving our
plates to be washed by a massive group of volunteers.
We catch a cycle rickshaw to the main road, switching to a share auto to take us
back to our hotel. Sleep comes easily.
***
There is no major plan for the next morning so we just sleep in. A little later, I
venture out to the local market in search of a set of handkerchiefs the previous
allergies rendering them unusable far faster than I can get them washed. This is
easier said than done; nobody seems to sell them. I keep getting directing to an
old lady who sells them further down the market, finally finding a small set at a
different roadside stall. The number of gun shops in Amritsar is surprisingly
high. Most disturbingly, a gun shop and a liquor stall sit cheek by jowl just a two
minute walk from the hotel. I wonder what the logical progression is here get
drunk and buy guns, or buy a gun to threaten the liquor store owner?
***
In the evening we charter an auto to take us to the Wagah Border one of the
most popular overland border crossings between India and Pakistan about 30
kilometres away from the city. The closing ceremony at the Wagah Border every
evening is a big tourist draw, and wed be foolish to miss it, especially since were
already in Amritsar. The roads to the border are well maintained and the auto
makes good progress. The auto drops us two kilometres prior to the border
vehicles cannot get closer to the spectacle than this following which we walk.
Even though we are an hour early, a large crowd has already gathered and is
purposefully heading towards the border. There are separate lines for men,
women and foreigners probably a good thing, as such large crowds are the
perfect hideout for anybody whod want to grope or molest women tourists.
Everybody is patted down by an army staffer. Another army man suspiciously
passes a handheld metal detector over them as well. A terrorist attack here would
be bad news.
After passing through these checks, we reach the border itself. The road
proceeds unhindered into Pakistan. Two large sets of gates Indian and
Pakistani respectively hinder the progress of anybody who decides to walk
across into Pakistan and vice-versa. There are two sets of stands concave to the
gates one on the Pakistani side and the other on the Indian side.
49

I cant see too much of the Pakistani stands they are painted white and green,
and there are a handful of people milling around on that side. A few Pakistani
flags are waving, albeit weakly.
The Indian side, on the other hand, is well, a party. The stands are divided into
a VIP stand, a stand for foreigners and a stand for women. We enjoy no such
positive discrimination the general stand is right at the end and already pretty
full. We somehow manage to find place. There are loudspeakers blaring
Bollywood music and the women in their segregated stand are enjoying
themselves gyrating to the beats. Flags are waving and the general aim appears to
be to outshout the Pakistani crowd on the other side of the gate. This is not
particularly difficult considering just how much more populous the Indian crowd
is.
A man (possibly from the army?) is in charge of ensuring the Indian brigade wins
the shouting war against the Pakistanis. Every now and then he pops up, fully
clad in white, to enthuse the crowd. First he invites everybody to do a wave
(successfully). After a while, he begins to shout patriotic slogans into his mike.
Hindustan! shouts he.
ZINDABAD! roars the crowd, triumphantly glancing at Pakistan.
Bharat Mata ki... shouts he.
JAI! finishes the crowd.
You get the drift. However, I see something that reminds me it isnt all fun and
games. On a pair of turrets just behind the stands, a pair of armed guards stands
watch. There are no smiles here; their faces impassively scan the crowd and the
vicinity. Should anybody try anything a bit too smart, there will be trouble.
***
The songs continue, and the sun begins to set. Finally, its time for the closing
ceremony.
What is this closing ceremony, you might ask. Youve brought me all the way to
the Wagah Border with no explanation why, you might add.
My apologies. Well, the ceremony at the end of each day signifies the closing of
the border for that particular day. At the end of each days business, the Indian
Border Security Force closes the Indian gates of the Wagah Border, along with
their Pakistani counterparts on the other side. Naturally, with crowds on both
50

sides watching, both sides try their best to outdo each other in their marching,
and it is an interesting spectacle, if nothing else. Todays event is pretty much
along the same lines, though the general stand isnt the best place to view it from.
I watch as two Border Security Force rangers march up to the gate, trying to
outstare the two Pakistani Rangers on the other side. The marching is really quite
theatrical; it reminds me vaguely of a couple of male peacocks dancing to catch
the attention of a potential mate.
The process is repeated around five or six times, followed by a dramatic closing
of the gates. Heading out, I look back once to see the sun disappear behind the
Pakistani stands. Just over a week ago, I watched the sunrise as far south as I
could have gone by train. Today, Im almost at the other end of the country.
Surreal.
***
Back at the hotel, I finally get back some clothes Ive given for laundry. Our train
to Delhi is fairly early the next morning, and visualising myself managing with two
shirts and a pair of jeans for the rest of the trip is not very exciting. I fall asleep
very easily tonight as well.
***
The station is very close to our hotel, so after checking out, it is a simple matter of
flagging down a cycle rickshaw. It is a slightly chilly morning in Amritsar. The
ride to the station takes ten minutes, and when we reach, we get some chai from a
neighbouring chai stall. We get the rickshaw puller a cup of chai as well and give
him double the amount quoted (still cheap!), hopefully his morning started off on
a good note.
The Paschim Express is berthed on platform 1 and it is a short walk to our coach
(Second AC again). The train departs punctually at 8.10 am, and I soon head to
the upper berth to read the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Soon, the rocking
motion of the train and the coachs pleasant temperatures lull me to sleep. I
wake up a few hours later and get back to the book. All in all, it is a fairly relaxed
morning.
The entry into Delhi is marked by an exponential increase in the amount of
garbage. I notice that theres more garbage around the railway line 60 km before
Delhi, and watch, fascinated, as the amount of waste increases, until it appears
that the entire embankment is made of garbage. While the areas surrounding
railway lines in Indian cities are hardly the most pristine, Delhi really takes the
cake. How much garbage can there be? We finally pull into Delhi at 4.33 pm, 8
minutes behind schedule.

51

The Capital
Anay and I both have friends in Delhi, and have different plans for our stay in the
capital. We take the uber-efficient metro to Hauz Khas and then part ways. Im
staying with Nandan, an old college friend. His barasati is in a fairly quiet (it isnt
Diwali yet) part of South Delhi. In a nice coincidence, another college friend,
Parth, also happens to be in Delhi on work, and we meet up in Connaught Place
in the evening, proceeding to the Max Mueller Bhavan to watch a German movie
being screened that night. The movie gets a little too predictable towards the end,
but is a decent enough two hours. Parth is also spending the night, though he has
to head off to work and thence to Mumbai early the next day.
***
Nandan and I spend a good portion of the next day loafing around Delhi, the
metro making this much easier. We visit the Dilli Haat, a crafts market and food
plaza. Todays cultural event is a Hungarian folk performance which is pretty
interesting. Continuing with the Hungarian theme, a food stall is selling a few
Hungarian dishes, but the small range of items available and the fairly high price
cause me to order a plate of momos from the Sikkimese stall instead. There are
many small toys and trinkets for sale I buy a few things.
After this, we go to Old Delhi for a stroll. The crowds and narrow lanes arent as
bad as theyre made out to be, though Im rather disappointed not to find any
interesting shops around. On the way back we stop at the Metro Rail Museum
(has potential). In no time it is night, and my stop at Delhi is for all practical
purposes over, as Anay and I are to catch a very early train to Agra the next
morning.
***
I have a bit of a taxi adventure early in the morning. The train to Agra is at 6, and
not willing to depend on autos at 5 am, I order a taxi. At 4.40, I get a call from
the driver saying hes at the Krishna Mandir, a popular landmark in the area.
I walk down the dark, deserted road to the Krishna Mandir to find the taxi
waiting there. I get in and settle down. Before starting, the driver suddenly asks,
Airport, na?
Nahi, Railway Station
He looks surprised, stares at his screen, and then asks me for my name and
phone number. Soon it becomes obvious that Im in the wrong cab a strange
coincidence, considering that its from the same company, in the same (not very
crowded) area at this ungodly hour of the morning.
52

No issues, I can see another cab from the same company slowing down in front
of the Mandir. I get in and verify that it is indeed booked for the station. This
driver asks me for my name as well, and on telling it him I spy a similar look of
confusion on his face. Yet again, I have boarded the wrong taxi.
I now notice a third taxi parked a short distance ahead. Thankfully, this turns out
to be the right one, and I am finally on my way to New Delhi Railway Station. A
little weird that so many taxis were congregating in the area at 5 am, but as I got to
the station with plenty of time to spare, it wasnt too bad an adventure.
***
The sleek Bhopal Shatabdi the train that we are taking is berthed on platform
1. After a considerable amount of trouble in Bangalore, I had managed to
purchase an upgrade to Executive Class on this train for the journey as part of my
aim to travel by as many classes as possible. I head to our coach and settle down
on my seat after shooing away a couple of foreigners whove mistakenly settled
down there. Anay arrives a few minutes later.
The Bhopal Shatabdi is one of Indias fastest trains, and runs with newer
German-design coaches. It gets the highest priority on the line and takes just 2
hours for the 195 km journey to Agra, very fast by Indian Railway standards. I
have a massive window to look out from; a window that doesnt have the stupid
tinting most AC coach windows have.
We pull out punctually at 6 am. An attendant distributes newspapers, followed
by a bottle of mineral water. Soon, we are offered a choice of tea or coffee. All
this while, the train has been gaining speed through Delhis suburbs. My GPS
turns on and says the train is doing 150 kmph, but the ride is so smooth that
youd hardly believe it. At almost every station I can see other trains that have
been ingloriously pushed aside to allow us to breeze through at a speed of two
and a half kilometres per minute.
Breakfast is fairly generous cornflakes and milk, two slices of brown bread with
butter and jam, a tasty masala omelette (veg cutlets for vegetarians), a banana and
more tea/coffee. At the end of breakfast, Im at peace with the world. The
attendant comes around, asking if everything is okay. I know its because hell ask
for tips later on, but its still a nice gesture he gets his tip in the end.
We have a very short halt in Agra just three hours between this train arriving
and our next train to Jhansi (for Orchha) leaving, and it is fairly important that the
Bhopal Shatabdi runs on time. It doesnt disappoint, dropping us at Agra
Cantonment three minutes ahead of schedule.
***
53

Yes, Ive seen the Taj

When a foreigner visits India, the Taj Mahal more often than not is a must-see.
After all, what is the point of visiting India and travelling around the country
without seeing it?
For many Indians, though, the Taj isnt as big a priority. After all, it isnt going
anywhere, and makes for an easy daytrip from Delhi. So far, neither of us had
seen the Taj, but when planning this trip out, I figured that a stop at Agra on the
way down to Orchha would be well worth the effort. Most of the reviews Id read
about the city suggested that the Taj and possibly the Agra Fort apart it made
little sense to spend too much time there, and with this in mind scheduled a
surgical strike of the Taj reach Agra at 8 am, spend an hour or two at the Taj,
get back to the station, and catch the train for Jhansi and Orchha.
We have to wait for about fifteen minutes before the cloakroom opens, and after
depositing our bags, head out to the auto stand, shaking off an auto driver who is
desperate to charge us a hundred rupees for a trip to the Taj. I have no idea what
the correct fare is, but Im pretty sure its far less. Im soon proven right when
another auto agrees to take us there for Rs 50. The first autodrivers last attempt
to get us to take his auto is a hissed he is commission agent to us as we get into
the other auto. This is rather ironic, considering that were paying the new guy
half the price. The Taj is ten kilometres away from the station, and fifty rupees
seems quite a good bargain.
We reach the compound and start to head in after paying the entry fees (Indians
Rs 20, Foreigners Rs 750). I head in without hassle, before hearing a slight
commotion behind me. Apparently Anay had a flower sticking out of his carryon bag. Some security guard, displeased by this, decided to confiscate it. Anay
has been deflowered for the second time on his trip again, all too literally. Im
highly amused, especially as nobody seems to be bothered by the Swiss army
knife Im carrying in my sling bag.
***
The Taj is well, the Taj. I will not spend too much time trying to describe it;
there are more than enough pictures that do just that. It does feel odd to actually
be visiting a place youve seen so many times in postcards. The Taj is incredibly
popular - it is 9 am on a Monday morning and the place is already beginning to
look crowded. We spend an hour and a half there before heading back the
visit has worked out fairly well and hasnt felt too rushed.

54

Was the Taj the highlight of the trip? I wouldnt say that. Its possible the hype
around it created expectations of it that could never be fulfilled. It is a beautiful
monument though, and Id love to visit it on a full moon night.
***
After the efficiency of the mornings Shatabdi from Delhi to Agra, the next train
would always seem slow, and it doesnt help that train Ive chosen to Jhansi the
Khajuraho Express is a very low priority train on the route. We are travelling
Non-AC Sleeper Class this time, and I lose count of the number of times our
train is sidelined at a nondescript station to allow a cooler train to overtake us.
Eventually, the train which left Agra 20 minutes late reaches Jhansi almost 2
hours behind schedule.
***

55

Orchha
Orchha is the last stop of our massive trip. It is a small town about 20 kilometres
west of Jhansi, its claim to fame being that it was the capital of the Bundela
dynasty. Located next to the river Betwa and in the middle of fairly thick jungle,
its environs are fairly scenic.
Too lazy to search for a bus bound for Orchha, we charter an auto from Jhansi
railway station to Orchha. The ride takes around 45 minutes and we reach the
town at around 5 pm. Finding a guesthouse isnt very tough, and after freshening
up, we head to a rooftop restaurant with a view of the palace. As evening
descends into dusk, we relax, tired after all the travelling of the day. After dinner
which is surprisingly good we head back to the guesthouse and hit the sack.
***
We have two full days in Orchha. While planning the trip, I figured (correctly)
that wed be pretty tired by this stage of the trip, and a relaxed stay at Orchha
would allow us to see the place properly. Here I am wrong; we laze around the
whole of the next morning before heading out for lunch. The restaurants in
Orchha remind me of some in Hampi; churning out cute indigenised variants of
foreign dishes, some interesting in their own right, some disastrous.
In the afternoon, we spend a good two hours relaxing in the fort. While there is a
steady stream of tourists mostly foreigners dropping in on their way to
Khajuraho the fort is still fairly empty. There are several small balconies that
open out onto the forests of the Bundelkhand region. An inviting cool breeze
tempts me to sit down and gaze into the horizon for a fair amount of time.
In the evening, we head to the palace, followed by a visit to the market to pick up
stuff for the folks at home. Fairly successful in this endeavour, we head for the
sound and light show, held in one of the lawns of the fort complex. It is a slightly
cold evening and the sound and light show has a grand audience of four people
including the both of us. It turns out to be surprisingly well done far better than
several Ive seen in Rajasthan and is a good crash course on the history of
Orchha, and the dynasty that made the town its capital. We learn of courtroom
intrigues, of massive battles fought between the Bundelas and other powers in the
region, of tales of gossip and courtroom intrigues, of prayer and dance, of doubt
and infidelity, of courage and valour. Sitting in the darkened fort with lights
flashing dramatically, the narration is quite powerful. It is also the best way to
quickly learn a little more about the place were in.

56

After the show, a dinner with a view of the fort, followed by sleep. This is the last
night of the trip that well be spending in a guesthouse; tomorrow, we catch our
last train of the trip the long southward journey back to Bangalore.
***
The next morning is spent doing well, nothing. There are plenty of interesting
things to do in the immediate vicinity of Orchha, but the effects of hectic travel
for over two weeks are beginning to show we are perfectly content sitting in our
room and watching predictable episodes of Castle on TV. We check out early
and have a heavy lunch. After this, we hire an auto to take us back to Jhansi,
from where we catch the Sampark Kranti Express back to Bangalore.
Jhansi easily accounts for the worst cases of honking Ive seen in India. As
vehicles clog up the narrow roads somewhere in the city, the only thing drivers
seem to do is incessantly blare the horn. Sitting in an auto with six cars honking
at you from all sides is an experience I dont particularly care to repeat.
We reach the station at 2 pm with an hour to spare. Soon enough, the train is
announced on platform 3 and a few minutes later it pulls in, running ten minutes
behind schedule. Were almost done with our trip I say almost as the journey
back home is the longest of the trip at 39 hours.
***

57

Take the Long Way Home

The Sampark Kranti Express the last train of our trip takes a rather circuitous
route to get to Bangalore. Starting from Delhi, it proceeds south to Jhansi (where
we catch it). It then continues southward to Bhopal and Itarsi before heading
southwest all the way to Pune. After Pune, it corrects course, heading southeast
through several important towns of North Karnataka (Belgaum, Hubli,
Davanagere) before reaching Bangalore. On a map, this route resembles an
inverted question mark without the dot, of course.
So why did I choose this train, especially when there are several alternatives that
are much faster? Firstly, most of the faster trains pass through Jhansi in the
middle of the night, and if left with an option, I avoid getting on a train in the
middle of the night there is invariably somebody sleeping on your berth and
waking them up and making them move can be a long, annoying process.
Secondly, the roundabout route had the advantage of avoiding Andhra Pradesh
if a major row erupts over the division of the state of Andhra Pradesh into
Telangana and Seemandhra, its likely that trains passing through it would be
halted (and consequently heavily delayed).
All in all, the Sampark Kranti Express seems to be a good choice. I reserve
berths as soon as bookings open. For some reason, the reservation system
doesnt place us together we get berth 16 (an upper) and berth 19 (a lower berth
in the next bay). Berth 19 is an excellent berth to get it is a sort of coupe of
just two berths, almost as good as First AC for the price of Second AC. It is a pity
we dont have berth 20, but it shouldnt be too difficult to get the person in 20 to
shift to berth 16.
Or is it? As we reach berth 19, we find both berths occupied by a fairly young I
would assume mid to late twenties couple. The guy tells us they have berth 14
and 20 and suggests we swap our berth (19) for his (14). He is not particularly
polite about it, assuming that well oblige, being slightly younger.
This is not a particularly good exchange for us we will have two upper berths
and no windows. The lower berths below the berths they want us to switch to are
occupied by two senior citizens that look like they plan to sleep all the way to
Bangalore. My desire to remain confined to an upper berth for 39 hours is
minimal.
I stare at my ticket. It isnt helpful it just tells me I do have berths 16 and 19 in
the coach.
The woman, noticing that we havent moved away yet, adds, Its only a request
58

She smiles complacently.

The smiles vanish when I reject their request.
I tell them Im not exchanging a lower berth (and consequently, a window seat)
for an upper berth. I went to the reservation office at 6.30 on a rainy morning
two months ago specifically so that I could get at least one lower berth and
window for the 39 hour journey, and Im not going to be particularly altruistic to
an obnoxious couple that appear to have no disability that prevents them from
using their upper berths.
They storm off, the guy muttering something that I suspect is an unflattering
remark directed at my lineage. The effect of their storming off is diluted when
they realise theyve forgotten some of their belongings they have to come back
and request for it.
Phew, that left a bad taste in the mouth. The upshot, though, is that we have a
pleasant two-person coupe for the long journey back home.
While all this was happening, the train has been industriously making its way
towards Bhopal, its next halt. The scenery isnt particularly engrossing and I
stretch out with the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Following a now
predictable routine, the rocking of the train and the AC soon lull me to sleep.
***
I wake up to find its already dark. The train is crawling and were at the outskirts
of Bhopal. We pull in for an extended halt, during which I pick up dinner from
a platform vendor I think it was a terrible plate of idli-vada and a couple of
bananas.
Soon, the train is making good progress through the mountains of Central India
and after making equally good progress through the Hitchhikers Guide to the
Galaxy, I fall asleep.
***
The morning sees us in Maharashtra. At a quarter past nine, we pull into the
town of Daund. The train reverses direction here, which means that the engine
has to be uncoupled from the front of the train, run around to the other end and
coupled to the train again. Were going to be here for at least 25 minutes.
Daund is strangely enough known for biryani, and there are stalls located
roughly every 20 metres down the platform vending precisely that. I buy a packet
of chicken biryani. Further down the platform, a man is frying omelettes. I get a
masala omelette straight off the frying pan. Delicious! The biryani isnt
59

particularly great, but its definitely better than anything we would have got from
the trains pantry.
I have plenty of time to pick up more food and some cold drink for the rest of
the journey. I then join the gaggle of curious onlookers watching the engine being
recoupled to the train. Soon, were off, cruising through the undulating fields of
Maharashtra.
***
We reach Pune about an hour later, and as the train has another change of
direction here, I hop off and walk out of the station. There is rather tragically
nothing thrilling to see just outside the station, and I head back in.
A sign catches my eye:
Why visit London???
This is followed by:
Visit SUNILS CELEBRITY WAX MUSEUM, Lonavala
Im sceptical whether this is a perfect substitute for London, but anyway.
At 11.20 am, the train departs Pune on time.
***
Shortly after Pune, we enter the hills. As the train huffs its way up the ghats, I get
to see just how barren the countryside is it is flat, stretching for miles,
surprisingly starved of greenery. I stand at the door for close to half an hour,
watching the world roll by down below. Soon enough, we exit the hills; the train
begins to gather speed, and I return to my book.
***
Shortly after 1 pm, the train comes to a halt. I peer out we are at a very small
station called Lonand. Since the line from Pune to Bangalore is mostly single
that is to say, theres only one track I assume were waiting for another train to
pass in the opposite direction. After about twenty minutes of waiting, I get slightly
annoyed, wondering why the Sampark Kranti Express arguably the most
important train on the line at the moment is being detained for so long.
Forty five minutes after we reach, I decide to find out exactly whats going on.
Making the long walk to the engine, I reach just to find the main driver getting out
and walking into the station masters room. Confident in the knowledge that the
60

train cannot leave without a driver, I follow the driver (Whom I mentally christen
Balu) and ask him what the problem is.
Another train derailed further up. Koyna Express, he says, jovially.
How long do you think well be waiting here?
Dont really know. They have to repair the tracks ahead. Single line, no? So at
least two hours, he replies.
I head back to our coach to apprise Anay of this new development. We decide
to make the most of the delay. Getting off the train, we head into the town to
have lunch. Lonand is a fairly small town and appear to be concentrated around
its bus stand and train station both less than 500 metres away.
We have a thali at a small restaurant down the road. On our way back to the
station, we stop to buy some junk food. We picnic on the platform.
***
Two hours goes by with no sign of progress. A little later, a repair train heads
through the station, honking impatiently. The station authorities arent very
helpful nobody seems to know exactly whats going on.
***
As afternoon blends into evening, a thriving economy emerges at the station.
Almost every passenger has decided to wait on the platform, and several vendors
are taking advantage of this, selling chaats, nuts, cucumber and juice to frustrated
passengers. The platform is pretty lively at one end, I can see a group of
passengers playing football the football being improvised out of a small bottle.
Children are running around; the parents keeping a close watch on them. Several
other passengers like us are strolling up and down the platform.
A large crowd of people has gathered around the engine. Balu, far less jovial than
earlier, is being harangued with questions. No, he has no idea when the train will
be allowed to depart all he does is obey the signals, all of which are red at the
moment. Unfortunately for him, for every passenger that understands his
explanation and walks off, there are at least two new passengers coming forward
to ask him precisely the same questions. After a point he gives up and stares
resolutely at the signals, ignoring the growing crowd outside his window.
Something needs to be done here the station authorities are doing a very bad
job of it. Once the sun goes down, the irate crowd, starved of information, is
quite capable of venting their frustrations on the train or the station this has
happened before.
61

At 6 pm there is a loud honk and another train slowly pulls into the station to a
rousing cheer from the passengers of our train. This is the Koyna Express which
derailed, causing our train to get held up here. The derailment has been minor
nobody has been killed or injured. A few minutes later, it departs for Mumbai,
running hopelessly late. Everybody gets back into our train, expecting us to
depart now, but this is a false alarm we are detained for a further twenty minutes
to allow yet another train to pass by in the opposite direction. Had we been
made to wait further, Im pretty sure somebody in the restive crowd would have
turned violent, but hardly has the other train passed when all the signals turn
green and Balu, impatient to be off, beats a trumpet on the horn. After a six hour
wait at Lonand, the train is finally on its way again.
It is dark now and Im almost done with my book. Rather annoyed that weve
been delayed so much on the last leg I would have been quite happy to be back
early next morning as scheduled I soon drift off to sleep.
I wake up at around 6.30 am to find the train leaving Davanagere. We are still
running six hours behind schedule. The fields around the railway line are
illuminated by the rising sun; fields of gold quite literally. Anay, who was up
much later than I last night, tells me that the couple got down at Belgaum, which
the train reached at midnight instead of 7 pm. Probably not their best journey.
***
As the morning progresses, the train trundles steadily through Karnataka.
Arsikere, then Tumkur. The distance to Bangalore is now a two-digit figure.
***
Were right outside Yesvantpur railway station. Fittingly, the train gets stopped
here. It has considerately stopped at a level crossing, and I watch the line of
stopped vehicles grow longer with great amusement. Finally, were let in, and the
train sighs to a halt just before noon, almost six hours behind schedule.
The arrival board on the platform evokes a chuckle. There is a column stating
delays of various trains. Weve beat every other train handsomely in this
endeavour the Kacheguda Express 15 minute delay is nothing to ours 325
minutes behind schedule.
***
The lines at the prepaid auto stand are long, so we skip them and head out the
station to directly flag down an auto. The first one I flag demands twenty rupees
extra. I am no mood for such games and bluntly tell him I will pay him exactly
what the meter says, and if he wants more, he can find another customer. Taken
aback, he decides to take me for the correct fare, though I do have to listen to his
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grumbling about how miserly I am. Unfortunately for him, the fare home turns
out to be exactly 200 rupees; there is no change that he can pretend not to have.
Over 160 hours on trains and three weeks of travelling later, Im back at home.

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Epilogue
If youre expecting a deep, insightful quote about the nature of travel at this point,
you might be disappointed.
What I did notice a few days after returning home is just how restless all the
travelling had made me I had gotten so used to the rhythm of visiting a new
place and spending two days there before heading out that Bangalore seemed
unbearably well, dull. Sleeping in my own bed as opposed to the moving one
of a train also felt oddly foreign. Of course, travelling forever isnt really an
option, and at the end of a trip as hectic as this, I was quite happy to head back to
the relative comfort of home.
If I had to reflect on the trip as a whole, my first emotion would be surprise
surprise that it happened at all. It seemed so ambitious that I was it would fail
some way or other. Barring a few illnesses, it went off unbelievably well we
found nice guesthouses to stay at most places we visited, and the trains were by
and large fairly well behaved.
Many people ask me what the highlight of the trip was. It is difficult to shortlist
just one, especially from the diverse range of places we visited and things we did.
There are, however, three instances that stand out, and I think theyre fairly
obvious from the way I wrote about them. Use your powers of deduction; Im
sure youll figure them out soon enough!
I hope my account of the trip was interesting and that I was able to take you along
with me. If Ive managed to inspire you to make a similar trip of your own, I
would consider this travelogue a job well done.
***

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