3500 km. That is the distance between Kuttikanam and Nainital. Replacing tropical mountains, cast of half mad characters, easy nights with a few beers and the cracking bike trails of the south with the Himalayan foothills, cast of madder characters, easy nights with a beer….same, same but different.
For a once a in a lifetime experience (3rd time now) I took the 1st class train mainly to secure the safe passage of the double bike bagged cycles rather than risking booking them in the brake van under a pallet load of mangoes. With a 1st class ticket you can do as you want. So the bikes, tool box, bag of bike parts and a rucksack full of clothes were all squeezed on board.
Everthing in 1st class is on a grander scale, there is more space, beds are bigger, food comes in three courses, fellow passengers are bigger and fatter, there are more attendants and their demands for bribes are equally on a grander scale. 3000Rs was demanded for the “heavy luggage” a 1st class fee, for what? I asked. “Booking fee”. 100 Rs in lower classes normally secures a full berth for an enormous bag. I just ignored the demands and dragged the bag into the carriage resisting any offers of paid or unpaid help. This act of lower class rebellion coupled with my decidedly 2nd class dress and quite possibly 3rd class unreserved, feverish, every man for himself mad eyed look seemed to quell the ambitions of the attendants until 2000Rs? A voice rose up, an attendant appeared from behind the bag who must have attached himself limpet like and unnoticed to the baggage and as a consequence been dragged into the carriage alongside my belongings. .
For the 36 hours in the 4 bed a.c freezer box carriage I had few companions. The 1st night had one more passenger who left early morning, late for his stop. The driver whose job it seems was to enter the train, wake him up, pack his clothes and carry the cases off the train was late. There was some shouting and banging on doors, phones ringing, a man entered the room in the dark. Swearing, screaming, volleys of abuse the two men swept out of the carriage in a bundle it was too late the train was moving, more shouting, a cord pulled, the train grinds to halt, passengers scramble down on to the track watched by a seemingly unperturbed ticket inspector, perhaps this is common in 1st class.
For the rest of the journey its pleasant, the carriage shakes along at around 70k an hour heading for Delhi, I am fed, previously recalcitrant attendants switch track from the get rich quick scheme to ingratiating smiles, bows and supplicant hand gestures the battle for tips has now beguin.
