The Ice Flow

By Red Sox Steve

I had spent about 30 hours in Agra, arriving there mid-morning on Saturday via a 2 hour bus trip from Bharatpur, departing at about 4 PM on Sunday, after having seen Agra Fort, the Baby Taj and the Taj Mahal. I wanted to cover a lot of ground, but didn't want to rush... keep moving, but appreciate each moment of the journey. After seeing the major sights in Agra and uploading my photos to facebook (a handy excuse to keep out of the mid-day sun), I made my way to the Agra bus park.

To catch the train to Varanasi, which was an overnight journey, I had to first take a bus from Agra to Tundla, 25 km away. This would be my first overnight train trip (I had already taken day trips out of Jaipur and Sawai Madhopour), and Tundla wasn't found on any of the Lonely Planet maps. I thought it wise to leave Agra early, so I could arrive at the train station before sundown at 6:30, even though my train wasn't leaving until 8:30. The train I needed to take - and I will never forget this for as long as I live - was the Lichchavi Express, train #4006, leaving Tundla Junction at 8:29 PM, and arriving at Varanasi Junction at 6:15 the next morning.

After slowly weaving out of the dense streets of Agra and getting on the highway, the bus pulled over when it reached Tundla. I checked with a couple of folks on the bus - all I had to do was hop in an auto-rickshaw and ask the driver to go to the train station. The auto-rickshaw driver headed down a main road, which ended just where I needed it to: Tundla Junction Train Station.

The sun set as I made my way to the waiting area. The station was small, but so was Tundla so this was no surprise. I went over to an inquiry window, showed the representative my train ticket, and he confirmed the train was on time. "Ok, great. I'll hop on this train about an hour from now, get myself some food and rest, and when I wake up, I'll be in Varanasi," I thought. Since I bought a cell phone back in Delhi, I was able to make reservations at the hotel in Varanasi in advance, so I had this part of the journey plotted out for the next few days. But first, I had to get on the train.

As night fell, I thought about getting some food. Because I was 10.5 hours ahead of EST in the US, I made a few calls, catching up with friends and family as they tackled their Sunday morning routines back in the US. I was waiting to get on the first overnight train I had ever taken in India, so after making a quick trip to the bathroom, I found a seat in the station's waiting area and started flipping through my Lonely Planet. I began waiting.

The station wasn't that big, meaning that if a huge train rumbled in, everyone would know. I started chatting with a British couple. As it turned out, we were all leaving Agra, headed to Varanasi - catching a train from Tundla was the best way to do that. Periodically, a railway employee with a thick Indian accent would announce arrivals and departures. Despite the fact that he was speaking English, I had a tough time understanding the announcements. My conversation with the Brits quickly passed the time as our scheduled departure approached.

I went up to the inquiry window, which was now mobbed, to confirm the train was on time and find out what platform to stand on. This was where things started to go awry. First, at pretty much every train station, there is chaos and disorder at the inquiry window. Passengers scramble for the small opening in the glass to address the railway rep; sometimes, he will snap an answer without checking a computer, and other times, he will flat out give the wrong information. In this case, I found out our train was now 2 hours late. There was a delay in Delhi, where the Lichchavi Express started. "No big deal", I thought to myself, "not everything goes smoothly when traveling". I reported back to my new friends, and we sat there and resumed our conversation - they were a romantic couple, traveling around the world for two years, and had just started their journey. They planned on continuing further east to see more of Asia, and, if I recall correctly, Australia and New Zealand as well. We managed to interest each other for another couple of hours, before, again, one of us took the initiative and approached the window.

The news from the attendant got worse: a heavy fog in Delhi cancelled our train! Here we were, well away from Agra in the middle of the night, waiting hours for a train that was not even going to show up! I picked up the phone, called my friend Matt back in the US, and asked him to go online to verify this. He and his (very helpful) roommate Erin immediately went to the Indian Railways website, punched in the train information, and found that the train's arrival in Tundla was delayed four hours. In other words, the station attendant said one thing, and the website contradicted it. My new friends and I were very confused, as fatigue and dismay set in.

As night fell, the station became more crowded. There was a great deal of activity: hawkers selling food and chai, beggars seeking handouts (mostly from tourists), and unhappy passengers staring at the announcement board and crowding around the inquiry window. In addition to all this, because the train station is safe, clean, and well-lit, families arrive here each night, lay out a blanket on the floor, and sleep. The same families have staked out floorspace at the train station, night after night, for years. This practice isn't exclusive to Tundla.

It was around midnight - my new friends and I still had our energy. After contacting the US and then confirming with other folks in the station that the train was in fact coming (and that the railway employee had been wrong), we sat back down. We had very little idea what was happening, and it was getting closer to sunrise than sundown. I went back to the window, to wait among the displeased, anticipating disappointment in whatever information I would find. All of a sudden, I was tapped on the shoulder by an Indian man who asked, "are you on the #4006?" Stunned, I responded, "Yes, along with a couple of folks right over there." "I have a friend in Delhi who told me that train is still sitting on the track up there, and can't yet leave due to fog," he shot back. Although he was being extremely kind, I couldn't help but interrogate him further, my skepticism was growing, "your friend is on #4006 in Delhi, and it hasn't left? When did you talk to him?"

We had even longer to wait. If the train we needed hadn't left Delhi, it would be at least four hours before it got to Tundla, assuming it was traveling at normal speed. We might see the 6AM sunrise before we saw the train that was supposed to arrive at 8:29 the previous night. At least we thought waiting would pay off - as long as we stayed at the train station, the train would arrive. Exactly when? Another matter entirely.

My new acquaintance quickly went from being a good samaritan to a friend. He was able to identify the cultural nuances my British friends and I had missed in the train employees' behavior. In this case, the fog had turned this entire section of the country into a disorganized mess - the railway employees had very little information, but didn't want to admit as much; plus, they were typically not predisposed to assist the throngs of passengers even if things had been going smoothly. In other words, my new friend Arjun (means "shining" in Hindi - totally appropriate given his assistance) confirmed our fears: we had little knowledge about how the next few hours would transpire, except that we would continue waiting.

Arjun's presence in our little band, however, helped divert a conversation that was going from a way to pass the time into a failing effort at staying awake. Talking with him would change all that, at least for me. He only carried a briefcase, in contrast to our heavy packs - he was visiting Tundla for a couple of days, to spend time with his girlfriend. Arjun was a mechanical engineer, employed in Gujarat (one of India's most industrial states), but was heading east to a week-long engineering conference. As we started talking about his vocation, it quickly became clear that he was intelligent and engaging. What he had to say would be enough to keep me awake. Arjun worked in a metals recycling plant - his company figures out a way to reuse scrap and waste metal. He manages a handful of workers, some of which are Chinese immigrants. He has also invented a new, more efficient way for his company to recycle the scrap they receive from around the country. Arjun came up with a new design for a smelter, which has proven effective and profitable and probably figured in to the two promotions he has earned since joining the company.

His professional accomplishments aside, he was in Tundla for the weekend for one reason: to visit his girlfriend, a local schoolteacher who lived with her parents. They have been together for a few years, and would like to get married, but there is one obstruction: her parents' desire to adhere to the rules of the caste system. Arjun and his girlfriend belong to different castes; Arjun's family comes from a warrior caste, while his girlfriend's family comes from a higher caste. Therefore, her marriage to Arjun is prohibited, according to the rules her parents are following. It is acceptable for Arjun to see her, but marriage is not allowed. My shock jolted me enough to keep me awake as the clock approached 3 AM.

Arjun and his girlfriend don't want to elope, which would have the twin effects of forsaking the constraints of the caste rules and disobeying her parents. It is a stifling situation for such a progressive young man and his mate, and exemplifies the push and pull between modern and ancient India. The caste system is an old and very complicated set of rules which are meant to segregate people who perform different functions in a given society. According to caste rules, someone from a higher caste is forbidden from marrying someone from a lower caste. Arjun's story is not unique: young Indians are struggling to respect their ancestors, but are yearning be part of a modern world, and to leave the strictures of an ancient system to the history books and museum.

The conversation between me, Arjun, and our British friends, kept us all awake. Arjun, because he is able to speak Hindi, found out that our train had left Delhi a couple of hours ago and would be arriving soon. At this point, I was standing up to prevent narcolepsy, and had drank so much chai it had no effect. Getting to the train station early seemed like such a good idea the previous afternoon... my total waiting time before the train pulled in was about 11 hours, nearly the length of the train trip itself. After hours of rumors, conjecture and blatant misinformation, you can probably imagine my shock, when - as I was standing on the platform - the train pulled in to the station. I had my ticket in hand, and was eager to find my bed.

The massive steel behemoth came to a halt and my friends and I boarded. We parted ways because I was the only one among us traveling in a car designated "2AC" (a 2nd class sleeper car). On trains, there are multiple accommodation options - there are 1AC and 2AC sleeper cars, where your reserved seat turns into a bed, and air conditioning is provided. There are general sleeper cars, which are more crowded and less private, and there are regular passenger cars where seats and no beds are provided to passengers. All require reservations and of course these trains have many cars. In my case, my ticket clearly displayed all the information I needed - I had a specific seat number in a 2AC car - all I had to do was find it and I could finally rest.

I began to read the sides of the cars as the train slowed to a stop, looking for some indication of where the 2AC car would be. I saw "sleeper", "3AC", "catering" and other signs painted on the sides of the car, but nothing about 2AC. I looked down the long platform and couldn't see the end of the train because it was so long. I hadn't slept at all, and it was still dark out. I had no choice - I knew this was my train and I had a ticket. I hopped in the nearest open door and started to walk towards the rear of the train. The train hadn't started moving, and I had no clue where I was going. It was extremely crowded, and of course it was dark because all the passengers already on the train were sleeping.

I had no idea if I was going in the right direction, so I decided to step off the train at the next open door to see if I could find the elusive 2AC car. About 10 seconds after I did that, the train started moving! The jolt of adrenaline I got gave me enough energy to jump back onto the train, and walk from car to car. My bag was getting heavier as frustration started to replace patience. I finally saw an employee, showed him my ticket, and he indicated 2AC was about four cars back. I kept moving, dodging feet and baggage protruding into the walkway, and even passing through a food service car (yep, all the employees were staring at me). I must have accidentally jostled awake every third passenger by hitting their feet with either my shoulders or my weighty, lurching backpack. Finally, I arrived at the 2AC car - all I had to do was find my seat (on the ticket, referred to as a "berth"), and I could lie down.

I began counting - there are 10 compartments in each car and 6 seats in each compartment, enclosed by curtains. With all the curtains closed, a silence broken only by boarding passengers, and no attendant in sight, I was a bit intimidated - trial and error would be the only way to find my seat. I guessed the folks in my compartment would be sleeping, but had no idea how to get settled in for the 5AM version of a "good night's sleep". I finally arrived at the right compartment and was ready to toss my bag below, and lie down fully clothed... I was so tired.

I flipped open the curtain, and, to my amazement, in my bed I found a chubby Korean man staring right back at me. Just like the rest of this journey, this was NOT what I was expecting! He looked up at me, gestured to his wife and child in the next bed, and politely asked if I could take the upper bunk across the aisle. With my half-open eyes from being awake through the night, and sore back from carrying my backpack through the train, I looked at him, his wife, and their little baby and wanted to say, "No f!#$%&@ way", but instead what came out was, "sure, no problem." I put my bag below, climbed to the top bunk, took out my pillow and did my best to close my eyes. As soon as I did, the sun came up and food and drink service started. Young men were going up and down the aisles, announcing what they are carrying in an almost rhythmic chant I will never forget: "garam chai"... "garam chai"... it was hypnotic enough for my eyes to close, but it kept me awake. This wasn't my lucky day.

The train pulled out of the station, and over the next fourteen hours, I would get in a couple of naps, finally get some food and make myself as comfortable as possible. As it turned out, the Korean gentleman who took my seat happened to be living in Pune (pronounced "Poona") with his family for a couple of years, working as a social worker. I also met Oliver, a German who was traveling by himself. We got to know each other well enough to split the cost of a hotel room in Varanasi, and parted ways from there. This part of the trip wasn't fun and it sure wasn't compelling - it was exhausting. We pulled into Varanasi, and, within in 1 hour of the train's arrival, I was at my hotel, had checked-in, eaten and showered. I would start to explore this wondrous city which was several thousand years old, but only after I got some sleep.