On the Road again (metaphorically)
July 30, 2010
I rode the train for the first time which, after so many other forms of transportation here and various related incidents, seemed very uneventful. A friend accompanied me to the railway station and frankly I am glad he did. It would have probably taken me 2 or 3 times longer to actually find my train, my car and my seat/bed. Yes, bed. I booked a ‘Second A/C Sleeper.’ A popular ride here, the sleepers. Traveling overnight to pass the time as the journey happens.
Firstly, there were an awful lot of people in the station. An awful lot. A LOT. Hanging out, milling around, getting on trains, eating at small stands, sleeping on the floor in any and all various spaces. As I got to my train, a good half of it was full already, being the unreserved area that sells tickets by available space as opposed to sits. Can fit someone in? Sell’em a ticket! Those folks arrive early, you can bet. As the cars became ‘closed,’ meaning they were a/c cars, more foreigners appeared inside. Now, oddly enough to me, those cars with all the foreigners were mostly the ‘third a/c sleepers.’ Three bunks each on either side of the small compartment. When I got to my ‘second a/c sleeper’ (did you guess yet? Two bunks each, etc, etc) it was all local folks. Except, of course, me. I was on the ‘side sleeper’ meaning parallel to the side of the train, as opposed to the double bunks located perpendicular to the train walls. All the rest of the bunks there were shared by a family doting on a little boy. I should say, before leaving this behind, that the kinda cool part of this was coming to the car I booked (A2 which was connected to H1 as opposed to A1, which was further down the train), a printed out sheet was taped to the doorway with everyone’s name and bunk number. It was like reading your name on a casting list. Wow! My name on the side of an Indian train!
I should mention my friend, G, who escorted me to the train station, into the train station, to the train, into the train, to my seat and then waited till the train left. Hospitality to no end, this guy. And thank goodness, as finding the station at night would have been a little beyond me, I think.
The night was uneventful. Crawled into the upper bunk, closed the curtains, wrapped my legs around my backpack and had a mostly calm sleep as the train rattled along. So, how did I know where I was going to be? This train stopped in many places. Well, 1) I asked a man nearby if he could let me know when we were approaching Coimbatore (as he was going there too), 2) I set my alarm for a half hour before we were supposed to reach there, 3) 45 minutes before we reached there, the taxi driver picking me up called to confirm and 4) inbetween the call and the alarm, all sorts of people were gathering up bags and piling them near the door. Obviously this was an important stop and Coimbatore is a large city.
As I needed to ‘relieve’ myself before finding the taxi, I wandered the station a bit till I spotted a ‘toilet’ sign across a room of people purchasing tickets standing amongst people sleeping on the floor. The restroom cost to enter. Two rupees. An elderly man sat outside the door. I paid my two rupees. He called me back. He flashed two fingers at me. Obviously the results of inflation, this four rupee facility. But I suppose paying about eight cents ain’t a big deal.
Taxi drivers hung all about, asking me to take them up on a ride, but I called my driver and magically he was about 10 feet from me. The fin part of the ride, which took about 45 minutes, was that he asked who I was after he started driving and didn’t confirm my name until we arrived at our destination. That drive took us out of the city, through country roads, onto darkened back roads which turned to a dirt road headed by a large ‘Isha Foundation Yoga Center’ sign. We ended up at a guard house where I ‘signed’ in from the car and got a badge. We finished the trip at 5:50 am on a two rutted path next to a tiny guard hut where I was ushered to a dark reception area at which they asked, ‘Do you have a reservation?’ I didn’t even know where I was! Fortunately one of the drama teachers called me (we had never talked before) and said she’d be right over. By that time, the reception understood why I was there and I was taken to the room of my artist friend.
And so I arrived. But this place deserves more. Coming soon.