We shared a dish of rajma and rice from one of the platform vendors as we stood waiting on platform nine for the Garib Rath Express. Who knows how many others we shared the platform with: young men and women on their mobile phones; colourful groups of women with their babies; old men blissfully sleeping; porters pushing their way through with luggage on their heads, their shoulders, their arms… While on the tracks beneath us Mynah birds, rats and rubbish collectors scavenged among the detritus of earlier trains.
This was my first encounter of the legendary Indian railways, so I guess it was only fitting that our train should be an hour late, all adding to the vibrant, colourful, noisy experience. As it pulled in, we realised that carriage J2 was at the opposite end of the platform from that previously signified. So, we joined the melee of J2 passengers as it surged towards the opposite tide of G5, and finally, amidst much shouting, pushing and shoving, and all-round consternation, we found ourselves squeezed into our seats with the train slowly pulling out of the station, while the huge crowd continued to press onto the over-flowing unreserved carriages. Somehow, there seemed to be just as many people on the humid, seething platform as when the train had pulled in quarter of an hour previously.
We, meanwhile, settled down for the seven-hour journey to Lucknow, relieved to be on the train, and grateful for our reserved seats and for the very welcome aircon in the carriage.
The Garib Rath Express crawled at a snail’s pace through the centre of Delhi, over the Yamuna river, and on out through the sprawling suburbs, taking over an hour to travel what seemed like no more than a couple of kilometres. At this rate, we wondered how we would ever get to Lucknow, 500km away. But we did. Slowly, as we left the great conurbation behind, we gathered speed, and made our way across the great, spreading plains of Uttar Pradesh. Through Moradabad, Bareilly and Shahabad, the train kept going. On past spreading fields of sugar cane, skirting new towns, their high-rise apartments towering above the inevitable rubbish dumps, each sprouting its own, depressing shanty town where rubbish pickers eked out a living from the filth and stench. So much ugliness and shame sitting side by side with so much colour and beauty.
While we had waited on the platform in Delhi, a holy man had wandered by, dishing out blessings in exchange for a few rupees. But what does blessing mean in the face of so much degradation? What would fullness of life look like for a family struggling to pull together enough for their next meal?
Is it just about survival? Striving to lower the horrendous child mortality rates that tear these families apart? Or basic sanitation and hygiene? A guaranteed meal?
Surely it must be more than just a relentless drive for a better standard of living, buying into the meaningless consumerism of our own indulgent lifestyles?
The questions sat with us, unresolved, as we finally pulled into Lucknow station, 3 hours late, but fortified along the way by cups of sweet chai, even sweeter kofee, and snacks of puri and samosas bought from the cheerful vendors who pushed their way through the crowded carriages at each stopping point.
