“Will you visit Kamakhya Temple?”

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“Surely visit Patnitop or go to Srinagar at least. They are straight out of heaven.” “You've come to Okha to visit Dwarka, right?” —No, we're interested in the train journeys, not in seeing destinations

“What's the point of travelling like this throughout India?” 

Saurashtra Mail

These are typical questions from passengers during our 17-day pan-India train trip in the unreserved compartments, where we stand on one leg, lie on the luggage rack, consider sitting in the WC and on lucky days, get a normal berth. At 'Camera And Shorts', our workplace, we film interesting journeys—sailing on fishermen's boats, visiting far-flung places... but this time instead of being behind the lens, we plan to live the experience. 

“Why the general compartment? At least travel comfortably,” many advice. But we choose the general one, which carries 95% of Indian railway passengers, because it's here we believe people will open up. Our first train, Saurashtra Mail (starting from Mumbai Central station) surprises us with charging points right next to the side lower berth; something even  AC compartments often don't have. 'Brand Gujarat' at work? As the train starts, I worry, 'What if people don't open up?' But a smile and simple “Where are you headed, sir?” is enough to break the ice with Shantaram, wearing unblemished western formals. “I'm going to Jamnagar for my only daughter’s MBBS convocation. I travel second class, but never let her take trains; she only travels in ‘luxury’ buses.”

The last station, Okha Port in Gujarat, presents an interesting juxtaposition of manmade and natural—huge windmills besides shimmering white salt flats that touch the horizon.

Sufi strains and a yoga compartment      

                                   

Dafli performers playing sufi renditions on Uttaranchal Express

A soulful rendition of Khwaja Tera Hi Karam by two dafli performers fills the unreserved section of the Uttaranchal Express, running from Okha to Delhi. We meet an 82-year-old ex-serviceman, who had escaped from Lahore on a passenger train during the partition. He's returning from the holy city, Dwarka, while a seaman we get chatting with is headed to another pilgrimage area, Ajmer Sharif; he is going to seek blessings in hope to get his job back. Quietly listening to us is young Raja Bhargava. When we cross the Reliance Industries complex, he remembers the machine-operator job he quit to be close to friends; unlike most passengers, who are doing the opposite. At Rewari in Haryana, an unforgettable experience unfolds. A jovial dadaji with a Gandhi topi hops on and boasts 30 state records for flexibility. To prove it, he sheds his kurta and performs unreal asanas. At 86, he's more flexible than a rubber band. By the time we're at Delhi, we have a compartment full of unsuccessful yogis trying to ape him. This happens only in India!

At 86, He performs unreal asanas

From terror to fabulous vistas 

Next, during our overnight Jammu Mail ride to Katra, we pass Punjab. The air carries the scent of soil (thanks to the rain) and a strange silence. No animated late-night conversations like in the previous trains. By 10 pm, people are either sleeping or trying to sleep. A passenger says, it's probably a habit formed post terror attacks in Pathankot and Gurdaspur, as the state has instructed people to return home by evening. 

The only people awake are two budding entrepreneurs from Ambala, who aspire to start a lathe machining factory; dismissing marriage at this point. "We want to work now. If we're out till late, we'll be unable to go home to our wives. So someone else will go!" What mistrust! But the fire of romance at least burns in Kashmir, we discover later. 'And why wouldn't it?' I think, staring in awe with Omkar at the Trikuta mountains pockmarked with lights upto the Vaishno Devi Temple.

Meanwhile, Rajat frantically calls the local helpline about landslides caused by snowfall (the reason for Punjab's rain) in Kashmir, threatening to topple our plans of taking the valley's only train: Banihal-Baramulla DMU. As luck has it, the blocked routes clear by morning. Phew! On the picturesque road to Banihal station, we encounter hailstorms, snowfall and pass mini waterfalls. Some houses are built on hills at unbelievably oblique angles. The rain-filled Chenab river is a violent contrast to peaceful chinar trees. The temperature drops to 0ºC. Our solution? Spicy rogan josh at a wazwan eatery. Enveloped in snowy mountains that turn golden at dawn, Banihal station is right out of a fairy tale. But the platform has many military booths built with piles of sand sacks.  

Many versions of love

Baramulla station brings with it the Pir Panjal Range that flanks water-soaked fields, the silent Jhelum, empty apple trees and love stories. The impact of 3G revolution in Kashmir is such that  "it's commonplace to gift girls mobile phones to create a sense of commitment,”says Amir. Passing Katra this time, marriage comes up again—Vandana's. "I couldn't become a doctor as I didn't complete my education. But I'm realising my dream by studying nursing. The day I become a nurse, I'll consider myself successful”, she tears up. Supporting her at every step is her first male friend, who is also her lover. But marriage will be tough; his background is less-privileged. On all previous train journeys during this trip, if a woman spoke more than four sentences, her partner would start answering for her. So until now we hadn't got such insight into their lives.

On the Brahmaputra Mail going to Dibrugarh, Assam, we learn that cell phones play cupid in the East too, with a 'wrong number' trend. Calls from unidentified numbers, turn into conversations and then love. In case of 20-year-old Raju, the girl who had called his number to speak to his friend, is now his fiance. 

Hell's wrath to 'Clean India' 

 Hammock tied to the top berth to create space while passing through India's migrant heartland

Surviving the train past India's heartland of migrant workers—UP, Bihar, West Bengal and Assam—is something. The train gets so crammed—the luggage compartment has to be opened for passengers, toilets make for seats and hammocks are tied to top berths! Most migrate to earn an extra `100 a day. Seeing our luggage, someone warns, “Jo sove hai, wo khove hai (Whoever sleeps will lose their luggage).” The Vivek Express, India's longest rail line from Dibrugarh to Kanyakumari is worse—a clean compartment becomes a junk room in just three and half days. Our bodies start resonating the train's vibrations and our stomachs start a non-cooperation movement against the staple puri-subzi and biryani! My IIT Kharagpur juniors answer our appeal on social media by bringing us three-days worth of variety in food—from bananas and chips to dal makhani and Nutella—at Hijli station in West Bengal.         

Palm-lined villages and river banks announce Kanyakumari's arrival. We leave for Trivandrum to board our last train, the Netravati Express going to Mumbai. It's cleaner than ever! Even when it's packed, people manage space with a certain skill. Not proficient in any south Indian language, communication is difficult, but 'Rajini' comes to the rescue. At his mention an English-speaking transgender gushes about his favourite films. Jestingly passengers prod me to ask him questions. Turns out, she's completing BSc in Computers and takes this route, at times, to collect pocket money. Even women we meet on the Konkan stretch, fund their part-time BCom with full-time jobs—a sign of living near the city of dreams!