Riding the rails in India a great way to see the country
Train travel gives glimpses of nation’s people and places
“Chai! Chai! Chai!”
The chai wallah’s voice is clearly heard through the train car: he’s the most welcome of the on-board vendors, with passengers stopping him for cups of the sweet milky elixir that is India’s best known addiction.
For 10 rupees (20 Canadian cents) chai is an affordable way to begin to understand this complex Asian nation. Like the numerous spices found within this hot concoction, India is a complex and exhilarating destination.
For the more than a billion residents, India Railways is the key to getting anywhere in this country where tuk-tuks and scooters, cars and trucks, wagons and oxen and cyclists are part of an endless stream of trafc: every day, 23 million people ride the trains in India.
My G Adventures group piles backpacks into small taxis, leaving New Delhi in the pre-dawn darkness as we prepare for our journey through the cities of Rajasthan state where we will stop to see hand-painted murals of Hindu deities on houses, ornately printed textiles, traditional folk dance and the must-see Amer Fort — the 16thcentury red sandstone and marble palace, one of six sites declared a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2013 — before arriving in the country’s largest city, Mumbai.
Our guide leads us through the station; following his instructions we cluster in a circle on the platform, as much to protect our belongings as to keep our group together on the crowded train platform. We’re learning Indian Railways essentials: AC class means air conditioning; for those with sensitive stomachs, choose the vegetarian option for food, always have chai; and the standard for toilets is decidedly diferent than it is in North America.
On the train, locals are watching Bollywood films on their laptops, while we gaze out at the dusty everchanging landscape.
The next day starts with a sunrise visit to the Taj Mahal and an afternoon wandering the Agra Fort and local markets — raucous places to barter for local vegetables or spices or a new mobile phone, or to make an appointment with a dentist.
We make a quick stop at the Baby Taj, a jewel-box mausoleum built by Queen Nur Jahan for her father. It’s as popular with locals as it is with foreigners. As the skies embrace twilight, we head back to the train station for the next leg of our journey, the pretty pink city of Jaipur.
Our guide keeps a practised eye on digital signs signalling what trains are arriving, as we choose spicy snacks and bottled water from the platform vendors. We see several individuals ignore the signs forbidding crossing the train tracks by foot, as well as rhesus monkeys scampering across the tracks.
Jaipur doesn’t disappoint — the original district of the planned pink city is a revelation. The streets are three times wider than anywhere we’ve seen, and trafc seems to move elegantly despite the haphazard mix of vehicles, people and animals.
From palace to fort to temple, each building in Jaipur is more beautiful than the last, the colours and the craftsmanship a testament to the wealth and style of the maharajas of Rajasthan.
We end our day viewing a Bollywood blockbuster at the city’s beloved Art Deco-style Raj Mandir theatre, experiencing the raucous environment of patrons singing, dancing and providing ongoing commentary. They’re doing all of it — responding to the characters’ dialogue.
My morning is spent at local markets — early in the day it’s not as crowded, and vendors are slowly setting up, inviting shoppers to join them in a cup of chai before haggling or perusing the merchandise. From hand-printed stationery and blank journals, to colourful Indian clothing, and silver and brass jewelry, I’m tempted by all of it.
Soon I’ve bought a new shopping bag to stash all my purchases, and I’ve received a free bottle of water from a savvy shop owner who convinced me to buy a second shopping bag for my best friend.
The afternoon train to Udaipur is late, but we have come to understand that every time you make a plan, it will change. Instead of arriving at 7 p.m., we don’t reach the guest house until after 10 p.m., our usually friendly group now a hungry bunch. The romance of the train has been diluted.
The next morning’s visit to Udaipur’s Jagdish Temple for the daily religious ceremony sets a positive tone for the day. We explore an extravagant and lavishly decorated city palace with hidden staircases and visit an artist collective, where we learn about the longtime tradition of miniature painting.
At night we attend a Rajasthani cultural show, a distinctive mix of music, folk stories, colourful textiles and inventive dance routines — unforgettably woven together.
Our second day, I immerse myself in this country’s culture — getting my hands decorated with henna, taking a cooking class and shopping the market. Bartering for items becomes second nature as I exchange banter with shopkeepers while drinking chai as we haggle over prices.
Then it’s time to prepare for our first overnight train trip — to the blue city of Bundi. The girls share survival tips on what to wear (loose but not revealing clothes), what to pack in your purse (a small bottle of water, medication, ear plugs, tissues, wipes, toilet paper, toothbrush and toothpaste to make using the toilet as quick and efcient as possible) and to make up the bed right away with a sleep sack and not use the train linens, which aren’t always as clean as you hope, and store everything in the bed’s farthest corner from the train hallway to make your belongings inaccessible to theft.
The G Adventure group has become more like a family; taking care of each other, sharing snacks and bottled water, helping one another with our backpacks and teasing each other like siblings.
I’m not in a deep sleep when I hear the train employee yell breakfast. I ignore him until he grabs my foot to shake me awake. He hands me lentils, toast and tea for breakfast.
In Bundi, we visit the historical stepwells, architecturally distinct stone creations that were community gathering places, but are now unused. A bus ride brings us to an abandoned city palace, still lavish despite years of neglect. As we walk past houses painted blue to keep mosquitoes from the noisy market area, I’m charmed by the smiles of kids as much as the fading elegance of this small city.
From Bundi we go to Kota for the overnight train to Mumbai. Again, the train is delayed, so we pile our backpacks onto the platform, creating a circle to sleep, read and play games.
No one complains: our understanding of India and its trains is complete.
Six hours later, the train arrives, at 3:30 a.m. The next day, I learn from fellow travellers that the monsoons have overwhelmed Mumbai, with trains delayed all over India.
We spend our day on the train, swapping stories. I’m sad to be missing a day in Mumbai, but I’ve realized that this time isn’t lost — being on the train is just as much about being in India as every city we’ve visited.