One night at the Train Station

We spent most of last night at a train station in Kota.  We were booked on the 1:10 a.m. train due to arrive in Udaipur at 7 a.m.  Unfortunately, the train was late. 

The night started in Bundi. We spent the past eight days there and by last night, we were ready to leave.  We hopped on a bus which put us into Kota at 11 p.m., two hours early.  No problem.  I'd rather be early than miss the train.  So we sat down to wait in a long open air stretch of concrete pillars and benches which bordered the platform.  A woman's droning recorded voice announced arrivals and departures and occasionally  reminded everyone that spitting on the platform is a bad habit.   

11:16 p.m.

I don't think Kota sees a lot of tourists.  It would explain why people are craning their necks to see the two Westerners bundled up in hats and blankets sitting on a cold bench and yawning a lot.  One tall ambitious looking guy in his early twenties wearing a red jacket with the word "Ferrari" on his chest sits down beside me.

"Where you from?"

"America." (This answer is always a big hit).

"Ahhh! America!  I know much about America."

"Oh yea?"

"I can name all fifty states."

"Really? I'm impressed." (No sarcasm intended here).

Sarah begins to take out her iPod and untwist her headphones.

"Your wife does not want to talk?"

"No, she's just tired."

"I bet you can not."

"What?"

"You can not name the fifty states?"

"I bet I can."

"What did you study in school?"

"Journalism."

"I have an MBA and am working at a cement company."

"That's cool.  I started to get an MBA, but I stopped."

"You have a degree and I have my MBA."

"I guess so."

"It is my dream to go to California."

I yawned.  "Well I hope one day you can do that."

"Are you tired of me?"

"Ha.  No.  Just a little tired."

"Because you can tell me if you are not wanting to talk.  I just like to practice my English and talk to you."

"Yea, it's fine.  It's cool."

Sarah sits scrolling her thumb around and around on her iPod.

"Do you like music?"

Oh Jesus. 

"Yes, I do."

"Do you like Shakira?"

"Um, I don't dislike her.  I'm just not really into her, you know?"

"What do you like?"

I tried to think of something he might know.

"Do you know Radiohead?"

"Bryan Adams!  Yea!" 

"Mmm haaa!"  Sarah chokes out a laugh, keeping her eyes down and her thumb working.

"George Michael?"

Sarah looks up smiling, "I'm with you there."

He stands up and shakes my hand.  "Okay.  My train comes now.  Goodbye."

12:00 a.m.

I walk back into the main hall to see if our train is posted on the big electronic board.  Standing in the middle of the room is a cow.  People rush around, ignoring it.  The cow just looks straight ahead at the wall, unmoved.

12:14 a.m.

We are sitting on our bench.  Our backpacks of varying sizes create a small fort around our legs.  A middle aged man in a leather jacket walks by.  He's got a big mustache and tinted glasses and he's holding a cellphone to his ear.  He sees us and quickly reverses in our direction. 

"Which country?"

"U.S.A."

He's still holding the phone to his ear, but he's not talking into it.  It must be still ringing.

"Okay.  Okay."  He smiles and reaches out for a handshake with his left hand, since his right is holding the phone.  I give him my right and we exchange an awkward dainty handshake where I feel like he's a medieval knight courting me.  Then he makes the moment really awkward.  He bends down and kisses the top of my hand. 

"All right.  Thank you sir.  That's nice."  I pull my hand away.  He's still smiling.  The person on the other line has still not picked up.

"Thank you.  U.S.A.  Yes.  Yes."  He walks off. 

"Oh my God," says Sarah.

"Well that's a first,"  I say.      

12:25 a.m.

I glance at the board above our heads and see train numbers scroll by in red electronic lettering.  I'm not really paying attention, but I swear it just read:

#2963 LT 2:25 2:40

This would mean that our train is now ninety minutes late, getting in at 2:25 a.m. and leaving at 2:40.

A moment later I see it scroll by again.  Yep.  We're going to be here a while longer.

Sarah takes this in stride. I'm proud of her. While she opens her Su Doku book, I go for a walk.  Near the bathrooms is a large room where dozens of people are sleeping on the floor.  They're wrapped up like mummies lying on thin pieces of cardboard to insulate them from the frozen ground.  It looks as if there's been some sort of dangerous chemical leak in a nearby neighborhood and these people have been forced to spend the night here.  I don't think they're homeless, but I'm not really sure.  There isn't anyone nearby I want to ask and even if I did, I'm not sure I could phrase the question tactfully enough. 

I buy some chai tea.  The guy making it at the little snack stand asks me if I'm German.  I tell him "U.S.A."  We don't try to say anything else.  The hour of spitting out jumbled phrases and awkward smiles has passed.  So I wait in silence and watch him heat a pot of foamy chai.  It looks like hot milk chocolate.  This isn't so bad, I think to myself.   

1:39 a.m.

I watch as an old man walks past me, squats down on the ledge of the train platform and urinates off the side.

1:55 a.m.

A train of boxcars pulls into the platform next to us.  Huge brown boxes ease by and slowly stop.

"Where are those boxes from, you think?"  I ask Sarah.

"I don't know.  What do you think is in them?"  she says.

"I always think they're full of toys made in China."

"Maybe." 

2:20 a.m.

We are sitting on the bench warming ourselves under blankets when a man with a mustard colored beret begins shoving around and older man wearing a torn sport jacket and no pants.  I saw the older guy walk by going the opposite direction a moment ago and thought he looked drunk.  The cop (I think it's a cop, he's got a beret after all) is trying to get the man to come with him, but the guy isn't cooperating.  As a small crowd watches, the cop kicks the man in the side and then punches him hard in the chest.  The drunk guy just takes it.  It's like a half-hearted bar fight.  The guy lays down on the concrete as another cop gets a few kicks in for himself.  Finally, they get him up and march him off to a cage only a few yards behind us.  They spend a few minutes yelling at him in Hindi.  I still can't tell what he's done wrong.  It seems like the man is calmly lecturing the cops, but his eyes are glazed and his finger pointing is sloppy.  One of the cops slaps the man hard across the face, but he keeps right on talking.  Finally, the excitement dies down and the crowd moves on.  Sarah and I just sit and wait.  It's getting colder and I can see my breath now.

2:25 a.m.

The board lights up and the red numbers speed by:

#2963 LT 3:25 3:40

Delayed again.  We're now leaving (hopefully) at 3:40 a.m.

3:00 a.m.

A passenger train slides into the station.  As it stops, men pushing carts loaded with fried vegetables position themselves next to the open doors.  They call out whatever they're selling like old men hawking programs at a baseball game.  The men call out again and again, each with a distinct cadence, all of them clashing.  Other men carrying tea pots and tiny paper cups hurry in all directions saying, "Ch-iii-yaa."  These are the beer men of the train station.  Except they don't ask to see I-D and don't charge nine dollars.   

A second class train car has stopped beside us.  It's so overcrowded I feel claustrophobic looking at it.  Men are sitting on each others laps.  Boys climb on people's shoulders like they're playing on a jungle gym.  People are stacked upon people.  Faces stare out of open windows at us.  They look bored. 

"I have never seen anything like that."  I say.

3:18 a.m.

I walk to the bathroom one more time before we head down to the platform where our train is expected.  On my way, I see the man with no pants walking unsteadily.  Apparently, he didn't care for the police cage.  The cow I saw in the main hall is now  slowly eating from a garbage can. 

3:25 am

#2693 LT 3:50 4:05

4:08 a.m.

I think the train is coming.  There's a bright light in the distance.  I think it's getting bigger but I can't be sure.  We're now at a different platform than the one where we've spent the past five hours.  As we walked up, people who hadn't seen us at our original waiting spot now get their chance to stare at us.  Sarah likes to stare back at them and see how long it takes them to flinch.  They're just curious, I tell her, but sometimes it bothers me too. 

I think to myself that back in America, people would be a lot more pissed off about a three hour delay.  I'd see people on cell phones, restless and pacing.  Strangers talking with each other, telling their own personal tragedy about how this delay is ruining their plans.  And I think about how pissed I'd be too.  Indian people though, they take it in stride.  Maybe they're used to delays like this.  Used to sitting on a cold train platform at four in the morning.  Granted, no one's really smiling, but there's calm. 

Then the train comes.

Comments

[Walter C.]

good read

[SueN.]

^Yes, I agree, a very good read! You paint your boredom well.

[choice]

Wow. I always thought that I would enjoy touring the rest of the world. A year off to do it in sounded like heaven. But the stories you guys tell of dead bodies in rivers, endless scores of impoverished people begging and sleeping in the streets...well, it's given me pause. I'm so glad you guys are sharing this trip with us. I've been following your story ever since your picture started popping up in Sarah's moblog :-)

[Kat]

You know, if you wrote this as a book, I'm sure it would sell! I know I'd buy a copy or two!!

Have fun, be safe.

[John]

Wow, I agree with all of you, good read and perhaps could be a book. I really do like your style of writing. I can name all 50 states :) But there are plenty of people in this little part of Texas they can't, it's really sad when people from this country can't do such simple things. I don't have anything personal against cows, but those people need to grow up and get over their irrational beliefs and cleam things up, it's crazy.

-John-

[Angie]

Wow John, intolerant much? I bet you believe that a woman can give birth with out having sex. Insane!

[ianmack]

great post brendan. reminds me that 90% of traveling is actually moments like these, and not lounging on the beach with glassy waves rolling off into the distance. whenever you get back from a trip, it's the good moments you want to return to, and these "waiting for the train at 4am" that we seem to forget.

[Pete]

I am really enjoying your experience travelling. I can visually visualize what you are painting with the words that you use and how you use them. Thanks Brandan.

[Patrick]

"George Micheal?"

That gave me a good laugh.

Travel days suck. hey?

[Liana]

Note to self: Don't kiss Brendan's hand if I ever meet him. :)