Indian Railway

by Bonnie Boxell (Australia)

Making a local connection India

The train was packed. Not packed like the tube in London packed, this was a train in India. There were people sitting in the baggage racks above our heads. The ticket had cost 47 rupees and it was to be a 13 hour trip. We stood facing the carriage, our backpacks pushed against the door of the stinking local class train toilet. Everyone stared at us. We were the only westerners on the train. Looking around I saw a big sheet of cardboard propped against the wall. I thought that I would use that to sit on a bit later, so that my fisherman pants didn't get wet with the shit and piss water that was seeping out from under the toilet door. 'chai chai chai coffee' a young Indian boy wearing plastic slides, long pants and a fake branded red synthetic shirt navigated his way through the carriage pouring hot steaming tea into little clay cups and passing them out in exchange for indian pisa. I looked past the top of my fellow passengers heads through the train window which was secured with iron vertical bars that were covered in chipped blue paint. Outside on the platform the chaos of India bubbled. People selling everything from plastic toys to chips and cans of coke walked up and down spruiking their wares. An old man wearing a white lunghi and hat gently swatted a cows bony manure covered ass with a rolled up newspaper, encouraging it to leave his little sweet shop. The cow obliged and meandered aimlessly past the train. A group of old men all wearing turbans and sporting big curled up moustaches sat in a circle under a tree smoking and spitting up red beetle nut juice onto the floor I was brought back into the carriage by something tugging on my pants. I looked down and saw a kid, maybe 5 or six with his hand out, begging. He wore a white singlet that was gray with filth and his shorts were torn and raggedy like the shipwrecked characters of books id read as a child. His legs were bent and twisted and he moved scurrying along the floor like a spider. "Nay. Chello" I said waving him away and averting my gaze Next to me Manuel made a disapproving tut tut sound, reached into his pocket, pulled out a green crumpled 20 rupiee note and gave it to the boy who closed his eyes and raised the money in his fist to touch his brow and then scurried out the door "Sister you have been here too long. You have become anaesthetised. Keep your heart open. Let the pain and chaos break your heart open to god. Don't be closed. He picked up his guitar and began to pluck the strings. Here we go I thought. He started singing. He sang about the sweetness of my lips. He caressed my cheek with his bent fingers in an overly romantic gesture he kissed my hand. He always did this, put on a big show. Everyone gawked. Someone yelled. This is India sir. don't do that here. Voices erupted in Hindi He stopped playing and stood up tall eyes blazing as he addressed the whole carriage "if you think this is DIRTY" he boomed "that is because your mind is DIRTY" A crowd surged toward us, one man tried to hold back the people by speaking to them fast in Hindi with his palms up, his head waggling frantically. The mob were angry. "madam please go inside the toilet and lock the door" I did as I was asked and listened to the voices outside. Eventually the noises died down and then someone knocked on the door. a Policeman. No Manuel. Shit. "Madam follow me" the policeman said I followed as he lead me off the train and down the platform. At the end of the train he opened the carriage door and there sat Manuel in a first class carriage. His eyes were sparkling. You stay here the policeman said and shut the door on us. The whistle blew and the train started moving Manuel winked at me. We were on our way.