Trains

I am back. 52 hours and 3500 km on a train from the lush tropical palm fringed port of Cochin to the industrial West Bengal town of Siliguri; 500 km North of Calcutta; the gateway to the North East Indian Himalaya and the hill stations of Gantok and Darjeeling.A 2nd class sleeper ticket got me 2 full nights on the train in the company of a family of 4 from Manipur a tiny hill state on the Burmese border. The Manipurese had made the same mammoth journey in reverse only the day before to collect their children from school and return them home for the 3 month summer holiday. The kids had been placed in a private school in Kerala to take them away from the culture of insurgency that inculcates the minds of the youths in Manipur and the low level battle for independence from the Indian Union. Most of this was explained to me the jovial rotund father in an afternoon of discussion in which he laid out languorously on the bottom berth with his feet up and his head plumped on my knee looking up at my startled face for signs of intelligence.The journey on the whole was pleasant as the train rattled along at a sedate 60 kmh with hot humid air blowing through the barred windows, stopping every couple of hours giving time to pop out and patrol the platforms in search of food.Previous experience in India had taught me to be well planned for these epic journeys and I had armed myself with new soap to battle the filth and grime, a wallet full of small rupee notes to purchase food and a plastic bag full of books to keep me entertained. The books and soap lasted the trip but the wallet along with me rupees, train ticket and luggage booking receipt for the cycle booked into the separate luggage compartment failed to survive the journey a victim of the squat toilets.The wallet had been placed on the toilet window ledge to avoid it suffering a grim death and falling out of my pocket down on to the track below along with the contents of my stomach. In the battle to stay upright in the violently swaying carriage it was tragically overlooked and never seen again. On arrival in Siliguri 30 hours later this was to cause me a few problems and create my first encounter with those fine custodians of the law the Indian Police.At Siliguri a massive struggle ensued as 5 men attempted to extricate my cycle; the only consignment to be dropped off at Siliguri; out of the overstuffed luggage van. The men worked at a frenzied pace to liberate the cycle hurling boxes onto the track much to the annoyance of the trains guard who had to delay the train " Look very difficult ". The cycle was eventually handed down to me on the track whilst a few boxes were hastily stuffed back into the compartment before the train whistled and rolled off into the night.Getting the bike out of the station was problematic with no tickets I couldn't prove the bike was mine, men gathered round in a feverish state as I explained the loss of the wallet and ticket. Puzzled looks abounded until the luggage officer reckoned that a complaint with the police should be lodged which would then procure the sufficient amount of paperwork that all Indians require to make things run smoothly and hopefully enable for the release of my cycle.The gun slinger eyed Police Commander appeared unimpressed with my plight and the hastily written statement that I had put together accounting for the loss of the ticket. Another man was summoned from the back room a man who it seemed was well versed in extracting or changing statements to suit police needs. Alterations were demanded, no loss of rupees to be mentioned, times and dates changed to ensure that the "crime" occurred in a different police division, a photograph was demanded to be attached to the police's copy of the statement, a photo I hoped would not be added to the the rogues gallery hung up outside displaying a host of grim faced criminals who had transgressed the law on railway property. New statements were signed, more forms filled in and apologies made for wasting police time before I and the cycle were released from police and railway custody three hours later into the the scrummage that always greets the traveller at whatever time he arrives outside an Indian railway station. A jeep was hailed in the melee and I along with 5 pot bellied chain smoking Calcuttans; incongruously heading out on a 5 day trek from Darjeeling; squeezed our selves into the jeep with luggage and bike placed on top. The vehicle revved up completed a full lap of the station car park and returned back to the entrance before the driver disappeared for ten minutes returning with more pot bellied chain smoking Calcuttans who sat on top of us and satisfied the driver that the vehicle was full. To Darjeeling we went.