… mangalore by mail
One long cross town auto journey, and I’m at Chennai central station, with what I hope is an Indian railways e-ticket booked in my name … bound for Mangalore, with only a fellow student knowing that I’ve packed everything, and am splitting from this tight assed school situation.
After talking with Kadri earlier in the week, ringing to send my apologies for not being able to make it, and Kadri convincing me that I could make Mani’s wedding if I caught the bus to Bangalore, and grabbbed a train from there, I’d decided that I’d roll a dice on Indian railways bookings to see whether I stayed in Chennai. This late it was unlikely I’d get a seat, so if a miracle happened, I’d follow it up.
As it happened, it was impossible to get to Bangalore in any class of train. It is a 10 hour bus journey … clearly hell. What to do? Check the obvious of course. Why yes, according to the Indian railways website, there is exactly one seat available bound for Mangalore in the next few days, leaving tomorrow night.
Forget what people have told you about booking chaos on Indian railways, they now have an e-ticket system where you can specify the name of a passenger, a form of identification (eg passport), and you can book a ticket up (if available) up to an hour before departure time. Only downside with this is that you have fewer choices about which seat you’re allocated. But it sure beats waiting in queues (though the Indian internet is a bit like queing at a railway station anyway).
So after a quick rundown on what the classes are on Indian trains (sleepers are seets, ac class is air conditioned with bunks, ac is airconditioned with bunks, 2ac is two bunks against a wall, 3ac is 3 bunks against a wall, etc), I take the only option that presents itself, 2ac on the Mangalore mail, a slowish strain that stops at nigh on every station between chennai and Mangalore. I’m stuck with an aisle seat, which gives me a slightly shorter bunk, but I’m on. Phew. It would be hard to go back to Adyar now that the journey has begun.
Heading out of Chennai around 7:30, the tensions and confusion of the last few weeks are fading. There are quite a few suburban stops, and out of Chennai, a number of country stops … it’s a dark night and a comfortable air conditioned carriage … I pull up a mix of John Coltrane and Dikshitar Kritis on my walkman and kick back for a few hours. This is stylin … with an hour or so, we are issued with a sheet, a blanket and a pillow. The bus and the sleeper class are looking like progressively worse ideas safely avoided. Eventually I kick back in my slightly too short bunk and get an almost decent sleep.
Come morning, the fun starts. This is india, and straight lines belong elsewhere. Mangalore is almost directly west of chennai Chennai on the oppisite coast … but the Mail train ignore this, and cuts back south through a large part of coastal Kerala and heads north to Mangalore. And this is India, so it’s quite ok to sit between carriages with the doors open. It would probably ok to sit in the gap with my legs dangling out the train if I was stupid enough to do this. It’s laid back, but there are great views of sunrise over Keralas coastal backwaters, and snippets of cities viewed over the tops of railway stations.
There are occaisional beggars on platforms putting out a hand or pointing to their mouth. It seems like one of the common threads running through India. Sometimes I try not to see it. Sometimes doing this gives me such a crap feeling of distance that I’m overly generous with the next one. Then you see someone who is truly a mess … leprosy, amputation, glaucoma, unammable skin diseases or ancient age in a country with no pension … and they will break your heart force your wallet … and then again, they might be the worst hardest scammer … and you will never know which.
But the journey … coastal Kerala is divine, very lush, and sunrise over the backwaters is inspiring. Everything is starting to say ‘yes’. There are a lot of small villages along the rail line, lots of collossal tidal backwaters, small canoes and coracles plying the inland waters. Kerala is one of India’s communist states (though a spiritual communism): there are occaisional grafitti’d pictures of Che decorating local CP offices.
Southern Kerala feels a touch more affluent than Chennai, less run down. This may or may not be true with money, but it is definitely true with what Tamil Nad is most poor: water. Kerala is lush with trees grasses, flowers. True gold after the starkness of Chennai and surrounds.
Throughout the morning various sellers come through the train off of platforms. Dosas, Iddly sets, magazines, coffee. This is a laid back way to move.
I’d had occasional glimpses of the west coast through the morning. As we run north, Keral starts to look less developed and a bit more gnarly … but there are pristine beaches (at least they seem so from the moving train) … and not a seaside holiday resort to be seen.
A friendly message from Hutch (telling me the changes to roaming charges) tells me I’ve hit the Karnataka border before I see any physical signpost. Mangalore is just north of the border.
10 minutes later we hit Mangalore. The train stops, and I load up my kit, and step into a new city. Ont the platform, I strike up a conversation with an Indian guy, Pintu, who is as loaded up as I am. One heavy case of his I try to lift. I now feel deep sympathy for travelling Tabla players. He is in Mangalore for a few gigs over the weekend. We swap numbers and may cross paths again. This seems like a sign of sorts, I hope a positive one.
Off the station, and I manage to avoid the auto drivers that flock around hunting up travellers. They seem a margin less aggressive than Chennai’s and I am out onto the streets of Mangalore. But Mangalore is a hilly city, and I feel it after the flatness of Chennai. Fortunately the main strip is near the station. I pull up for a South Indian Thali, just right, and it makes me feel a touch more at home.
A quick call to Kadri after lunch, and I’m directed to a hotel. He has booked out a floor… A quick auto journey there is a fress expecerience. Mangalore auto’s use their meters. Many arguments and much stress saved.
Long walk in the afternoon through Mangalore’s confusing and curving streets. The beach is still a bus journey away, and I may not get there before the weekend. I have been dreaming of a west coast swim … as it turns out this is still many weeks away. I kick back, practise some rug on the sax, and contemplate the next move.
