Things to Remember

Train to Hyderabad

A small three-wheeled, yellow-hooded, Ganesh-decorated auto-rickshaw stops amidst the sea of small three-wheeled, yellow-hooded, Ganesh-decorated auto-rickshaws. The honking is dense in the hot and humid air of Chennai. I get out onto the busy street and bargain the cost of the trip from 300 Indian rupees down to 60, still overpaying. Minutes later I face the brick-red building of Chennai Central – Southern India’s main train station.

Families sit on the dusty floor of the spacious station. The anaconda Iine at the ticket office makes me squeeze the print-out with relief – I purchased my ticket online in advance. I approach the platforms and find my train heading to Hyderabad. The reservations sheet hanging next to the door of my sleeper car has my name in it.

I climb into the car to find four people nesting on my berth. Without taking a look at my ticket they immediately know they have to find another place. Brief inspection of the car interior reveals barred yet glassless windows. There are two big fans on the ceiling: I expect a sweat-drenched day and a freezing night. The train slowly departs the station.

In loud high-pitched voices vendors offer rice with insides-burning sauce. Curry leaves, mustard seeds, green cardamom, cumin, nutmeg, coconut and rosewater blend into a distinct aroma. The collective feast is interrupted; Hindu passengers stare in disbelief when they see me eat with my left hand. Hindus use left hands for something opposite in its nature to eating.

I look out of the welded up windows onto the vast fields where occasional girls in salwar kameezes are busy making enormous baskets look weightless on their heads and backs. During the night I am repeatedly awakened by people sitting down beside me and finally wake up to siren-like voice of a vendor, persuading me to buy sweet milky coffee.

I step out of the train after two more hours of mutual curiosity – now we all have our stories to tell.