Train Journeys- Past and Present

The familiar bleak friable landscape interspersed with algae ponds, cattle and livestock in different stages of thinness grazing on non-existent grass, the sparsely cultivated fields, thatched hutments, semi naked children chasing mangy dogs, men huddled on charpoys or walking listlessly with the familiar ‘lota’ (metal mug) for their morning ablutions, women head covered engrossed in washing, cleaning. I was aboard the Prayagraj train, named after my home town Prayag and present Allahabad, after a gap of nearly 20 years and sat glued to the window not wanting to miss out the familiar sights.

The excitement was visible as on night of travel I arrived at New Delhi station two hours before departure time to a deserted platform and wondering if had got the day wrong. Maybe I had the Freudian fear of missing a train and arriving at railway stations two hours ahead of time though unlike Freud I did not associate train travel with death. For Freud ‘Dying is replaced in dreams by departure, by a train journey’. (Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis’).

My misgivings proved wrong and within minutes the rush started and deposited on my berth, second ac sleeper top berth near the entrance and the toilet. I was looking to swap my berth for a lower one, Second AC has two berths instead of three of Third AC sleeper, but my appearance, frail, nor my age softened male hearts. As one person I requested put it ‘I have approached railway officialdom for lower berth of my choice months in advance’. The ticket collector too was elusive and for a moment was tempted to pass on some bucks but an unbeliever in bribery resigned myself to the continuous footsteps and the all-pervasive urine odor from the rusty, rickety toilets (one is western and other squat).

An overnighter, the Prayagraj, is ideal for business or work commute but not for viewing the dusty plains of North India. I was awake early morning, 4 a.m. to preempt toilet use and for the first glimpse of the Gangetic plain awakening to dawn. I had done this journey umpteen times but the gap of 21 years made me curious about the changes as we crossed obscure hamlets familiar not for their names but appearance, decrepit stations with platforms stacked with parcels and human bodies asleep or the in between naps, oblivious to the rattle of speeding trains. The familiar food carts, the tea stalls displaying the mud cups or kullars and their owners parroting ‘chai chai’ ( tea-tea). Station tea tastes best in earthen cups with aroma of leaves mingling with the mud smell. Fathepur beyond Kanpur had been my favored station to drink the special brew as the train arrived here early morning.

Around 5 a.m., the filtering sun exposed derrières along the tracks and at one place a group of boys ( four- six years) appeared to be playing a game sitting in a circle. Not a pleasant early morning expose. There are no major cities on this route, till we touch Kanpur or Cawnpore of British India history. The motley procession of spreading dry fields interspersed with green patches shaded by mango and neem trees and being a history buff visualized marauding mutineers and British soldiers galloping across the grayish brown terrain. The Mutiny of 1847* .

There was still an hour to reach Allahabad and as I gazed into the horizon I compared the passing scenery with another train journey in 2009 from Hong Kong to Beijing – Shanghai and back to Hong Kong. Then it was T 98 a superfast luxury train and the Soft Sleeper (four berths)compared with present situation had felt a luxury on wheels with clean crisp sheets, comforters, pillows, hangers, luggage compartment (at the top), hot water flask, step-on garbage-bin, mirrors, reading lights, air cons and new colored slippers for each occupant. The toilets were clean but towards end of journey, toilet hopping, it is a through train, appeared a better option.

The train had swaggered past the scenic Pearl River delta, a continuous drizzle and a disappearing sun cast a chimerical effect to the picturesque antiquated ‘shark’s teeth’ mountains, leaving behind the pastoral countryside metamorphosing into a clinical landscape of barracks and factories, the occasional residential complexes with children frolicking in puddles and the elderly smoking, squatting or working in fields.

Next morning we got a glimpse of the grey skies, a continuous phenomenon of our 10 day journey, as we approached the enormousness of Beijing station mid afternoon. Few days in Beijing and another train ride to Shanghai and this time in the swanky D 301 Beijing/Shanghai express train, an immaculate all white, brand-new 200km/h sleeper train with staff in spiffy red uniforms and caps. Slightly intimidating and we slid in quietly so as not to disturb the other passengers in the upper bunks of the 4 bunk Soft sleeper. It was a twelve hour nigh journey and we missed out the country sights.

Shanghai station is a throwback of stations back home, except for its voluminous interiors, with escalators not working and no one to tell you where to go. The return journey to Hong Kong via T 99 in Hard Sleeper with 6 bunks was a journey closer to real China train experience. The upper, middle and lower bunks cushioned bunk stacks and I had spent my waking hours in the corridor, folding table and chairs placed in the corridor, observing passengers trussed amongst bales, packets and luggage, playing Mahjong. We had planned the train journeys for a view of the countryside and to interact with the locals but it was nowhere near the ‘family’ atmosphere of Prayagraj, of camaraderie with friends, foes, acquaintances and strangers.

My bonding with trains is probably a residual baggage of my mother’s accounts of journeys aboard the British India Railways, the compulsory every six months winding up the hills to Simla and return to Delhi. Her stories were peppered with grandmother’s verbal tags on the helpers and coolies, her vigil of the steel trunks carrying the family ‘silver’ …clothes, ration, and household stuff.

The steam engines wove their magic in my psyche and as a six-year-old I would dream of traveling the Indian countryside in the chuk-chuk trains. My elder brother, probably in line with family tradition, joined the Railways via Indian Railways Institute of Mechanical & Electrical Engineering (IRIMEE) Jamalpur, an institute started by the British to rope in the best brains to manage the railways. His first posting was in Bhusawal, Maharashtra and my mother, me and younger brother spent a summer in his cottage in the railway colony. At night we would be woken up by frantic calls from the linesmen about some derailment or another and often my brother had to rush to the scene. He had been assigned a carriage, with bunks, washroom and kitchenette, which was attached to a goods or passenger train, depending where he was traveling. We joined him once for a regal ride from Bhusawal to Mumbai and Pune. The carriage was coupled at the end of a goods train for most part of the journey and our mother spent the entire night worrying about being looted by robbers or being stranded in some vague station. It was an experience having the humongous railways at our service, the linesmen, station attendants waiting to welcome the Sahib and train travel took on another meaning.

New modes of transport did not lessen fascination of trains and they continued to be a metaphor connecting lives across the dusty plains whether in air-conditioned comfort or sweaty general compartments.

Here, I was two decades later re-living the romance of the philistine wheels not on an unknown journey but a journey to my past.

Photo taken from moving train with my iPhone on way to Allahabad.

Biting the Bullet

The white snooty-nosed train whizzed past and in minutes was a blur. This was the 700 series of Shinkasen on its run between Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Hiroshima and Hakata.  

I have done it all from steam and diesal locomotives in India,  the deluxe luxury trains of China, Amtrak in the USA and the various short distance subway systems in different countries.

Biting the Bullet was going to top the list. The very idea of speeding past at 170 miles per hour was intimidating but once inside it was smooth ride. We covered Hiroshima to Kyoto in two and half hours in time for lunch.

Bento lunch boxes are available in the train or you can purchase on stations and  passengers availed of the services.

Hiroshima Station...outside

Shinkasens or ‘New Trunk Line’ was introduced in Japan in 1964 before the Tokyo Olympics and today connect major Japanese cities.  

Kyoto station

The Shinkasen train rides were courtesy JNTO, 2010, from Hiroshima to Kyoto and from Kyoto (JR Kyoto station) to Odawara.

The Dragon Wagged Its Tail…Hong Kong-Beijing-Shanghai ExpressTrain Journey…

Hong Kong-Beijing-Shanghai by train turned into a learning experience and worth the effort as this was no ordinary train but a super-fast air-conditioned carrier offering a potlatch of paraphernalia linked to alphabet of train. T is special express with C and D the flying ones followed by Z the direct express trains. The 4 bunk soft sleeper is spacious and carpeted with

personal TV, clean crisp sheets, comforters, pillows, hangers, luggage compartment (at the top), hot water flask, step-on garbage-bin, mirrors, reading lights, air cons and new different colored slippers. The important difference between Soft and Deluxe sleeper is placement of toilets. In Deluxe one has luxury of exclusivity while in Soft sleeper the toilets are, choice between squatting and western, at two ends of the coach. Towards end of journey you are lucky to find a clean one with toilet rolls. Anyways it is through train and like us so one could go clean toilet-spotting.

T 98 streamed out of Hung Hom at 15:15 p.m. and in between the settling down we passed through Sha Tin (Hong Kong’s New Territories) on way to Lo Wu (HK/China border). The familiar Pearl River Delta green belt continued across to Guangzhou bypassing Shenzhen, the shopping city. A continuous drizzle added a chimerical effect to the picturesque  antiquated ‘shark’s teeth’ mountains.  The magic moment soon passed with pastoral-landscape metamorphosing into warehouses and buildings with trees planted along tracks, probably serving as shields, and no English signage to figure where we were heading to. I tried asking a fellow-traveler, the minute she got off her cell phone, but her expressionless stare put an end to any friendly overtures. Language was to be a major issue and decided to buy English/Mandarin dictionary in Beijing.

By now feeling hungry we walked to the restaurant car, a few carriages away and though  crowded, managed a table and ordered whatever appeared eatable. The menu offers limited choice and pictures are of no help either. By 9 p.m. the staff was giving us crabby looks willing us to leave, probably wanting the place for selves as  smoking is permitted in restaurant cars and not in corridors.

It was still too early to call it a day but with nothing visible outside there was no choice but to sleep it out. I did wake up once, probably when the train halted, but could make out only silhouettes and empty platform. T 98 stops at few stations including Guangzhou where passengers are allowed to disembark.

Next day was bright and sunny and this somehow metamorphosed into ‘last sunrise’ for next 5 days. Beijing was grey and gloomy and Shanghai a shade better. The light brought along some life along the tracks and roads, pensioners sitting in front of houses and somewhere along the line children playing in the accumulated rain water. We were moving towards towns or cities with ‘progressive’ tangible structures and well-organized greenery interspersed with sections of crowded housing and village ambience of street corners and food stalls.

Lunch in the restaurant car accompanied by black milk tea, tasted more of Carnation milk and not worth 30 Yuan (teapot), and the twenty-two hours were stretching into forty eight. There was no interaction with fellow passengers, still in their cocoons visible through half closed doors. The toilets too were loosing out on cleanliness and we were looking forward to refreshing water soak and cup of hot Indian or black milk tea.

The train streamed into Beijing West platform or what, to me, appeared a mirror image of a ‘World War Two’ German station minus the swastikas and Nazi guards. The station was deserted with no milling crowds except for station staff. The health check and disembarkation forms had been handed on the train itself and within minutes the queues, carriage by carriage, moved out of the privileged area.

The first push and shove and this was China of billion heads. The language problem reared its head again and after a few false directions somehow located the ticketing section, for booking Beijing-Shanghai segment, and an English-speaking counter with locals outnumbering tourists. It took time explaining, in slow diction and this transaction took more than the designated time for each person. The line by now was getting restive and a frumpy middle-aged woman came up and hollered, it appeared to me, for taking so long. I felt like hollering too but decided otherwise and waded through the flood of people.

By now our collective patience was running out with the high-pitched babble and went in search of taxi stand. The ‘stand’ turned out to be on the lower level, from where we had just come up, and to add to the injustice the down escalator was not functioning. A ‘girl’ Samaritan helped us and before we could figure out our bearings were swamped by drivers who seeing easy targets demanded exorbitant rates. It was a matter of collective patience and finally it was settled for 200 Yuan for the ride to hotel on Baiziwan Road, Chaoyang district. Fortunately we had Chinese translation of hotel name, otherwise it would have been a taxi ride around Beijing. We later learnt from hotl staff that taxis are metered and one should take the receipt.

Beijing remained elusive under its grey skies presenting differing images: the new CCTV tower of ‘Big Shorts or Dakucha’ fame (its shape of two buildings joined together in mid-air) straddling the world; the muscle flexing Great Wall of China or the evanescent triviality of a Forbidden City. Railway stations, hutongs and shopping complexes offered brief encounters with people from different corners of the vast country and in process a window into their world.

Shanghai: Beijing Station (south) turned out a mammoth structure and making our way through a labyrinth of escalators, waiting rooms, passages and walkways, finally located D 301 Beijing/Shanghai express train, an

Shanghai train

immaculate all white, brand-new 200km/h sleeper train with staff in spiffy red uniforms and caps. Slightly intimidating.

The other two passengers were already in the 4 bunk Soft sleeper, we had the lower bunks, so quietly fixed our suitcases and had sandwiches and salads purchased from Seven Eleven store. D 301 would touch Shanghai at 7 45 a.m. and for 730 Yuan it is a luxury one does not mind. Beijing to Shanghai is about 1,500 km travel time with 2 hours by air and 12 hours by train

outside Shanghai station

Shanghai station was a let down. The train glided to a decrepit platform with non working escalators, men wanting to carry our luggage to taxis reminding of Indian stations, though slightly cleaner and presentable. The previous experience in Beijing was a lesson learnt and we prepared ourselves to haggle for taxi fare.

RETURN JOURNEY: 36 hours in this ‘Paris of the Orient’ and ready for return journey to Hong Kong via T 99. Reported an hour earlier for immigration clearance and patiently wading in slow motion to train through teeming mass of luggage toting crowd. This time it was Hard Sleeper with 6 bunks, the upper, middle and lower.   The bunks were passable,  padded with clean sheets, comforters and pillows. The items missing were water thermos, TV, sliding door and slippers. Our companions, youngsters from Hong Kong, girl studying in Switzerland and her friend probably working in Hong Kong, were non-communicative. The first thing she did, next morning, was to diligently retouch her face oblivious of our enthralled attention. The 5th and 6th passengers had not checked in ( top berths) so we did not feel sqaushed in our middle berths….small mercies.

The carriage was crowded but the narrow folding table and chairs for middle bunk people, placed in the corridor, was a convenient sitting cum look-out. There was this tourist busy pounding on his laptop probably blogging his experiences; a group playing cards and a mother tutoring her daughter. Generally it was a tired and a quiet lot returning home or preserving energy for Hong Kong visit. Once again we risked dinner in the restaurant car, oily eggplants with white rice, leaving the Kentucky Fried burgers purchased at Shanghai station for breakfast. There is hot and cold water available in train, convenient to make cup noodles or tea/coffee, the three-in-one variety.

Next morning was bright and clear and the irritating piped music did not lessen the vibrancy of the transitory countryside as the train passed through Zhuzhou and Guangzhou East to reach Hung Hom at 13.00 hours.

Return Journey

A seven-day journey to be remembered and reconstructed at leisure.

* Train Information: http://www.china-train-ticket.com

http://gohongkong.about.com

Shanghai –36 hours

Sent from my iPad

August 2009- *7.30 a.m. Shanghai railway station and the city waking up to early morning sounds and rituals. An unimpressive surrounding and while waiting outside
for friend, who had gone to check train tickets for Hong Kong, watched a man and woman playing with a kitten and wondered if it was being readied for the ‘wok’. Shaking of the gruesome thought got into the waiting cab for the Hotel, somewhere near the Caohejing Development Zone, southwest Shanghai.

The ride seemed endless and the ‘concreteness’ blotched up any romantic images of twirling silk embroidered parasols, of sleek silhouettes of ‘Shanghai Tang’ accessory line, or of a city portrayed by Lisa See in ”Shanghai Girls.”  The last is a work of fiction set during the Japanese invasion and the Shanghai sisters moving to the USA.

The gossamer thin haze shrouding the city was another cause of discomfort reminding me of  ‘Shanghai Shroud’ game I had read about in some magazine and no idea if it is really played. A player farts in a plastic bag and covers the head of another and punches him so that when the person tries to inhale he gets in all the smelly air. Sounds gross but Shanghai air was breathable.

The rude shoe maker

We had 36 hours in Shanghai and had to pack in as many sites as possible. A hurried breakfast and we boarded the 12 noon tourist bus from Shanghai Stadium for  Zhoujiajao, a water town 48 km from Shanghai on the banks of Dianshan Lake in Qingpu District. The tourist bus ticket was valid for entry into the ancient section of Zhoujiajao of narrow cobbled lanes, closely packed crumbling or preserved houses, cubicle shops along the main street displaying silk gift items, calligraphy art, a shoe-maker who did not want his picture taken, tea shops and eating places. The legendary Fangsheng or the ‘setting free bridge’ over the Cao Gang River is one of 36 bridges connecting the town from all angles. Constructed in 1571 it is the only five arch bridge of its kind in Shanghai. Fishes were set free under this bridge, hence the name ‘setting free bridge’. 

Followed a tourist group into what appeared an antique ‘show’ house with an art house display of antiques.  Later we took a boat ride on the canals, nothing Venetian about it, cruising along shops, restaurants, tea shops and trying to peep through semi-open doors into houses …a man bathing turtles, boys fishing and an old woman diligently washing pots and pans in the canal water…. snippets of daily life. The red-cheeked smiling boat-person, seeing our bored expressions, regaled us with a lilting melody resonating with the ambience. 

Returned to Shanghai late evening and took taxi, they are convenient, from the Stadium to the Bund or Zhongshan Dong Yi Lu (East Zhongshan 1st Road) on the northern side of the Huangpu River. This area is a pot-pourri of Gothic and Neo-Classical architecture, relics of a successful past when Shanghai was the bustling port of Asia and the ‘Pearl of Orient’. Majority buildings have been converted into hotels, malls and financial hubs. The jostling Sunday evening crowd aided by the ongoing refurbishing restricted movement to one side and all we could see and hear were Chinese dialects and screeching traffic of people and vehicles. The subway from the Bund was off bounds, repair work in progress, and we could view the  Oriental Pearl Tower and modern glass, steel structures and twinkling lights across on Pudong side through the peoples heads. Touts were persistent, followed us the minute we got out of the taxi, selling river cruises with varying price tags.

It was past dinner time and searched for McDonald’s or Kentucky Fried, most convenient and known food items, and managed a Chinese eatery on one of the parallel roads. It was nearing 9.30 p.m. and probably closing time explaining the recalcitrant attitude of the serving staff. The dishes did not look ‘chickeny’ and our fears were confirmed when a youngster, who had just entered, told us in broken English that one was pork and other beef. We had spent nearly 15 minutes drawing chickens and making flapping signs but somehow could ot get our message through. I do not eat beef and had to eat the veggies of the main dishes while my friend enjoyed the pork and beef. We  obliged them by leaving no tippo or tip.

 Shanghai of glitzy malls, skyscrapers, landscaped parks and antiquated sections of more than 20 million people was a challenge to our mind-set. To add to the non –positive was the ongoing constructions, preparation for the 2010 World Expo and we did the quickest and closest tourist oriented places.

Day 2 visited the Jade Buddha temple, the Yuyuan Garden in Anren Jie and the Historical and Cultural sections with its grey stone architecture and cart market. We had the names and directions written in local language by hotel reception staff to save on time and patience and to push it under the taxi driver’s nose for directions.

The original Jade Buddha is kept on first floor (no photography) with larger replica, in recumbent position of Sakyamuni symbolizing Buddha’s enlightenment or nirvana, downstairs for tourists. A guide informed us about the original statue and wanted us to savor some medicinal Chinese tea. We did go to the tea room but no one came forward to offer drinking samples. Maybe we did not come across as  potential customers.

Next was Yuyuan Gardens, a mini garden by Chinese standards, set in 20,000 square meters with rockeries, halls, pavilions, ponds with largest number of carp, and cloisters. The cool-mint-tea ambience of the temple, constructed in 1577 by a government officer of the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) for his parents, is ideal to spend a hot summer day. 

Adjacent to the Garden is the Shanghai Old Street or Fangbin Road with decorated archways at both ends. The east section is the residential area with Ming and Qing style architecture with West showcasing antique and curio shops, restaurants and tea house  plus the ever-present McDonald’s, the new landmark of major Chinese cities.  

The last stop:  the Historical and Cultural part of Shanghai referred to as Shanghai Xin Tian Di in what was the French Concession and the arty area of Shanghai. It is a pedestrian street with outdoor cafeterias, boutiques, bars, restaurants and carts set amidst old Shikumen and modern architecture. Redesigned by an American architect Benjamin Wood in 1997 the setting is a blend of 19th and 21st century lifestyle with sturdy and graceful stone archways or stone gates at entrance; shades of Faneuil Hall of Boston but minus the vibrancy.  Stylish boutiques, malls, art galleries and cafeterias, it was mid-afternoon and the chairs were still folded up, a treat for tourists.

6 p.m. time to return to hotel to board 9 p.m.train to Hong Kong. We had to arrive at Shanghai station an hour early because of immigration check and to maneuver our way through the crowded waiting area.

The mammoth edifice, Shanghai Station, is no place to get lost in.

The ‘Holy’ Belt

Visiting city of birth is mathematically a serious business because you are adding and subtracting from memories and present reality. I was visiting my home city of Allahabad, India after a gap of 10 years ( I had been there in between for a day) and Varanasi after 36 years, too long a time to remember habitat placements.

Allahabad and Varanasi are religious and historical segments of Hindu mythology with the three sacred rivers, Ganges, Yamuna and Sarasvati, converging in Allahabad and the waters, thrice blessed, moving on to Varanasi, the City of Temples and burning ghats (Hindu’s cremate their dead) ensuring peaceful entry into afterlife.

Sacredness apart I was finding it difficult to fathom the density and intensity of population versus construction. It was boom-time and as our old family retainer said, ‘Allahabad is progressing’. To her the increasing highrises were proof of the giant strides the city was taking and told me to look up and not down. This to counter my criticism of increasing  piled up garbage dumps, the ‘same’ width of city roads having to contend with increasing  rickshaws, two wheelers, cows and hand carts.

She was right about the construction boom being the index of progress. Families living in acres of land were succumbing to easy lucre disposing of surplus ancestral property to cloister themselves in derelict bungalows. Their sons and daughters had moved on to greener pastures in India and abroad.

Allahabad, once the center of ancestral politics of the Nehru clan, is now confined to being a City of Lawyers with legal profession ruling the job chart. The newer crop of political leaders are mostly from neighboring areas. In the five days I was there with my siblings, (a family reunion) I stayed put within house boundary. It was one way to let go of  old haunts…. the Allahabad University, school, Coffee shop, the Ganges river banks to watch the setting sun take its parting dip in the holy waters, the downtown alleys and congested streets, the movie theater with ‘sofa’ seats and the park where we would go for early morning walks. It was time to move on….

Varanasi  fared no better. The four-hour drive from Allahabad to Varanasi had reduced to two and a half due to a new national highway, a single lane compared with the expressways of  USA, Europe, Beijing or even Hong Kong. The highway was new but accessories remained the same….the road side stalls, the slow-moving three and two wheelers, the huffing and puffing old buses taking the entire road, running children and not forgetting strays and cows. The entire stretch appeared one solitary village and till we reached Varanasi and I was not sure if we were on the right track.

Our destination was not the Ghats or river banks but silk workshops. Varanasi or the old Benares is famous for its silk sari and embroidery. Being a sunday the main selling area, where customers sit on floor cushions to select and watch the process of modern barter. The custom continues and seeing the present generation handle their customers wondered if the weavers had become exploit-proof or had picked up further tricks to sell their stuff.

We drove in the narrow streets, a foreign film shoot was taking place in an old house, and the city appeared more boxed in with single storeys giving way to multi-storeys. I had seen an Indian Hindi movie ’God Tusi Great Ho’ (God you are great) and on my return from Allahabad and Varanasi I could not stop myself uttering “God you are great” . How else to explain the  mismanagement, the self promotion and ‘I and Me Attitude’ seen in the two cities.

In Allahabad my friend took me to a new coffee shop. While reversing her car she found a motorcycle parked right behind and waited thinking the boys will remove it, 5-10-15-20 minutes passed and nothing happened, no reaction from them. Finally she stepped out and with utmost restraint requested them to move the vehicle. They did. My friends patience was creditable and her sentence summed up the attitude of the city “You have to know how to get your way in this city….be a jugadu. (In other words a survivor and fixer rolled into one). I did i.e. managed to survive for a week. One mistake I made …forgot to carry my camera to record the changes in my hometown and sister city.