The Train Tableau…continued

…so we left off with the sweaty woman yelling at me to get off her foot. I could not do as she “requested” since I did not know where my feet were, in the first place. Of course they are on the lower half of my body but assuming that I had any muscular control over them, while being slighlty suspended in a human wall, is just asking for too much.

Somehow, I get into the train. A shrill whistle is blown and the train takes off, while there are people still getting on the train as it is moving. Upon entrance to the train, I immediately make a beeline, well, sort of, directly to the opposite door. The doors on Indian trains do not close and thank goodness!!! With the cocktail of toxic substances, smoke from burning piles of leaves outside, swirling dust, terrifying body odor, spicy sweat and a symphony of burps, coughs and farts, you might as well write your last will and testament, if the doors ever closed.

People sit and stand anywhere they can find room. Understanding that you just paid not only for a train ticket but also to enter and be an unwilling participant at a FREAKING CIRCUS, will help you endure the train ride. Any time you step into this wild world, you have just left earth and are thrown into your worst nightmare. This furious knot of human flesh could easily represent your entire state of California or any other state all in one place at the same time.

The train ride in India has its own culture and nothing can upset that balance it brings to those devoted riders. They get in, shoving their way through, around, over you if they need to and squeeze their sweaty bodies onto a seat that is meant to seat 3 but already has 4 people sitting. If you happen to sit, you are expected to either squeeze yourself to the wall, or hold someone’s belongings on your lap, or put a stranger’s child on your lap, have someone’s rear end so close to your face that there is no escape and you feel violated versus them feeling that way, or look up to breathe in an instant chloroform version of BO – it can seriously knock you out or have you regurgitate your breakfast right there, and to add to this already mad scene, you will have to endure the smells of various breakfasts being eaten in the midst of all this.

Women have no time to eat at home in the morning, so they bring their food to eat on the train and eat this with their fingers nonetheless and wash their hands in the same vessel they ate from and the whole affair is over. So jam-packed with people, constantly moving, writhing, sometimes, more often than not, getting into fist fights just to get on and off at their respective stations, we have the Indian bazaar on wheels. Again since most Indian women have no time to eat or shop during the day since traveling takes it out of you, their shopping is brought to them on their daily commute.

You can buy anything from safety pins to saris, fruits to friendship bracelets, jewelery to jangris (indian sweet) – you name it and you can find it on the train. They also announce their arrival and presence in the compartment by screaming out the wares they sell. Sometimes, their goods move faster than they do and all this is paid for in cash. Here, once again, the Indian etiquette or lack thereof is displayed. They will reach over you and take what they want; they will pull something out of your hands if they want to see it; they will want to buy what you picked out; they will fight and argue and bargain with the vendor whose prices are already cheap to begin with.

Not only is the Indian train a marathon, an aerobic challenge, a restaurant on wheels, a supermarket, it is also a melting pot of religions!! You have women who will get on and immediately start saying their prayers and chant, sometimes so loud that if there others on the train of the same faith, they all join in. The Hindus are usually these loud-voiced chanters, the Christians silently pray while they periodically move the beads on the Rosary held tightly between their fingers or read from their prayer books and Bibles. You have no idea what the Muslims are doing because they are covered up most of the time.

A story about the trains in India would not be complete if I did not make mention of PBS – not the Public Broadcasting System but the Professional Beggars Society. They are filthy, smell of dried sweat and urine, sometimes with body parts missing, blind, sometimes accompanied by children, other times the children themselves being the smallest recruits in this society. I jump back as if they are lepers only to realize they really are lepers. India is the only country I have seen that has lepers everywhere. We knew one who used to sit outside the Church and beg everyday. Everyone in the community knew him and named him John and he was always given food and clothing and money. He had a big smile and was very grateful for the help. Well, not everyone was like him…the PBS was downright demanding and never take NO for an answer. If you ignore them, they hurl insults at you and sometimes spit at your feet too.

One time, my sister was on the train and a beggar got on. She felt bad for her and gave her the little change she had in her purse. The beggar takes one look at it and with contempt says, “Is this all that you can give me?”, to which my sister promptly took back the money and told her to have a great day. It was hilarious and the beggar was so mad. Serves her right!

The Indian train is also like a corporation where riders get seniority and have benefits like saved seats, first pick at passing merchandise, etc. My mother has personally funded the schooling of many vendors children just from buying something small from them everyday. They smile and hug her with tears in their eyes – the grateful ones that is. There are others who sell on the train, loaded with more gold than they can carry and you wonder why they still earn a living selling on a train.

As recent as last year, the train has become a technology hub as well. All the girls who cannot talk to their secret lovers (since you are not allowed to fall in love in India) now send them text messages and talk to them freely for the few minutes of bone-crushing ride they have on the train; others plug in some headphones and listen to the radio on their phones, even the vendors have phones and are on them while they are selling – doing international business I would assume!

Finally, it is your turn to get off the train and if you are smart, you would start making your way towards the door a few stops ahead. You get as close as you can to the door and as soon as the train pulls into the station, you assume combat position once again and eject yourself onto the platform. It is a miracle if you look the same way you did when you got on the train – the usual look that accompanies you is one where you are disheveled, smell funny, hair unkempt, your belongings trashed, and one of your shoes is destroyed.

You are so glad to be alive that your faith instantly increases and your confidence too!!! You finally feel like you can take on the world…at least for the next 2 minutes while you stand still. Then you are once again, lifted off your feet ( not in the romantic way), and carried towards the exiting crowd, hoping that you are not pinched or prodded like they do cattle, and that when your feet eventually touch the ground, you don’t find yourself in some muddy puddle, with a mangy dog lying at your feet and a small, scrawny child who is more mangy than the dog, is naked and peeing on the garbage pile.

You hold your breath, if you have any left and walk like a girl on a mission and not to be messed with!!! YOU MADE IT!!!!