Last of the Narrow Gauge

The Indian Railways decided that from 1 November 2015  the Narrow Gauge trains will be a thing of the past (like all things the shutting down was delayed to December). The places where people will be privileged to travel on these choo-choo trains will be in Darjeeling, Shimla and Ooty. The Narrow Gauge is collateral damage to the chug of progress - Broad Gauge Conversion.

Getting to the Narrow Gauge  platform in Nagpur is similar to getting to the 9 ¾ platform from which the Hogswart Express leaves. Walking on Platform 1 of the Nagpur station one comes to a pillar that separates this platform from the path to the narrow gauge platform. On this pillar is a little board that announces 'To Narrow Gauge'. You could easily miss it. Walking past the board, one gets a view of the Narrow Gauge track. There is a soon to be extinct Narrow Gauge train on the platform, it is heading to Nainpur in Madhya Pradesh.

The Narrow Gauge line in Central India began in the 1900s. The Gondia – Nainpur line was opened on the 13th of April 1903, there was the Chindwara-Pench Coalfield line that began in 1906-07. The 2ft 6 in (762mm) gauge line extended to just over 1000 km.

In this railway division the conversion to broad gauge began in the December 1992.When I heard that the remnants of the Narrow Gauge line was being finally shut down I decided book myself on a rain travelling between Nagpur and Nainpur.  This being the longest route, I hoped it would  give me a full experience of travelling on this line.

I booked my tickets on-line and chose a sleeper class seat, the idea being that I would be able sleep and also walk to the general compartments between stations. The sleeper bogie on the Narrow Gauge line is very different from what the passengers of the Broad Gauge line are used to. Here the bogie seats 38, there are 10 sleepers that hang above the benches.

This means that only 10 of the 38 onboard this compartment can buy the privilege of lying down. The only difference between the general compartment and the sleeper is the absence of these overhead berths.

The train left on time – 12.45 pm. As the train headed out of Nagpur, we passed through shanties that were at arms reach from my window. The tracks are part of peoples courtyards suggesting that people had encroached on railway land or the railways had usurped land from the people. One of the first things one appreciates on travelling by the Narrow Gauge is that speed of the train does not match its sound and fury.

The Narrow Gauge connects the less developed areas of this region. This fact was brought home by the stations we stopped at. Many were just signposts, others had a little concrete shed which also served as ticket counters. Being  a single line, there were a few  stations that were a little more elaborate to ensure oncoming trains could pass each other on parallel tracks and then get back on the single track.

As these tracks were built to connect the hinterland there isnt much distance between stations. The train stopped every few minutes, my fellow passengers were all of the short haul variety. As I was travelling before Dushhera many were headed back to their villages/towns.  

 There is not much to eat at these stations. Any lone snack stall at these halts does quick business. Many villagers sell fruits and vegetables here and Sitaphal seemed to be the fruit of the season. While sharing a piece of this fruit with a student headed home he told me that the best of these fruits are found here and that the tastiest Alu Bondas are found at the Karaili station on the Beena line.

When I asked one of the passengers what he would do once this line was shut he replied that journeys would become a luxury undertaken on family emergencies and to answer government notices. The fare of a bus ticket is double that of a Narrow Gauge train ticket.

Before becoming part of the Indian Railways behemoth, this Narrow Gauge line was known as the Satpuda Railway which was developed by the Bengal Nagpur Railway. Nainpur was the hub of this section. The train passes through the Maikal ranges of Satpuda hills and we covered some densely forested areas. Once in the hinterland, the train chugged past mud houses surrounded by green fields bordered by jungle. In the forested areas  there was a lot of gauge conversion work in progress. Stones dumped in huge piles, cleared areas deep in the forest, concrete sections that would soon become part of a station or a bridge popped up at frequent intervals on this journey.

Some railway gangmen got on board a few hours later. They said that even though this line would soon be shutting down the Railways would ensure that they worked for their money. 
 We reached Nainpur on time – 2.30 am the next day. The Nainpur station was lit and there was activity. Like in other stations people were sleeping on the platform, porters carried the trunks of guards and drivers to rest areas. However, there was a sense that this place had seen a far greater rush in earlier times. I walked into town to find a place to stay but at this early hour the hotels/lodges were shut and their attendants fast asleep. I returned to the station to chat to the owner of a tea stall there. Just then a near empty passenger train rolled in. While pouring me a warm cuppa chai, Babloo Kushwa, the owner told me that the station used to be packed at all times of the day. He reminisced that this train that had just rolled in used to give him a business of more than Rs 600/-. But with hardly any people using it, it was difficult to make even fifty rupees. He said that as train operations had been slowly whittled down people were forced to use buses.

He said that Nainpur was a railway town and its economy revolved around the presence of the railways. When I asked him what he would do once the station shut he said he had not thought of it as yet. My question was answered by another passenger who said that in all probability the tea stall owners would take their business to the bus station.

After a snooze I hired a cycle rickshaw to see the town. The importance of Nainpur as a rail hub could be gauged by the many British styled large railway offices and residences that were shut. 

The ordinariness of these trains could not  take away from the important role they played in the socio-economy of this region. Students, migrating families, regular passengers, vegetable sellers, tea stall owners  were all linked to these  Narrow Gauge tracks.  

The essence of time is  change, gauge conversion is an example of this. In this transformation many are going to be left out. What's going to happen to those little stops that had no station building to their name?  Would people collecting wood in the forest be able to hop on and hop off at the next station?  Or are they going to be swept aside as the Broad Gauge  trains thunder past?

Read about train journeys in my book '1400 Bananas, 76 Towns & 1 Million People' available on Amazon, flipkart and book stores.

Comparing Mumbai, Banguluru and Delhi

A Tale of Three Cities

I am a habitual train traveller. One thing I have noticed in these journeys is that as the train enters a city the passing scene prepares you for its individuality that slugs you in the face. For example entering Mumbai in the mornings one sees people unconcernedly defecating on the tracks, the other sight is of the chawls and slums in which a majority of the city’s population resides. These vignettes prepare you for some basic facts about this city. The first is that the people of Mumbai have been forced to develop a cloak of indifference that allows them to function as humans; the second is that the city is filthy and the minority that is rich are the only ones who are seemingly able to escape the filth.

In the case of Delhi, trains originating from the South pass by walls of factories, large houses and even hutments as they enter into the city and chug to the railway station. Passengers get to see advertisements for quacks solving problems that range from sexual dysfunction to piles. Though one could argue that these advertisements indicate the oneness’s of the city, the fact is that it only mirrors the image of Delhi being the rape capital of the country with a cuisine that is rich and spicy that goes by the sobriquets of Punjabi and Mughlai.

The train tracks that guide trains into Banguluru do not prepare their passengers for the mess that is Banguluru today. One gets to see open green fields and a glassy glint in the distance that could just be the end of the rainbow – but nothing else.

From the air the story is very different. An aeroplane gives a macro view of things unlike a train the tunnels you into the very heart of the city. The first thing that comes to view as one enters in Mumbai airspace to land are the variety of colours – the blue/green/brown sea the colour depending on the distance from the shore, the brown air that hovers above the city and the swathe of blue coloured plastic sheets that protect the tiny shanties from the rains, interspersed among the shanties the tall multi stories, these as if signalling the soaring unbridled ambition of the city’s denizens. In Delhi too one flies through a brown haze – called smog-in the winters. At night one can see the capital’s secular arteries and veins lit on which zoom and trundle a variety of vehicles – everything from Lamborghini’s to bicycles. One descends into shades of green fields of Bangaluru.

The thing is, though I now have to live in Delhi, given a choice I would not like to live in any of the three cities. There are some common reasons – for example the traffic in these three cities would drive a Zen monk crazy. It is not only the energy and time wasted in being part of traffic jams that drives one up the wall, it is seeing the selfish desperate audacity of others breaking rules to get ahead of the jam and in the process causing greater confusion that is  frustrating. It is also the callous consumption of the residents in these cities that has resulted in a problem that now seems insurmountable – increasing air pollution, waste and increasing density of vehicles.

Mumbai a place to learn the meaning of turning a blind eye

One thing that gets my goats is the annual ritual that Mumbai has just before the monsoons. The media like the municipality gets into tizzy about the metropolis’s preparation for the rainfest. Everyone from the politician to the bureaucrat promise deliverance from the problems caused by the rains and the media faithfully transmit it to the Mumbaikars.
 

But every year the story is the same – floods, overflowing drains, cancelled trains and photos of long lines of commuters walking on railway tracks through sheets of rain. For a city that is the home of the dream industry – the parrot like annual repetition of this scene is very depressing.

One cannot fathom the resilience and the power of hope that gives the aam Mumbaikars the fortitude to travel for hours in crowded compartments to get to work and return home for a few hours. Nor can one imagine how the population can live with a stench that is a mix of rotting garbage, fish, the sea and human detritus. It would seem that Mumbai gives us the true meaning of the term ‘turning a blind eye’ – the rich live as if there are no poor and suffering, the politicians choose to forget the promises they make, the poor in their efforts to survive are oblivious of the sacrifices they are being made to endure, and the aam admi just trundle along not seeing anything beyond their noses.

Though one could argue that the city has a rich repository of culture and that the city is alive, a question – at what cost? A city where the majority of population live in slums, where one cannot escape the rich-poor divide which does not seem to shrink, where those governing the city have not yet been able to find a solution to the monsoon problems is no place for anyone.

Delhi the capital of testosterone

Delhi has always wanted to become the Mumbai of the North. In the last few years it has finally succeeded. The roads get flooded in the monsoon resulting in jams and delayed metro services. But Delhi has another thing which I have issues with it – the testosterone that everybody seems to be carrying around. It is not only seen in the rapes that happen in the city, it is also the road rage that one is forced to deal with. 

On the subject of roads this is one of the few cities where I have noticed that official cars with government officers in them don’t stop behind the zebra crossing at a signal, where policemen on motorcycles drive on the wrong side of the road with sirens on full blast but in no hurry to catch any wrong doer.

To tell you the truth I have stopped both policemen and other people breaking traffic rules. The policemen have been kind enough to hear me out and then proceed with what they were doing; the chauffeurs of babu’s and the rich have told me to move on, even as their mistresses, or masters for that matter, perused their files or phones; the common person on the other hand has threatened to beat me up.

Bangaluru cosmopolitanism at a price

I would be the first to say that Bangaluru has a very cosmopolitan section of society easily visible by their sense of style. I won’t be wrong in saying that Bangaluru has some of the most stylish and beautiful women in the country. It also has a vibrant night-life that ends at around mid-night; but till that time one can savour a variety of cuisines, try out artesian beer and dance to various genres of music. The best downer that the city provides for its revellers after a night carousing about town is dealing with rickshaws that charge an arm and a leg or just refuse to accept you as a charge. There have also been instances of conscientious citizenry (who are not the police) trying to preserve their idea of India and its culture, thrashing people in these places.

Conscientious citizenry is the other thing that is common to these cities. Where Delhi has full throated young blood trying to soothe or boost their fragile egos by bludgeoning their male counter-parts or by molesting girls, Mumbai and Banguluru have hordes dedicated to protecting a myopic, conservative and mythical concept of Indian society. These types of citizenry in Mumbai and Banguluru are more organised, they have leaders who espouse narrow political and moral beliefs. The followers of these leaders are happy to share these views with others, communicating them through violence or threats thereof.

Cities and their food

Each of these cities have their institutions for food; Mumbai everything from Baghdadi or Bade Miyan and Zunkha Bhakri to the restaurants in the rarefied environs of multi-starred hotels. Delhi with its history laced cuisine and the restaurants that swear they carry on those traditions to those offering international cuisines in rustic surroundings of villages within the city and in air-conditioned edifices of malls and five stars. I am going out on a limb when I say that though Bangaluru has its MTR and Vidyarthi Bhavan it does not have a cuisine identified it, that is why Bangaluru has gone in a different direction with independently run restaurants offering a range of cuisines and a population willing to risk their taste buds and open their wallets for the experience.

But these cities have their traditional foods that would satisfy any gourmand – the vada pavs and vegetable sandwiches of Mumbai, the chole khulche of Delhi and the food in the many small stand-up eateries called Darshini’s of Bangaluru, these that cater to the common man are what keep the cities going. And this is what makes these cities special to me. Based in Delhi I realise the value of the chole khulche stall not only for me but also for the everyday people. My trips to Mumbai are made easier with the ubiquitous vada pavs and sandwiches, or crunching through the multi-stories of a vegetable sandwich makes Mumbai more habitable. There is always a plan for at least one breakfast and lunch at a Darshini closest to where I put up in Banguluru; the world seems manageable as one tears off a piece of oily crispy dosa standing inside these small eateries that open onto the chaos of an overflowing road.

Air travel

Promise hangs heavy in the air
In a space where people mill, sit or stare
Conversations between departures and arrivals now on hold
Raising latent desires to break from the fold.

Announcements collide and fill the room
Resulting in emotions of relief, hope, joy and gloom
Time trickles by, everyone seems aware
A 2 hour trip is becoming an unending nightmare

A confident voice guides people to gate number three
I leave the sorry faces who ask ‘why not me?’
I promise my return is going to be by train
Waiting is what makes speed all in vain.