In my travels, I've ridden many forms of transport: planes, buses, cars, boats, motorcycles, trucks, vans, donkeys, camels and every manner of rickshaw. Without a doubt, my favorite way of getting around is by train. It's a great middle ground between the expense of airplanes and the discomfort of buses. I get a scenic view of the countryside, without the sharp turns and incessant bumps that plague the roads of many developing countries. Most importantly, I can get out of my seat at anytime to stretch and walk around.
Before entering India, I researched the train system as much as I could. (www.seat61.com is a good website to figure out train travel in any country). One of the most used train services in the world, it carries 20 million passengers a day. The rail network covers most the entire country, and while there are (often) delays, it is for the most part an efficient, well-oiled machine.
But what a complicated system to figure out. There are no less than 8 classes of coaches, each with different prices and fixtures. The class codes are confusing as hell, but I thought that an air-conditioned 2-tier sleeper journey sounded reasonable, not so snobby as air-conditioned first class but still relatively comfortable. It was repeatedly mentioned that train capacity is limited, often booked weeks or months in advance. There are limited quotas for foreign tourists, but it's far better to reserve tickets beforehand, so I jumped through innumerable hoops to be able to reserve tickets online, on both systems (Cleartrip and MakeMyTrip).
Nevertheless, when I came to buy my tickets online to Varanasi, the system would not let me. Somehow the Indian red tape had foiled my plans, again.
Turns out there's no need to reserve tickets online after all. Diego showed me that buying from the train station is the surest way to get a ticket, and in his experience he'd never found a train that was so full that he couldn't find a ticket. Of course, Diego's cheapness demanded that we buy only the cheapest tickets possible, i.e. general class. No air conditioning, no padded leatherette seats, no privacy curtains. We would be traveling how normal Indians travel.
Train Training
There would be no assigned seating either. When we got on the train to Varanasi at dawn, the general coach was already full of people, and any hope we had of finding a seat was immediately dashed. There wasn't even much standing room, and with our bags on, it was difficult to navigate the narrow corridors inside the seating compartment. We opted instead to stay at the end of the carriage, in between the doorways where people get on and off the train. Both doors were wide open for the entirety of the ride, but there was a wall against which we could lean our bags. So we stood next to these, trying to find as much space as possible to get comfortable.
It was in this little space, with the countryside of India rushing by, that Diego and I continued our dialogue on martial arts. He was keen to begin training as soon as possible, so I introduced him to a game developed by my friends back home. Based on the Sticky Hands concepts of Wing Chun kung fu, this Wing Chun Game (for lack of a better term) involves two people standing still at a distance where they can touch the other person's face. From here, the two practitioners try to attack the other person's face and body, while protecting their own vital parts, using hands only. The focus is on speed, reflexes and technique, not strength. It is enough to make contact with your opponent's face / torso to score a point, after which you reset and continue. What follows is a fluid, low-intensity exercise that helps illustrate certain kung fu techniques.
Diego and I played the Wing Chun game for the better part of an hour, and he improved quickly. We were so engrossed in our game that we didn't realize how much space had been created around us. Only when we stopped did we realize that the other passengers on the train were pushing up on each other to avoid us, staring at us pensively. Our little martial arts demonstration had intimidated everyone.
This was quite amusing, and not entirely unintentional. We enjoyed the extra space, and it ensured that no one would be tampering with our bags. Diego and I thus continued talking about martial arts, punctuating the conversation with a few hand gestures for good measure. Now that we weren't boxed in by bodies on all sides, I took a look at the people gaping at us from every angle.
We were surrounded by men, which I was used to from Bangladesh. What was also familiar from Bangladesh and Nepal was the man-on-man PDA. It seemed completely normal for a (presumably) heterosexual man to hold another man's hand, lacing fingers. One guy was even wrapping his arms around his friend's waist, all the while looking at us like we were the strange ones. It was one of those cultural differences that I never really got used to, but I was happy for friendship to be expressed in such a warm way. As long as no guy tried to grab my hand or waist.
Beyond this, it was quickly apparent that every single Indian man wore a button up shirt. Diego told me this was normal, and since he and I were the only men on the train who wore T-shirts, we were probably regarded as bums.
Kung fu bums.
The Transformation of Amit Singh
Even after we'd stopped talking about martial arts, everyone openly stared at us, like we were aliens. There was one skinny kid nearby who was maybe 16 years old, and no doubt curious about us, but stood skulking with his shoulders hunched and head down, scared to make direct eye contact. He looked like Dukie from The Wire.
Finally someone was bold enough to address us directly, and we started chatting. Once the wall of silence was broken, we were bombarded with questions from all over; the curiosity that had been held back was now overflowing. Dukie broke out of his shell and started talking to us in English as well, timidly at first. But the more he spoke, the more confident he became. His name was Amit Singh.
Pretty soon, the conversation turned to sex, and Amit asked us if we had girlfriends. When we said no, he proudly declared that he had six girlfriends. All of a sudden his 'girlfriends' were calling him, and he made a big show of talking to them dismissively, motioning for his friends to talk with us while he 'dealt' with his girlfriend. He then started showing us pictures of his girlfriend: her face, then a close-up of her lips. The next picture was a close-up of her nipple, which he showed us while enthusiastically announcing, "She's sexy!"
He then took out his shades and put them on, turning the situation into some kind've movie scene. He went into full action-hero mode and told us, "You need anything in India, you call me. You're in trouble, you call me." And stepped off the train like he owned the country. Needless to say, he never bothered to give us his number.
I shot a look at Diego, who smirked while answering my unspoken question: "India!"
No comments:
Post a Comment