Growing up with trains in Delhi

Just back from a convention of train crazy nutcases !! It was two days of non-stop train talk and all things associated. Even though I'm back in office, the hangover hasn't rubbed off yet... Dug out this old piece that I'd written which I'd like to share with you

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Delhi has never been in the same league as Bombay or Calcutta when it came to being a 'Railway' city as Delhi's public transport system has been predominantly road based. Despite that, trains have somehow been a constant fixture in all my years growing up in this city and I am taking this opportunity to share some memories of all these years with you.

My earliest memory of trains in Delhi dates back to the time when I was just a 4 year old and we used to live in Ramesh Nagar in West Delhi. Every now and then my grandma used to take me along to visit her sister who lived in Kirti Nagar area and the Meter Gauge lines to Jaipur used to pass practically through their front yard. I remember those sunny winter afternoons when the grannies used to sit in the lawn shelling peas and knitting sweaters and gossiping about Mrs. Sharma's latest necklace or Mrs. Verma's daughter running away with the milkman. Oblivious of it all I used to be doodling around the lawn in a tricycle stopping and watching in joy awe the magnificent steam trains that passed, and jumping with fright whenever they used to let rip their whistle!

A few years later, my uncle got married into a family that used to live the government flats in the Netaji Nagar area. This development meant numerous journeys in Ring Railway local trains between Kirti Nagar and Sarojini Nagar. I used to love the fast pick up of the EMU locals which used to be clean and shiny then - having been introduced a few years back alongside the 1982 Asian Games. Proximity to the Kirti Nagar station also meant that we could take a local direct to New Delhi station to catch long distance trains. So my adventures in the GT Express used to be preceded by a fast 30 min EMU ride that used to drop us right inside New Delhi. My dad used to then take me to the famous Lassi Wala opposite the Pahar Gunj entrance and only then would father and son think of boarding the train.

In the mid - 80s we moved to our current residence in Janak Puri which wasn't exactly on the railroad map so my travel was mostly by road, even though I used to beg my dad or uncle to stop for a moment on top of the Delhi Cantt. Flyover and let me survey the yard and only when I was satisfied were they allowed to move further.

After Class 5, I joined the senior section of my school at Barakhamba Road, which was a stone's throw away from the Shivaji Bridge station near New Delhi station (NDLS). Many a time, we could hear the horns of trains arriving or departing at NDLS and I used to make mental guesses of what train it could be depending on the time of the day and the sound of the horn.

As I grew, the subjects got more boring and I preferred bunking school and spending hours at Shivaji Bridge or Tilak Bridge watching the WDMs, the WAMs and the WAPs run endlessely in and out of NDLS while my friends whom I use to tag along used to tear their hair trying to figure out what was so sexy about a diesel smoking up or why on earth an antenna was called something as weird as a pantograph!?!

Many a time, I used to purposely miss the school bus, catch an EMU till Patel Nagar and then trudge a kilometer through the filth to the bus stop and catch a rickety DTC bus home. Money being a scarce commodity then, I used to buy the cheaper 2 rupee anti-clockwise ticket to Patel Nagar, but used to catch the longer clockwise train via Nizamuddin to maximize the bang for the buck. Once or twice a TT did catch me, but I could always claim that I asked the driver it'd go to Patel Nagar and he said yes. so how was I supposed to know if it went this way or that!

Going to college in DTC buses was a mini train-spotting session as we used to pass through the under bridge outside Shakur Basti yard and one could invariably spot a couple of trains waiting for clearance. That was the place, where I saw my first WDP1. I clearly remember it was 15002 in the standard red-cream livery, but what really caught my attention was the now famous 'baldie' short hood. To my untrained eyes, the 'sleek' and sexy loco looked as if it could easily do 200kmph and I really used to watch out for these locos and other baldies WDM2Cs who made an appearance at more or less the same time as the WAP4s!! Those wonder years for me, thinking that the high-speed age was finally dawning on IR with the appearance of these 'aerodynamic' loco. It took a couple of more years of 'growing up' before I started working and moving around the country that I really got to see these magnificent machines in action.

It was the starting of the Internet age and I had barely got my first email ID active. Those days even Google was not around I guess, but I typed Indian Railways Pictures into a search engine and the resultant was a site full of WDM2 pictures by a gentleman called we also know as Diesel King! God only knows how happy I was to learn that I was not the only nut on the planet!! Another few months down the line I formally joined this wonderful place called IRFCA. It's been close to 7 years now that I have been here and as our friend from Badnera once said that all of us love trains as kids, but some of us don't grow up.

Well neither have I. I am close to 29 now and I still fight for the window seat and yes I watch Thomas the Tank Engine too. its much-much better than the Saas Bahus ....

corsè di un nomad

I've travelled far and wide across the country.... by land, by air and by water. Of all my journeys, some of the most memorable ones have been by rail. My mom says, I was probably a railwayman in my past life, and died without completing my duty, which I'm doing now...

This map shows where all I've been across this country by train. One day I hope to fill this up completely. Hope to see you along one of my stops...

Himsagar

An itch that has finally developed into a full blown attempt at madness. Soon, it'll be time to start the journey of a lifetime.

Himsagar - click here to read more

Invading God's Own Country - 3

continued from part 2...

With a crew of three, we set off accompanied by at least 15 other houseboats of various sizes and designs. Considering the fact that it was past New Year’s Day, most of the occupants in the other boats were either foreigners or NRIs.

After cruising through a fairly narrow channel, flanked by paddy fields and small dwellings, our boat reached the vast expanses of the main water body. The traffic in the channel included local fishermen’s boats and other locals heading off for business. Many ferries, and tourist boats could also be spotted.

Kerala is one of the few places in the country with an organized water based inland transport system. In and around Alleppey, boats are as good as buses with their own stops complete with a tea and knick-knacks stall!! I could spot people from all walks of life on these boats, office goers, students, tourists, priests… they were all there. The waterways, even had signposts marking distances to nearby towns just like the roads.

We slowed down our pace after entering the main part of the lake, and out came the beers. Just about then, the guy manning a small blue colored boat cruising next to us opened up the throttle of his powerful outboard Yamaha engine. The piddly looking craft roared to life and simply disappeared into the distance. It was probably the fastest watercraft I had ever seen in my life.

We stopped for lunch around 1400. The meal was typical Malyali vegetarian fare. For me, the large grain rice was a novelty and the whole thing was gobbled up with relish. The post noon session was devoted to photography. Flocks of egrets kept us company and nearing sunset, the water turned an amazing shade of gold. We docked once again, this time for the night.

Our skipped arranged a small boat ride in one of the dugouts, which ended up in a major argument as the boatman started demanding an obscene amount of money after the ride. However, the dipping sun and the sound melodious hymns from a nearby church carried over the waterways by an ingenious system of loudspeakers made the whole evening a memorable experience.

The evening drink was vodka mixed with Brite, a local rip off of Sprite and dinner consisted was simple but delicious. However, the rotis were a big disappointment, but this wasn’t Punjab after all. Some night time photography followed under the light of the rising moon, but a cloud cover produced mixed results. We retired to bed around 11, while the boat gently rocked by the swells created by the occasional late night ferry.

Day 5, Jan 4 2007

Got up early morning to get some more moonlight shots - the rest of the boat woke up around sunrise. The loudspeakers this time were playing Hindu bhajans, another proof of Kerala’s multi-religious harmony. Breakfast consisted of idlis and we set off for our final run back to Alleppey. We docked back around 9 AM along with a dozen other boats. After saying our thanks to the crew, we headed back towards town where a black Mahindra Scorpio waited for us.

The Scorpio was driven by Srikumar, a small wiry guy with a cheerful smile and with a good knowledge of Hindi. For the first time in 4 days, we did not need mom’s blend of Tamil – Malayalam to get us around. After hefting our luggage, we set off towards Ernakulam, on our way to Munnar.

On our way, we stopped at the palace museum of the erstwhile Kings of Kochi. The Palace charged hefty admission fee, especially for cameras. But I wonder where the money went, as the whole place was in abject disrepair and neglect. The condition of the buildings made them look far older than they actually were and the less said of the exhibits the better. The only interesting thing in the entire museum was the royal crown, made of a pot load of gold and wisely kept in a vault with a door which would take at least a 50 kiloton nuke to blast through.

There was this group of foreigners in the museum whose guide was speaking this funny language faster than a Gatling gun. Her pitch and tone was constant for every word she spoke, and no emotion showed through. The language sounded very East European, but I have never come across a language spoken so strangely.

We packed off from the museum soon and headed straight to Munnar. On the way we halted at Adimali for lunch. The hotel, the meal and the service – all three were downright atrocious and we wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. We made another stop at a waterfall enroute, but there wasn’t too much water as it was too late in the season. We finally made it to Munnar at around 1500 and checked into our hotel, which had been booked courtesy a good friend.

After some chai and rest, we headed out to the nearby Madupatty and Kundala dams. The route was pretty spectacular, as it wound its way through tea estates. The lakes looked pretty in the fading light, but the icing on the cake was provided by the appearance of a large tusker in one of the tea estates. The pachyderm was merrily tearing away at the branches while my camera shutter went mad trying to capture him in the fading light.

We had a light meal upon our return to the hotel and then retired to our rooms. The Tv wasn’t playing too much in the languages that I comprehend, and the internet wouldn’t work as Airtel has no signal in Munnar. With not much left to do, I crashed out for the night.

Day 6, Jan 5 2007

Next morning, after breakfast we headed for the Erivakulam National Park – home of the famed but endangered Nilgiri Tahr. Private vehicles are not allowed inside, so we drove up the gates of the park from where we took a forest department bus inside. The bus dropped us at the base of a kilometer long trail. On the way we saw some interesting sidelights like the Anai Mudi peak, the highest in South India. In addition, we saw some natural rock faces which resembled an elephant and a horse head !!

As we walked up the trail, our fellow companions started shouting excitedly. Looking up, we saw a herd of the tahr, grazing peacefully along the trail. The animals seemed oblivious, or maybe used to the presence of tourists and chose to ignore and chomped grass merrily.

We walked up to a sign which simply said “This is the end” and turned back, with not much else to see, except endless tea gardens of which I was growing sick by the minute. The whole tahr setup felt like a sham. It seemed that the forest department had domesticated a herd of the tahr and let them loose near the tourists, it just didn’t feel like a national park at all!!

We came back around mid-day and shopped around Munnar town for its specialties - tea, spices, chocolates and my favorite – strawberry preserve. After lunch, we headed to Bison point, which offered great views of what else but tea gardens, and to another view point around sunset from where you sea more tea gardens!!

Back at the hotel, we saw a remake of Amitabh’s Deewar in Tamil with Rajnikanth in the lead. Needless to say, it was fun despite the fact that most of the dialogues went above my head. The night was really cold, and the blankets were not too much of help. Luckily, I had some vodka left over so that really helped.

Day 7, Jan 6 2007

In the morning, there was a substantial layer of frost on the cars parked in the lot. The drivers were seen queuing behind the hotel’s kitchen for their bucket of hot water with which to clean their machines. Post breakfast, we left for Cochin and its sister city of Ernakulam, our last halt on the Kerala leg. We reached Kochi past noon and headed for the Dutch Museum, which was in much better shape than the one we saw a few days back. The armoury was of great interest to me and my brother.

A look at the list of Cochin Rajah’s through the year revealed another interesting fact, more than 90% of the kings in the clan’s 500 hundred year plus history were either named Rama Varma, Ravi Varma or Kerala Varma !! The reason well - In Cochin Royal Family all the male Thampurans (sons) were named according to the following methodology - Eldest Male Son To A Mother - Rama Varma, Second Son - Kerala Varma, Third Son -Ravi Varma, Fourth Son - Goda Varma. Since I did not find too many Goda Varmas on the list, I presumed that there weren’t too many fourth sons J

Of more interest to me were the famous Chinese Fishing Nets of Cochin. These nets are found in the Fort Kochi area and are proof of Kochi’s illustrious maritime history. It is believed that these nets, which are otherwise found only in China were introduced to India by trader’s from Kulbai Khan’s court from the 1450s !!

It was interesting to see the fisherman walk along the narrow beams of the nets to make necessary adjustments, but the meager catch I saw each time a net was dipped made me wonder how long would these nets stay as a means of livelihood and not end up being just a tourist attraction. We had a very nice buffet meal at a nearby hotel and then went back to Ernakulam for some shopping and to catch our train to Chennai. We were met by my friend Jimmy, who had so graciously helped with the planning of the trip and making bookings for us.

He dropped us at Ernakulam South station, where we got dinner packed while waiting for our train – the Alleppey Chennai Express. It arrived dot on time and I spent some time on the door catching up on the last glimpses of Kerala as the sunset.

The train is hardly an express and stopped at ten stations till Palghat, merely 151km away – you work out the math. On our way, we crossed the new Cochin Airport which actually is kilometer or so away from Alwaye station!! As we crossed, I spotted an Air India Express flight lift off in its enticing livery.

Day 8, Jan 7 2007

We tucked in early, and I got up at the crack of dawn to find ourselves at Arrakonam – just 67 kilometers away from Chennai. We had made fair progress in the night and the train was running more or less on schedule, thanks to the slack built into the timetable. We pulled into the platforms of the famed Chennai Central and trooping out, I got a pre-paid taxi slip to the airport, only to find myself facing the most rickety Premier Padmini one could ever find. The car was so rusty, that I was wondering if it would not break into half if we and our luggage were to be loaded onto it.

We somehow managed to squeeze everything in it and set off. The engine though was in a good condition and the car climbed flyovers with aplomb. We stopped at a fuel station on the way and the driver asked us to help him remove the luggage. The reason for this strange request was found out soon !! The car had no petrol tank, instead a five liter can of cooking oil had somehow been hooked up to the fuel line and that served as the fuel tank !! The guy simply unhooked it, took it to the attendant, got it filled to the brim and stuck the tube back on …. Brilliant one would say !!

We reached the airport without the car blowing up or leaking petrol onto my rucksacks, and then settled down in the lounge for a 3 hour wait before our flight. Chennai airport, like any metro airport in India is struggling hard to cope up with the boom in passenger traffic, and everywhere there is chaos and long queues. The free Wi-fi internet refused to connect and I had to use my own, so I managed to catch up with mail after quite a few days. The Taj outlet in the waiting lounge served delightful bakery at very reasonable prices. The burger for 40 bucks was better than any McDonald’s burger I have had in this country.

The three hours we managed to pass somehow, and then boarded our flight which was a hopping Indigo flight via Hyderabad. The flight was fairly smooth but the stopover at HYD was way too long, and fatigue took over. I somehow slept all the way to Delhi, and since I had forgotten my car keys at home. The car had to left in the office parking, and we all took a taxi back home.

It had been eight days, and we traveled nearly 10,000 kilometers by over land, sea and air, by road, river, rail and by bus, boat, train, plane, car, auto and god knows what else. I was happy to be back home………

pics from the trip can be seen here

Images from God's own country

Ok Ok, I know..... I haven't been able to complete the note... lack of connectivity and then of time since my return.



Will put up the rest of the story soon... in the meantime enjoy the pictures

Check them out here

Invading God's Own Country - 2

Continued from

Day 3 – Jan ,2 2007

Got woken up by the squawk of the train superintendent on the PA system announcing the arrival of our destination Trivandrum Central. A few minutes later, we got off and took an auto to our hotel. My parents went off to see the famous Ananta Padmanabha Swamy Temple while me and bro chose to relax in the room.

Around eleven, we headed to the famous beach Kovalam, which in fact is a collection of 3 crescent shaped beaches dominated by a lighthouse. Kovalam, is infested with tourists of all shapes, sizes and colors and accordingly by hotels to suit their needs. The entire area around Kovalam and neighbouring beaches is littered by besuty centres and clinics promising an Ayurvedic massage to cure anything from acne to constipation and everything in between.

After the customary family photographs posing against the surf and the sand, we decided to pack up and head to Kanniyakumari instead. Our erstwhile rulers, the Brits had no hope in hell to get the name right, so they used to call it Cape Comorin. Trivandrum, er… should I say Thrivananthapuram is connected to Kanniyakumari via the NH 47. The road is just about the most ridiculous highway you would ever come across. Even the main street in Ghosipur would be wider than that.

Even stranger is the fact that settlement from Trivandrum to Kanniyakumari seems to extend in one continuous chain. You simply cannot tell where one town ends and the other starts unless you read the shop signs. In fact you would almost miss the border crossing into Tamil Nadu for a traffic check post !!

Had it not been at the tip of the sub-continent, or more importantly had it not been for Vivekananda’s urge to jump into the sea and meditate on the rock a furlong from the shore, Kanniyakumari would hardly have been famous. A garishly modern temple finished in 1970 stands as a memorial to the great saint on the same rock where the saint meditated for 2 days. A more recent addition is a huge statue of the Tamil poet Thiruvalluvar, erected on an adjacent outcrop. The statue, towers over the memorial and the surrounding landscape and also accessible by the same ferry which takes visitors to the Vivekananda memorial.

While the statue is pretty impressive, and would have made a pretty picture once it was lit up in the night – the more cynical of the tourists around me passed it off as an attempt the Dravidian’s to outdo the splendor of the Aryan monument right in their own backyard. However, for me the sight of an array of windmills a couple of miles to the east was far more impressive and interesting. It is good to note that India is beginning to realize the potential in harnessing wind power along its abundant coast line. Private sector companies should be encouraged to setup more such wind farms which can easily meet the energy needs of small and medium towns that dot our coast.

Another interesting sidelight is a wax statue museum (billed as India’s first) in a resort (curiously) called Baywatch (it actually overlooks the Arabian Sea side of Kanniyakumari). While some of the statues were life like, most of them let a lot to desire – though the place gets full marks for trying. Yours truly and kid brother had a gala time posing against politicians, film stars and even a sumo wrestler. After watching the sun extinguish itself for the night over the horizon, we made our way back to Trivandrum and crashed out as we had an early start the next day.

Day 4, Jan 3, 2007

In exactly 24 hours, we were back at Trivandrum station – this time to catch the Jan Shatabdi express to Allappuzha (formerly Alleppey). Alleppey is the gateway to Kerala’s famous backwaters along with Kumarakom and Cochin (Kochi). The train route from Trivandrum to Alleppey is very scenic and passes on the banks of many a gorgeous lake and crosses innumerable streams and rivers. The two hour ride was thoroughly enjoyable and more than made of for the disappointing breakfast served on board.

After the customary haggling ritual at the station with the auto drivers, we finally managed to make it to the jetty – my parents and bro in the auto, while I lugged it out in the city bus – which wasn’t too much fun considering the fact that I had a sizeable backpack with a tripod that was poking the locals much to their chagrin and to make matters worse, the roof ended exactly at my ears causing a neck ache in 5 minutes.

Alleppey is an old colonial town, and once very famous and prosperous especially for spice trade. It is slowly being taken over by ugly bazaars and the hideously ubiquitous glass and steel malls. However, it still retains its old world charm and not for nothing is it called the ‘Venice of the East.’ A network of canals and backwaters, interconnected with the lakes makes for a fascinating water transport system. The jetty has a boat station where one can catch a local or a intercity boat complete with its own number and a conductor with tickets !! To boot, even the horns are ripped off their land bound cousins (read buses) and with time in hand, one must explore them.

However, our foray into the town was only till the nearest restaurant to top up the breakfast and then made our way to our houseboat. I was really looking forward to this bit of the trip and upon the first glance the boat was straight out of my dreams – and yes the Kerala Tourism brochure. Christened, the ‘Orchid Blue’ – our boat was a 2 bedroom one, powered by a 6 cylinder Ashok Leyland marine diesel. Fore of the bedrooms was a lovely lounge from where we had the prettiest views of the backwaters leading to the Vembanad lake stretching all the way to Cochin, 61 miles away.

Invading God's Own Country

Ok folks

It's time for that BIG holiday !! Am going on vacation with my parents after fifteen long years and in style. A week long sojourn in God's own country - Kerala !!

Let's see how this atheist fares there. Will be attempting a daily update from each of my stopovers, Airtel internet card permitting.

C'ya soon

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Day 1 -Dec 31, 2006

Packing is on in full swing. Trying hard to find those nooks and corners in my rucksack to stuff the small but significant things like batteries, memory card, chargers et al. The sun is out and it looks to be a good day.

So for 8 days its goodbye to Delhi's fog and hello to sunny Kerala.

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Got up at six and finished the packing after the morning chores. The cab came at 0915 and we were off. We reached Nizamuddin (NZM) station well before time, so spent a while at the Comesum food plaza chatting over breakfast.

At around 1030 we hefted our luggage and climbed the steep, uncomfortable stairs of NZM’s new entrance and reached the platform just as our train was being brought in. It had been more than ten years that I had been on a vacation of any sort with my parents, so this one brought all those memories of first class cabins, water in earthen pots, tea in kulhars and Vadilal’s ice cream at Nagpur back.

The train pulled out on time and thence began the never ending process of feeding, feeding and feeding by the stewards of the Trivandrum Rajdhani Express. Breadsticks and soup followed by lunch, followed by ice cream, followed by juice and snacks, followed by more breadsticks and soup, followed by dinner followed by ice cream… phew !!! In between all of this, countless trains sped past my window carrying tonnes and tonnes of human and sundry cargo. The landscape to Mathura is that of unending fields dotted by the odd industrial estate. The National Highway to Agra keeps company and it was fun to see even the most modern cars being thumped royally by the speeding Rajdhani.

Past Mathura, we parted company with the Central Line and joined the Western Line (zonal reorganization be damned). The stretch to Kota is one of the finest pieces of track in the country and the WAP4 up ahead made light of the 15 coach load and kept up a scorching pace. Inside the coaches, the roar of the ballast was muted and the PA system played piped music comprising of piano renditions of old Bollywood songs. The CD kept skipping every 3 seconds making the artist sound like a novice learning his notes. The first 15 minutes were amusing, then became a drag and by the end of the first hour the racket was unbearable. To compound matters, the young men across the aisle with the fancy Nokia were undoubted Himesh fans so you can very well imagine my plight.

The tracks past Bayana are very picturesque with a small outcrop of the Aravallis running parallel. Old Rajput chieftains had built watch towers which stand to this day. For the nth time I made a mental note of coming down here to indulge in some climbing and photography sessions, but with the weather being what it is, this plan has been safely slotted under the ‘summer’ calendar.

Kota arrived as the sun dipped for the last time in 2006. The Rajdhani thundered along merrily, as I climbed my berth to come face to face with the legendary ‘Open for Light’ reading lamps. Forsyth’s Afghan kept company till Vadodara. As the clock approached midnight, I was expecting some sort of cheer amongst the occupants of the train, perhaps some merry making too, but no one seemed to be interested in the passing of another year. I quietly took vodka swigs off my flask and my phone beeped endlessly with messages wishing me New Year and frantic newsmen calling for information on the fog that had engulfed my airport. Ignoring them all, I turned over and closed my eyes thinking of the one sipping vodka a thousand kms away.

Day 2 – Jan 1, 2007

Heavy braking roused me from my sleep, and I came to the door to find our train approaching Panvel, one of Mumbai’s far flung suburbs. Panvel is where the catenary ends and from here on, the diesels roam free. Panvel is also the beginning for the scenic Konkan Railway (KR), though technically it begins much later near Roha. The Konkan Railway is an engineering marvel, built in one of the toughest terrains in the world. Most of the railway passes through wilderness and the beauty of this region is as pristine as it gets. The railway is punctuated by numerous tunnels and viaducts and our train sped on and on with lesser trains making way for it at crossing stations.

Dawn broke, as we halted at Kolad where some technicians fitted KR’s ingenious Anti Collision Device on the guard’s compartment. This patented measures proximity between two trains on the same track and hoots much in advance to warn the driver of a possible collision. The scene at Kolad was misty and the mist deepened into dense fog as we entered deeper into the vales. Shrouds of grey-white cloud hung low over the moist fields and hill tops, while fishing boats and trawlers prepared to depart for the morning catch in the endless stream of creeks and backwaters that dot this region.

The Rajdhani though did not pause to admire the scenery as it plunged headlong into tunnels, emerging over tall viaducts and back into the bowels of the earth as our ears popped with alarming regularity. The viaducts on KR are amongst the tallest in the world and cows seemed as small as mice as the grazed quietly as the sun broke through the misty veil.

The age-old vegetarian Rajdhani consisting of bread, cutlet and boiled French Fries were served along with the do-it-yourself mugs of chai or coffee. Tunnels kept coming, tunnels kept going while my camera shutter snapped happily. Ratnagiri was the first major station of note where the driving crew changed duty while passengers took the opportunity of stretching their legs. The tunnels resumed as soon as we left the station and the longest tunnels on this route, measuring nearly 7 kilometers in length caused another round of fervent fingering of the ear canals trying inside the compartment.

Past Sawantwadi Road, we entered Goa. Even though the state is famous for its beaches, most people don’t know that 80% Goa is hilly, with the beaches forming but a sliver off its west coast. The terrain through which the track passes in the state is as hilly as it gets Goa too has its fair share of tunnels, most notably being the ones at Pernem, Old Goa (Karmali) and Verna. The highlight of the Goa passage is of course the crossing of the twin rivers of Mandovi & Zuari. The bridge over the Mandovi river gives a clear view of the famous Old Goa churches, while from the Zuari – the sea can be seen. Huge barges ply up and down the rivers carrying precious cargo and in the evening, the Mandovi also plays host to pleasure cruises with enough singing, dancing and beer on board.

Entering Madgaon, Goa’s principal railway station, one also sees the ambitious demo line of the Skybus Monorail project initiated by KR. The project was launched with much fanfare, but then fizzled out after an accident and poor market response. KR is still hopeful of its future, though for the moment it hangs in limbo.

Though most people travel on the KR only till Madgaon, the truly spectacular territory only starts once you head south. One of the last stations in Goa is called Balli, and a few miles south of the station, you cross a small river barely a few hundred metres away from the beach. The hills still hug the tracks, but at some spots you can clearly see the Arabian Sea a stone’s throw away.

Crossing into the state of Karnataka, the scenic beauty just got amazing by the minute. The first halt in Karnataka was the town of Karwar, where the Indian Navy is building its largest base. Just before the station, the train crosses a large river and the surroundings are ethereal to say the least. Words fail me as I try to describe the beauty that rolled before my eyes and for minutes altogether I was left staring into the window, stunned by the vista.

This was the first of many such views that I could lay my eyes on, as the Rajdhani sped southwards. The tunnels never ceased, but every now and then we would cross a small stream or a river, and I could spot tiny fishing boats coming in with the day’s catch or a ferry helping children return home from school. The banks of these streams were smooth but muddy and one could spot neatly marked footprints of those who ply their trade by the banks and to whom the water was the source of all livelihood.

This part was also home to some of the densest coconut groves that I have ever seen along with the lushest paddy fields that one can hope to find. Amazingly though, I did manage to see a few examples of what looked like coniferous trees, the kinds that you’ll find a good 2000km to the north. Was it some trickery that my eyes were fooled into, or did nature find a way of making these oddballs survive so far from their natural habitat?

We were running behind schedule, a result of long slow runs due to track maintenance and the sun was slowly dipping over the western horizon as we marched untiringly towards Udupi, the town that gave India the South Indian Fast Food.

An NRI couple had blocked the doorway with half a dozen huge suitcases, ostensibly on a long winter holiday. Just about then, half the compartment chose to go to the loo on that end. Naturally, an argument erupted with a Punjabi aunty demanding that they remove the suitcases. All requests to go to the toilet on the other end fell on deaf ears and I merrily watched the whole drama from the sidelines. Mercifully, for us and the lady – the station arrived soon enough and the lady merrily ignored the statutory request of not using the toilet at stations, while the couple unloaded their 747 worth of cargo.

I was hoping to find some piping hot dosas or idlis at Udupi station, but none of them materialized. However, the wealth generated by the eponymous restaurants all over the country could clearly be seen as modern apartments and affluent looking bungalows were sprinkled all over the hills that surround the station. I am safely assuming that some of that might have come from the software engineers that the south of our country has exported en masse.

From Udupi, it was a shot run to Kankanadi, a suburb of the important town of Mangalore. The main Mangalore station lies on another alignment of the railroad, and the KR line is served by Kankanadi – a station located in a jungle on the outskirts of the town. Four years ago, it had taken me nearly 45 minutes just to find the road which led to the station from the main street. Most KR stations are in fact located in the middle of nowhere. The line more or less follows the coast line going right through except the most difficult of terrain. As a result, most stations’ location was dictated by the alignment of the track than convenience. As a consequence some stations on the line are 10 kilometers or more from the towns they are supposed to serve!!

Darkness fell as we left Kankanadi and crossed a huge river emptying itself into the sea about a kilometer downstream from the bridge. The action shifted indoors with my co-passengers, especially a Marathi lot showing keen interest in my photo catch for the day. As always, the hidden professionals in the audience came to the fore and soon I was being offered advice on how I should have focused on this rather than that, and being bombarded with questions on why on earth was I shooting trains?

I mumbled oft practiced replies and then turned into my corner to finish off Fredrick Forsyth’s ‘Afghan’, which is an interesting read though not in the same league as the author’s earlier works. Guess age catches up with us all.

Dinner was served late due to, er….. technical difficulties – which basically meant that the Pantry car stove had packed up. We rumbled through north Kerala as I wolfed down the last of my meal. I slept a bit early as we had an early start and for once I slept peacefully on a train without having to resort to a drink or two.

continued...

Meenakshi Redux Part 2: The Metric Goddess

Continued from Part One

Ahead lay the longest possible meter gauge journey by a single train in India – a run of 1148km to Purna spread over 32 hours by the 9769 Meenakshi Express. Settling down cabin C of the solitary 2A coach, we eagerly awaited the start which came 2 minutes past the scheduled departure of 1200hrs.

Our first halt was Kishangarh, and then on we headed towards Phulera (FL) where the first of our three crossings with the opposite Meenakshi took place. Next up was Ajmer and we swept through the suburbs on the famed curve halting briefly at the outer. Since, the Meenakshi carried a full fledged pantry (the only one on MG across IR), we were expecting to be served lunch at Ajmer, but this was not to be. Meal service began only at dinner time and till then it was only chai and snack service. A hunt on the platform stalls revealed that I would again be served with my by now favourite dish – what else but PS!!!!!!!! The post lunch ride took us past the Cantonment town of Nasirabad and other halts like Gulabpura.

The 4th occupant of our cabin was a serviceman on his way to Khandwa. The fellow was either the reserved type or had been driven past the end of his wits by the incessant cackle of three excited railfans with the cramped confines of a MG 2A cabin. Whatever, be the reason the chap was fast asleep and our banter ranged from the weird to the downright corny and every thing in between. At Mandal, one station before the textile town of Bhilwara we waited a long time for a crossing train before making our way through a surfeit of semaphores that guarded the station’s entrance.

Past Bhilwara, the sun fell rapidly and with that the spirits rose as the aperitifs for the evening were brought to the party along with a motley collection of hors d'oeuvres stocked up at Jaipur. While we were at it, our train docked in at Chittaurgarh where the Phulera loco gave way to another YDM4 from Mhow, which would haul our train right up to Purna. Dinner was served at Chittaur as well, which consisted of freshly cooked on board paranthas, dal, veggie, curd and pickle along with fried rice which was part of the peshal’ (special) thali. The regular thali got staid boiled rice of course. The food, served piping hot was excellent, much better than the fancy meals served on board the Rajdhanis. In fact, all three of us readily admitted that it was perhaps the best meal we had eaten aboard a train in a long time, and that too in a godforsaken MG pantry in the back of beyond!!

Nimbahera was next, where a longish halt for a crossing under the bright full moon proved to be a fantastic opportunity for me to take some night shots of freight MG stock. Next up was Neemuch, where we eagerly awaited the ghosts of Diwali past. We were on the door even before the train halted and a quick scan in the moonlit yard revealed the looming figures of Mohan’s ghosts and we were off. Sprinting across the track we climbed the platform and setup our cameras to reel off shots in whatever light that was available. The 3 YGs had been left there to rust in peace except when disturbed by the hoops of gone-loco rail fans jumping around like monkeys at mealtime.

As we pulled away, a toast was called in the honour of the rusting beauties and the party continued into the night past Mandasor. Alarms were set for 0400 hours and they rand just as the Goddess pulled into the suburbs of Indore past Lakshmibai Nagar. It was fairly chilly at that hour and a hot cuppa chai was called for. On the platform, a whole platoon on young NCC cadets lay sprawled on the platform sleeping uncomfortably as we prepared for the most exciting stretch of our journey.

A short run later we pulled into Mhow, a good 1 hour late. Dawn was breaking in the eastern sky as a YDM4 swung into action detaching 7 coaches from the formation and then leaving them into a siding before reattaching the SLR to reduce our rake length to 12 coaches. Correspondingly, ours became the second last coach in the consist and we looked forward to the Choral gorge while chomping away on freshly made Poha and chai. The ghost of PS was past or so I thought.

We were now waiting for Patalpani – where the water touched the deepest darkest depths of the earth and just as Mohan had predicted, the place was as beautiful as beautiful could get. The sun rose in the east while the moon set in the west and we could see them out of the left and right doors of the coach respectively.

Patalpani is the first of the brake testing halts as the Meenakshi prepares to tackle near vertical slopes of the Malwa plateau. The first of the 41% grades hit immediately past the starter and a few hundred meters ahead we were presented with a breathtaking view of the magnificent Patalpani waterfalls which were in full flow dropping from a height of more than 150ft. The depth of the pool into which the waters falls is allegedly unfathomed and folklore says it reaches Patal-Lok or the Netherworld.

From then on the journey was sheer magic, a journey that would stay imprinted in my memory till my dying day. The Meenakshi rumbled through cuttings, tunnels, thickets and valleys stopping for brake testing halts along the way. The sun rose over the misty Choral valley and the river gurgled far below on the valley floor. On a spectacular curve, just before the tunnel we halted. Part of the train was on a magnificent viaduct and the loco had stopped right next to a waterfall rolling down the hillside. The sun burned bright between the green leaves and the sight that unfolded before me was far more beautiful than what a camera could ever hope to capture.

The Choral accompanied us throughout our traverse through the valley and we reached Kala Kund, where a board under the home semaphore announced the end of the Ghat section. The mountainside however, was not going to leave us anytime soon, nor was the river Choral. It flow more or less parallel to us for quite a distance and crossed us again near the eponymous station. Beyond that, till Mukhtiara Balwada, we scampered through hill and valley across tight curves making for one of the loveliest mornings in recent memory. At Mukhtiara Balwada, we waited for a crossing train and in the process discovered more ancient rails on the loop line. These rails too were built by Barron Steel of England for BB&CI Railway way back in 1898!!!

As the sun grew hotter, we slunk back the comforts of our cabin waiting for Khandwa to arrive and along with it breakfast. The two bit town that Khandwa is, the meals were equally two bit and there I was suffering PS again for the 5th time in 36 hours. After that the train took a sweeping curve past Khandwa town, gaining height in the process and crossing the CR mainline and onwards to Akola. We chilled in the cabin, waiting for the next highlight – namely the Dhulghat spiral. This is the only one of its kind in India outside the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway and is marked the sight of a tall viaduct as we approach it from the Khandwa side.

My handycam was ready and whirring as we went under the viaduct and into a sharp left handed curve right through a narrow cutting gaining height by one meter for every hundred we travelled forward. Soon we found ourselves on top of the very viaduct we passed a few minutes back and then curved left again heading south.

There is a tunnel shortly after the spiral and one after Wan Road station as well. There are several tall viaducts on this section and one – very aptly named ‘Amphitheatre’ (spelled Amphetheter) provides a stunning view of the plains below which eerily resemble the Serengeti Savannah !! Several local stuntmen showed of their daring but stupid skills as they crawled their way up the side of the coach on to the roof and then walking the length of the train as it wound down its course down the hills.

We crossed the Tapti near Tukaithad and also the Narmada before Khandwa which were the two major rivers along the way. Akola was the next major station (and our second tryst with catenary) on the way and we spent less than a minute on the platform as it was baking hot outside. We departed Akola alongside the Geetanjali to Howrah on the BG. We quickly climbed the ramp and across the BG to continue our southerly course. Having been treated to another excellent meal by the pantry, and having been up since 4AM, we decided to go for a nap.

The plan was the get up near Washim for the Penganga crossing, but alas my fatigue ruled and I got just before Hingoli Deccan, the erstwhile boundary of the Nizam’s Railway. Sings of conversion to BG were omnipresent past Hingoli, with cuttings being widened, sleepers lining trackside and pre fabricated concrete sections for bridges being readied. The plan is to convert the MG from Purna to Hingoli and then on to Akola, providing another route south.


Light fell past Hingoli, and it was time to party again. This time, it was a toast tinged with sadness as our journey neared its end and with it came the realization that soon this would all be history. The pantry served its delightful fare for one final time and we finished our meal just as we pulled up to Purna outer. As we waited, the Devagiri from Secundrabad went past on the BG side we followed it in shortly. At Purna, India’s premier MG train was pulled directly on to the siding even when a platform was available. Perhaps no one wanted to shunt the rake from the platform anymore. Perhaps no one cared for her anymore. No one but 3 nutcases who had travelled all the way from Jaipur, much to the amusement of the staff and fellow passengers.

We made our way into the town in search of a beer, but beat a hasty retreat 200 meters past the station. Purna unfortunately was not even a one pony town. We decided to stick to the familiar comforts of the railway station as we waited for our respective trains.

Vivek and Sanyog were due to take the Nanded – Daund passenger to Manmad and then on to Mumbai, while I was to take the Link express to Parbhani which would attach to the Manmad – Secundrabad Express. My train was a 3 coach affair and the tiny rake was doing 100kmph within minutes of leaving Purna and we reached Parbhani in no time at all. In fact The Daund passenger was waiting at Parbhani despite leaving half an hour before mine. Me and Vivek indulged in an yelling-across-the-platform-conversation, before their train started again.

Having had an early dinner, my tummy was growling again and Parbhani too, held aloft the PS banner high and once again I was digging into oily Pooris convincing myself that this would be just about the last time in my life I would be having PS.

After a fitful night’s sleep on the uneven halves of a side lower berth, I was glad to find myself at Vikarabad Jn. in the morning. An agonizing hour and a half later I am greeted by Bharath Moro and PVS at Secundrabad. PVS asks me what I want for breakfast and I guess you know the answer by now – anything but #$%^^ PS !!!!

Meenakshi Redux Part 1: Of Thunderbolts & Flying Chairs

On a cool September evening, I changed from a shirt, tie, collar into standard railfanning gear; hefted my rucksack and caught an auto to Delhi Cantt. (DEC) station. The mission: to catch the last passenger to Rewari and thence to Jaipur. I reached DEC with plenty of time to spare and that allowed me to stock up on essential supplies and also to catch a quick snack in the form of Poori - Subzi (Bhaji) henceforth referred to as PS.

Pretty soon, the 9RD to Rewari pulled in. Following the closure of the MG line to Rewari (RE), NR introduced several new passenger services to RE on BG to compensate for the extra rush on BG. These new passengers run 23-24 coaches and are easily the longest passenger trains on IR. Surprisingly, the train was near empty - even on a weekday. Normally these trains run as packed as Virar locals, but then who was I to complain. I found myself a nice door in the 3^rd coach and planted my butt on the footboard as the WDP3A chugged off in true Alco style.

The 78 odd kilometer run to Rewari has more than a dozen halts and we crossed quite a few trains on the way. At Patli we pulled into the loop line and I got off on the right side. I could see a dipped headlamp of a waiting Alco at the home signal on the Rewari end which went on high beam just as the semaphores dropped to give it a clear run to Delhi. Though the loco was nearly half a mile away, I could hear the V16 roared to life as the driver pulled through the notches and the turbo spun viciously as sparks flew thick from the exhaust. As it entered the station, the chief the whistle rip and the WDM3A from Tughalkabad blasted through the station accelerating rapidly with the Shatabdi from Ajmer in tow. As the train flashed past me, the growling generator van provided a fitting finale to this amazing son et lumière.

Rewari arrival was 40 minutes late and the crowd of tired commuters slowly melted away into the darkness as I sauntered out of the station in search of food and drink. The need for the second item on the list was solved by the discovery of a shop which announced itself as "Govt. Approved compound for the consumption of liquor". In common tongue it translated into a shop that was permitted its customers to consume the booze within the premises unlike most Indian liquor stores.

I bought myself a bottle of Thunderbolt "Super Strong Beer" and went inside only to be greeted by the filthiest dump imaginable. A small room, barely 10' X 12' was littered all over with empty cigarette packs, broken bottles, wrappers and pan stains covering every square inch. In a dark corner sat a few men who had been drinking heavily and the murmurs of an impeding argument were creeping across the room. As I was getting the boy to clean the mess the murmurs grew into heavy cuss words and just as I tipped over the bottle for my first sip, a plastic chair flew across the room and whacked me square on the side of my head!!! I spun around letting loose some choice curses of my own but the culprit was already being held down by his companions who muttered apologies in slurred Haryanvi.

Soon it became clear that the chair was not meant for me, but flung by the poor man out of frustration against his wife who had decamped earlier in the day with her lover. Feeling sorry for the man, I downed my not so cold beer, which was soon succeeded by a super cold one. Reeling from the quick intake of two stiff beers, I staggered out to find all food joints closed as it was way past midnight. Seeing no other option I made my way into the station and found a vendor serving piping hot PS. Accentuated by the beer, my hunger saw me wolf down nearly a dozen pooris as the rake of my onward train the Shekhawati Express to Jaipur was shunted on to the MG platforms.

Clambering aboard the solitary AC coach, a composite 1A/2A sleeper, I found a rotund lady sprawled all over my designated berth. The TTE followed me in, and the lady requested that she be allotted that coupe while I could choose another for myself as the whole coach was empty. As the train departed at 0108, it became clear that Railway staff outnumbered the passengers 1:4 in coach HA1.

Having deposited my luggage a nice cold cabin, I headed to the door and lit up a smoke. The loco up ahead set up a cracking pace as it had to cover the first 50km to Mahendragarh in a scheduled 48 minutes and that too with a 17 coach load!! However, the combined effects of the thunderbolts and the flying chair ensured that I was snoring away contentedly in the confines of my cabin much before that.

The route to Sikar is full of grades but the Owange loco from Phulera made light work of it thanks to the meagre load. The recent spell of heavy rain in North & North West India had ensured that the temperatures stayed on the pleasant side of things. The countryside too wore a verdant cloak of green, and for a change you see a much more than the babul, kikar or cactus. We pulled into Sikar about very much on schedule, and I had a piping hot chai there while we waited for a crossing train.

It was nearly 5 minutes since the freight had come in and 40 minutes past the scheduled departure, but still no one seemed to be in a hurry to get anywhere. A few more minutes later, an elderly gent climbed up this lovely signal box set up on the platform and pulled the designated levers to set the points for our train to the mainline. After this, he picked up the token ring and strolled casually up to the loco and handed it over and soon enough the train started, 52 minutes after it had pulled in. Had a Swiss watchmaker been aboard the train would have had multiple heart attacks by now, but then this was India and this was MG and this was exactly why I was there.

At Ringus, I hopped off to get some breakfast, and the options available were limited
to nothing but good old PS!! Since the stomach was grumbling, I gobbled it up quickly with a chai. The run to Jaipur was pretty uneventful, with a stray crossing or two and the generous slack time allotted meant that we reached Dauhar-Ka-Balaji in the suburbs of Jaipur, with plenty of time to spare.

Entering Jaipur, I was met the platform by Vivek Manvi & Sanyog Deshpande from Mumbai, who had taken different routes to get to Jaipur. Vivek had flown in from
Mumbai, while Sanyog had had an adventure of his own - first on the Shatabdi to Ahmedabad and then on the Ashram to Jaipur. A shower in the retiring room later, we were back on the platform to stock up on supplies for the long haul ahead.

Continued in Part 2

Those magnificent men

The Raichur Thermal station loomed large on our left, lit up brightly as its four smokestacks towered into the sky, red lights blinking. Rising columns of steam eerily reminded us of the Titanic when suddenly the cabin lights were switched off and the assistant had his nose pressed to the windscreen infront of him. The Chief too was peering ahead in rapt attention and for a moment there was pin drop silence in the cab. The rumble of the V16 behind us grew tenfold and we couldn't see much ahead as the view was block by a road bridge. Suddenly a green speck came into view and Chief's finger went up in his inimitable style when the assistant cried "Raichur home - caution!!"

Cut to the cab of the WAP5 at the helm of the Rajdhani to Mumbai. Roaring along at 130kmph, the Chief and his assistant are discussing the upcoming wedding of a colleague's daughter when a buffalo, munching contentedly by the tracks decided to choose that very moment to get up and cross the tracks. The assistant, a pucca Bramhin could only get up and fold his palms when a resounding thud sounded a hit. Another hundred or so kilometers down the track, we run over an unlikely species - a peacock !! Unheeded - Rajdhani goes on as it is just another day in the life of the loco pilots and assistants of Indian Railways.

Those unnamed, unheralded heroes about whom, hardly anyone knows or cares. Those are the men, who spend Diwalis and Chirstmases in Running Room Dormitories so that you could have been home in time to spend it with your families. Those are the men who brave 45° C plus temperatures while you lounge in air conditioned comforts of your coupes. Next time you are at the station, try looking inside the cabin of a locomotive. You would find an apology of a seat - barely adequate for resting half a bum, but even then they would invite you to share it.

I know of a Chief - as we call the senior drivers (or pilots as the Railways likes to call them) who as a fireman spent 16 straight hours on the footplate of a freight train to cover 250 kilometers due to a strike. 16 straight overs shovelling coal into the firebox, 16 straight hours in a place where temperatures make the Sahara look like Siberia. I have personally been witness to drivers - staunch Bramhins drink out of the same cup as a Muslim while in the cab. Seen Jains, pull out the severed hand of a young boy that got stuck in the undercarriage as he got run over.

Try and imagine the nightmares these guys must be facing, try and imagine the responsibilities carry on their shoulders each time the signal turns green for in the palm of their hand rests the fate of 2000 lives. They carry the food you eat, the fuel you burn through endless winter nights and blazing summer days. Their children missed their father on the first day of school, just because he was ferrying someone else's children.

How many of us even know that it is not in their hands to drive fast or slow. Or that the train does not get late because of him - but because of a stupid section controller who puts a slow moving freight ahead of a fast express or a careless loco inspector who couldn't even screw a few nuts tight !! The driver drives just as he sees the signal. Green means go, yellow means slow and red means stop ! They will perhaps be the few people in India who follow this religiously - unlike the morons on the road.

So the next time you are in a train - spare a thought for the man up ahead. He is not driving slow because he is lazy - he too has children waiting at home for him.

Two Guys, 2 Rucksacks and some 9000km...

It was sometime in January 2000, when Rajat, a friend of mine, who then worked for ZEE News, dropped into my place, when I told him about my plan to visit South India for a few days. He said that he was also planning to visit the North East of India, to visit a couple of friends and somehow we decided to club these together because I hadn't seen the NE of India and he hadn't seen the South.

Out came a 6'x4' map of India which I possess and our prelim route planning was underway. Our original itinerary was Delhi -Goa -Hyderabad - Nellore- Tirupati- Madras- Bangalore- Mysore- Bangalore- Guwahati- Shillong- Delhi. However, due to time constraints, the Goa-Hyderabad leg was dropped and the final decision was made to travel: Delhi- Nellore- Tirupati- Chennai- Bangalore- Mysore- Bangalore- Guwahati- Shillong- Guwahati- New Delhi

We departed from New Delhi in the 2616 GT express in Sleeper class. Our first stop was Nellore. We were stocked with enough supplies to keep us in 'high spirits' all the way. We made friends with a bunch of guys in our coach... and the journey was accomplished with sessions of 'antakshari' , fights with the train conductor over smoking on the door, arguments with 'hijras' (eunuchs) who said I reminded him of some movie star but couldn't recall his exact name (I knew he actually meant Paresh Rawal...heheh). The hilly sections on the way were spent in happy clicks of the camera and educating my friends about bankers, WAM4s and BOXNs.

After the mandatory ice cream session at Nagpur, we settled for a nap, because I wanted to get up at Balharshah to watch the run till Sirpur Kagaznagar by sunset. Dinner was at Warangal, before we settled in for another nap till BZA. I didn't want to miss out on the really cool fruit juice stalls of BZA. The Krishna bridge was passed with a thunderous roar with the new crew emulatinf a Formula 1 driver. They regaled us till Nelloreand it was around 0330 in the morning when we landed there. A short walk to my maternal grandparents' home and we were soon sleeping, trying to wear off the effects of a 34 hr journey. Next morning, I showed Rajat around Nellore, a place typical of small town India, trying to catch up fast with the rest of the world. In the last ten years, Nellore has shown a spurt of growth unmatched in its hundreds of years of history. What with the coming of the cable TV, the internet, it turned a laid back small town of rice growers and prawn farmers into big time wannabes. Showrooms selling Levis and Omegas are as common as they would be in Delhi and Bombay. I couldn't help but feel like Pankaj Mishra and his best selling book 'Butter Chicken in Ludhiana'.

Nellore has undergone the same change as lets say Kerala. In Kerala, money flew in from its expat sons in the Gulf, while small town Andhra sons have made it big in the US as IT professionals. The dollars and the attitude that these kids have sent back has really transformed the whole place... for good.. or bad, I don't know !!!

Anyways, coming back to the point, we spent the next day on the Mypadu beach, which is half an hour's drive from Nellore through lush green paddy fields, coconut groves and prawn farms. We waded across the Buckingham canal to get to the beach and when we got there, we realized that there were only two people there. Rajat and me!!!!! So we had a gala time, having chilled beer sitting on some fisherman's dugout canoe and watching distant ships smoke on the horizon.

Next day we decided to go to Tirupati by one of the East Coast's most notorious trains the now defunct Tirupati-Howrah Express. Calling up the railway enquiry, we were informed that the train was 50 mins late (no surprise). Accordingly, we decided to move from our place for the station. We decided to walk it , and along the 1km or so stretch , the stares and the smiles we got convinced me that this STILL was small town India, where backpackers in heavy metal band t-shirts, hiking shorts and boots with baseball caps were still a novelty.

Reaching the station, I asked Rajat to go to the platfom while I bought the tickets. Nellore station has an interesting layout... the tracks being a good 12-15 ft above road level... the ticket halls, booking counters etc, are on road level... to reach the main platforms one has to take a subway of sorts and then climb a steep incline ( no stairs ). While in the line... I heard the rumble of a train pulling into the station above my head... and suddenly a guy came screaming, "bandi vacchindi, bandi vacchindi".." meaning the train has arrived, the train has arrived"... Having no clue as to which train, I somehow had a intuition and ran through the subway, and saw Rajat standing at the top of the incline, and I screamed and asked him what train it was and all he mouthed was "Tirupati .... " and I went "@##$%...... that's our train". Somehow ran up the steep grade with my huge rucksack and jumped into train which was already moving and we were ticket less!! Typical of its nature, the Howrah Express had come up with another surprise for us. Luckily, I still possessed our GT exp. tickets, which we had booked till Madras.. And while getting down at Nellore, we had break journey inscribed on them. So the tickets were valid till Gudur at least, which was the next stop.

When the TTE came Rajat tried to tell him in English, about the whole situation and the TTE simply said " next station, train stop 40 mins.... you go buy ticket." Before I could open my mouth and ask any further , he was gone. If we went literally went by what the TTE had to say, it meant. at the next station, the train will stop for 40 mins, so it shouldn't be a problem for us to buy the train tickets. But opening the timetable, we realized what he meant. He actually meant.. That the next station is 40 mins away so we can buy the tickets there. Luckily the train stoppedjust near the ticket window, so I was able to buy the tickets easily.

The train was being hauled by an ancient WAM4 from and never did the driver dare go beyond 80 kmph, lest the archaic vacuum brake rake, (avg. coach was built in mid 1970s). At a station near Renigunta, I saw one of the most bizarre incidents I have seen on Indian Railways. The driver slowed down to a crawl while passing through the platform to allow railway employees to jump off. Somewhere near the station master's office an old lady stood with three huge gunnysacks and as the loco passed her by, she waved to the driver and to our utter surprise, the train stopped !!

Then the lady picked up one of her sacks, trundled up all the way to the first coach and deposited her luggage there. Then she went back and repeated the process. When all three sacks were done, the driver literally asked her if that was all and once done he started the train again. Trust me, never before have I seen this in my life. I had just heard stories that u could wave the Howrah express to a halt, but I guess they were all true !!!

Reaching Tirupati the abode of Lord Venkateshwara, we got out of the train, only to be greeted by a Sardarji who seemed to have been attracted towards us by our loud and heavily accented conversation. Having decided that we were to be his guides thereon, he latched on to us like one of those Fevicol ads. We got out of the station and crossed out of the station to reach the bus stand from where the buses departed for the shrine at Tirumala. There we got our first taste of the Hi-Tech revolution the shrine had undergone, with we being given bar-coded armbands, which specified our designated time of 'darshan'. That done, we boarded the rickety TTD bus, which wheezed its way up the twisting and turning mountain road. The road itself is an engineering marvel, and is very smooth. All along the way, one could see numerous rocks being painted in praise of Lord Venkateshwara with hymns and shlokas. Equally numerous was graffiti by amorous devotees who along with proclaiming their love for the Lord, could not resist proclaiming their love for their Sheilas, Laxmis and Ritus...

All this while, the Sardarji was telling us stories from his travels around the country. The guy was your typical trucker, who had been all over the country in his 40 years as a driver, but he had now retired with a truck company of his own, which was looked after by his sons, while he now traveled all over the land indulging in pilgrimages. Before Tirupati, he had been to Puri, Calcutta and other temple towns, and he was raving about the rampant corruption in all those places, and how the priests had made those temples into their personal fiefdoms. All these were being narrated in hardcore Punjabi replete with the choicest of abuses being hurled left right and centre at all protagonists in his stories who invariably belonged to practically all ethnic groups in our country. This motormouth geriatric was embarrassing us bigtime, but we were lucky that not a soul in the bus apart from us seemed to understand him.

Reaching Tirumala, we disappeared from his sight at the first chance lest he decided to park himself in our room only. We had already reserved our accommodation there and after a shower and a meal of masala dosas and filter coffee, we decided to roam around for a while, since our stipulated darshan time was still a few hours away. We bought some knick-knacks for our families and soon enough it was time for the Darshan.

Religion in India is as big an industry as any, and nowhere is it more apparent than in Tirupati. You could reach the sanctum sanctorum of the temple in two ways. One was the 'Free Darshan' where all you had to do was to stand in the line and then wait till the Gods smile down on you and depending on the time of the year you go, you can have the darshan in 4 to 24 hours. The other option (which we took) is to pay Rs. 50 and take a smaller queue to reach the Lord. So even the Gods charge you if you want their blessings a bit quicker.

We came out of the temple at around 12 AM, and went back to our room for a shuteye Next morning we went to see the Papanashanam waterfalls, which lie a bit higher than the town of Tirumala. Finishing that, we decided to give lunch a by and proceeded straight for Tirupati Station to catch the Saptagiri exp. to Chennai. We reached the station well before the departure and we were practically starving. As I stayed put in the waiting room to guard our rucksacks, Rajat attacked the refreshment room. He came back 20 minutes later with a smirk on his face, and I knew something was up. He then described the events of the last few minutes where in he practically emptied the refreshment stall's stock of Idli's and Vadas. So it was my turn to fill my tummy, and the moment the guy at the stall saw me, he knew he was in for more trouble as another six-footer in travel worn clothes and a hungry look sauntered in. After about 8-9 idlis, half a dozen vadas and half a liter Pepsi later, the poor guy heaved a sigh of relief as I paid him and nodded thanks and walked off, to share my story with Rajat.

Pretty soon the, Saptagiri arrived behind its yellow-green liveried WAM4-6PD ABC and he hopped in the AC Chair Car to beat the heat. At Renigunta, the train stopped to reverse, while Rajat, sick of South Indian food (already!!!!) , went in someone selling the universal IR dish : Puri and Aloo Curry. Pretty soon, I saw Rajat with a triumphant look on his face and Aloo Puri in both hands. He handed me one and started hogging the other. But one bite and his expression changed all over again because the curry tasted like Sambar!!!! This is one thing where we Punjabi's are so troubled. Just can't digest anything else for long.

Anyways, we reached Chennai on time and after a bout of serious argument with the notorious auto-shankars (autorickshaw drivers), we managed to bargain a price for him to drop us at Alwarpet. Night was spent in the company of old friends and the atmosphere reminded me of the famous pirates Song " Fifteen men on a dead man's chest. yo ho ho and a bottle of rum... drink and the devil has done the rest.. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum."

Morning broke with the smell of aloo paratha's (something for which punjabis can die for) wafting in the air. It turned out that our friend had a cook who had worked for years in a dhaba in Punjab. It was like manna from heaven after 4 days of surviving on dosas and sambar. Noontime we spent finishing some work and shopping for Kanjeevaram Saris at Nalli for our mother's and girlfriend's mothers. And on our way back, we decided to visit Elliot's beach (Adyar). I remembered it from my college days, when I used to hop on the GT Exp. just to meet my girlfriend who was studying in Chennai and also for the ride on the mother of all trains. Then the beach used to be a quiet place, where one could just sit and watch the sun go down behind our backs and just talk. How utterly romantic !! Alas... for those puppy love days..

But in the present, that quiet little place had become a clone of stinky Marina beach, with litter all over the place, beggars, college boys with their pseudo racer bikes making a racket and polluting the world a wee bit more. I was aghast at the sight, because I considered Chennai as the last bastion of things still old fashioned, but not anymore. Even then we couldn't somehow resist the water and plunged headlong, formal clothes be damned and reached back home well after sunset. Dripping from head to toe and the white ambassador which had ferried us across the town was a total mess by now.

Next morning, we woke with a major hangover, a resultant of last night's romps and rushed to Chennai Central to catch the Brindavan Exp. to Bangalore. We got down at Bangalore Cantt. And spent the next four days including Valentine's Day pub hopping across Ba