Just a small town girl Living in a lonely world She took the midnight train Going anywhere So my world wasn’t lonely, my train was in the morning, and I knew exactly where it was going. But when you wake up at 5 in the morning and take off to the railway station in a strange town, it sure feels that way. When I started planning my trip, I was particular about one thing. I would try to take day trains and camp for the night at a hotel. None of those going without a shower for 2 days kinda trips for me. For future reference, I paid particular attention to the waiting rooms and the attached showers in the railway stations. The Ernakulam station was without doubt one of the cleanest stations. The waiting rooms made me think Indian railways has come a long long way. This would soon change. For now, I was happy to bask in my love for Kerala. I was taking the Ernakulam-Poona express that goes across the Konkan coastline. My stop was at Madgaon. This was the highlight of my itinerary. Or so I thought. That would change in a couple of days as well. My ticket was for a non AC second class compartment. No more comfort of the AC chair car. I wanted an uninterrupted view of the landscape. I found my seat, verified that the toilets do indeed stink, cleared away the dried orange peels from my side-lower berth, wiped off the grime of a few years with a wet wipe, confirmed that the train on the neighbouring track is cleaner, and settled down. To the stink of poop from the tracks. Having finally understood why people get in only at the very last minute, I decided to get off the train. Not caring if you lose your suitcase is the most liberating feeling during travel. It single-handedly determines how adventurous you’ll end up being. My suitcase had nothing apart from a few pairs of clothes, books and wet wipes. So I left it behind and went down to get some breakfast. After a plate of hot idli vada, and an early morning walk from one end of the station to the other, I climbed back in and we choo-chooed off. My pick for this journey was the appropriately named The Great Railway Bazaar by Paul Theroux. I did not have a chance to go beyond a few pages. The distractions were many this day. The first of them came in the form of the orange sun. The best part of watching the sun rise from a train is not the sunrise itself. It’s the backdrop of the horizontal window bars and the occasional zigzagging telephone lines. It’s like a complex can-you-count-the-triangles-in-this-picture puzzle. I closed my book and eased into a routine of gazing out of the window and staring at my fellow passengers alternately. I had written down the list of stations the train would stop at, on a piece of paper. I was expecting to be blown away at Mangalore. I didn’t have to wait till then. I was wide eyed at Shoranur. Fact time - There are 2000 bridges and 91 tunnels on the Konkan railway. A fair number of these were on the route I took, killing my ear drums a little bit each time we passed a tunnel. The other interesting fact about the Konkan railways is that all the stations are plastic free. Hence, it comes as even more of a disappointment to see a line of plastic bags outlining each view, in between the stations. Notwithstanding, the ride was mesmerizing. One moment the train was navigating the middle of the sea, and the other the insides of a mountain. I wish I had gone all the way to Pune along the coast, but my ticket was only till Madgaon. As I got off the train, my suitcase bumped into a foreigner sporting a beard and a lungi, paired with sneakers. The similarity to the Goa I was familiar with ended there, with him. I checked into a hotel close to the station. It was just 7.30 in the evening. I collapsed on the bed for a short nap and got up at 8.30 the next morning. I had a leisurely breakfast, admiring a couple of cute fellas who had come from Sikkim to play a football match. I had nowhere to go and nothing to do for the rest of the day. So I set out to explore the streets, with my cool blue shades and sunscreen. It was a hot morning but that was not going to stop me. I came across this quaint little store selling ceramic ware – platters, wall hangings and the like – hand painted by a local painter. At that moment, I fell in love with all things Goan. Baga and Candolim, memories from just the previous month, seemed like an age away. This vivacious, happy, creative place captured my heart. The golden heart emporium, now named Confidant library, was next on my mind. I chose the route via the old market. This is a Goa unlike any that I had seen before. Greasy shops, charming colourful houses and crumbling accountant offices characterised the Abade Faria road.
I trudged along to the library, a stuffy place that smelt of books. I picked up a book called Ferry Crossing, a collection of short stories from Goa. The compiler says this is his attempt to portray the real Goa, the one that the tourists don’t know of. It was worth a read. Here’s a travel tip – read a story set in the place you are travelling in. It makes the place come real like nothing else does! All in the comfort of your hotel, without having to step out into the hot sun. And that is exactly what I did for the rest of the day, accompanied by copious amounts of rice and fish curry.
4 Comments
One year into motherhood, I decided it was time to pack my bags and leave. For a week. Anything more than that is code red. You can’t just check out, you know. Given all the travel books I had been reading during the hibernation, I was all pumped up to do some train travel. It has been such a long time since I traveled in a second class compartment. I missed eating the tomato rice packed by mom and the blue rexene seats. So it was decided. Tickets booked. Hotels booked. 5 nannies in the form of grandparents and husband arranged to take over the baby sitting at home. I sped off in a taxi, to catch the early morning Ernakulam express from Bangalore to Ernakulam. There was the welcoming nip in the air that I mistook for freedom from a diaper bag. Men with wind cheaters, making that ruffling noise and beanies covering their ears confirmed otherwise. I decided to warm myself with a cloyingly sweet orange coloured tea. It started perfectly. The train on time, the chair car amazingly clean and the TT very polite. A European who had got into the wrong coach was gently told off. My fellow passengers, a group of 6 people going back from a wedding made themselves comfortable. And by that I mean, started making their own coffee. They produced the whole set up out of a cloth bag that read “Sarath weds Sandhya”. Thick plastic coffee mugs with pink flowers on them, a Nescafe bottle, a Tupperware with sugar and a couple of steel tumblers to do the pouring and mixing. They smiled at me but I felt none of the bonhomie that I have come to expect of strangers on a train. However this gap in my experience was filled by the railway catering waiters. They were by my side every few minutes, offering me the choicest of them deep fried goodies. I briefly considered eating healthy. I quickly set the thought aside and polished off one plate pongal, one vada and 2 dosas. Train journeys make me ravenous. After all that was one of the reasons I was travelling. I took out the first book from the stack that I had stuffed into my small suitcase. Neti, Neti by Anjum Hasan. The catering guy decided I needed a helping of chilli bajji to go with it. As it started getting brighter, I stepped out of the cabin to stand near the door. Idly watching the world pass by, hanging out from the door. As the wind washed the traces of chutney off my face, I knew I was going to love this trip. I got back to my book and read through it as fast as the train, and for the first time in many months I got through a book in a single stretch. Pure joy, mingled with blurry purple spots floating in front of my eyes. As the train reached the final station, I had only one regret. I wish I had my neck pillow. I wasn’t yet comfortable dozing off on my fellow passenger’s shoulders. I stood behind the long line of people waiting for the pre-paid autos. Nothing was going to spoil my upbeat mood. The shy and honest auto drivers made the wait worthwhile. My plan for this trip was to relax at the hotel after the train journey and not go around town. That worked as well as the eating healthy bit. I unpacked and decided to visit the much talked about Princess Street. Only it was on the other side of the river. For 4 rupees on the local ferry, I was dropped off on the other side along with a bunch of other tourists. I walked my way up to princess street. A charming place filled with cafes, with people spilling on to the street. PhotoCredit: Babishvb It looked like another country altogether, with the throng of foreigners walking about like they’ve been living there all their life. My favourite place was the Idiom Book Store. For their collection of books by local authors. For the effort they took to tell people about their part of the world.
I walked awhile, nodding along to a background score of christmas carols. Mallu christmas carols. Now that needs a whole new post for itself. I retired soon after, the next day there was another early morning train to catch. |
Aishwarya KalakataThe loss of and search for individualism has never been felt more acutely. Everything changed after I had a kid. But this blog is not about me being a mom. It’s about the things I do when I want to stop being a mom. It’s about telling myself that it is possible and that it is ok. It’s about my little escapades. Mostly travel - sometimes physical, sometimes mental. A desperate bid to stop my identity from being rolled into a single word. CategoriesArchives
March 2021
|