Taking the Night Train to New Delhi
And hopefully shaking off some prejudice
Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh.
I leave the taxi and reach the train station dragging my heavy bags. Suddenly, the rain breaks through the soft Lucknow night.
The railway station is a massive construction, with the entrance made of a series of arches. A moment later, and I am swallowed by it, away from the rain.
And here it is again: the crowd.
Since my arrival in India, I have often seen crowds appearing out of nowhere, gathering in no time, and peacefully hovering around any interesting event. The sheer curiosity made me look further — these mobile gatherings are an interesting reflection of a society that is finding and defining its shape along the way.
Observing them, I immediately felt a sense of freedom.
Crowds that cheer, crowds that silently watch. Crowds that appear and disappear in a blink of an eye. People in groups experiencing the same thing, for example, watching something in the street, and for this mere fact, acting like a group, with simple, ad-hoc established rules. For instance, who gets the best view or making sure that no one is left out.
Pop-up mini societies.
Yet, many things here are quite rigid and seem set in stone. There are rules that divide people in separate groups. No mixing, no sharing, no sitting at the same table, no, you can’t, if they are Dalit (the Untouchables) and you are not.
This contrast was slowly driving me mad and at the same time drawing me in.
At the large railway station, people are spread all over, laying down everywhere, and I find it hard to go on. It looks like a strange dormitory, vast and coloured, with a voice in the background announcing the trains.
Families with small children, groups of people that travel together, and couples, all placed on pieces of decorated cellophane, similar to those of the chocolate Easter eggs wrapping.
People are sleeping, eating, stretching, or taking off their shoes and resting in all the possible manners. Behaving, I imagine, as at home.
But this is a crowded railway station! It doesn’t matter.
The boundaries between private and public spheres blur and interact in the calmest possible manner. What strikes me most is the different concepts of public and private between my European/Mediterranean and the Indian culture.
An obvious thought would be that everything seems more natural here, less marked by obligations and behavioural norms. Usually, at least in European view, since “good manners” exist, anything dissimilar looks like bad manners.
Is it really so?
I start walking toward the platforms. I can smell the odour of pee, strong, at times nauseating. A woman goes down to the rails. In the faint light, I can hardly see her picking up the plastic bottles.
I look closer and I realize that the rail track is full of water, which keeps on gushing out from the train supply pipes and mixing with the garbage. The tiny woman continues to walk. Now I can see her feet. She’s barefoot. Suddenly, something next to her stirs, I notice small reflections of light on the wet coat: it’s a rat.
After a long wait, my train arrives: the Lucknow Shatabdi Express. From now on, it’s all about pushing and shoving, taking space to go on first, even though the seats are booked. It doesn’t seem important. So I start pushing as well.
The night on the train is long, endless, and the comfort of the bunk bed is inversely proportional. Two things are painfully connected, though.
The narrow spaces, very narrow, inevitably suggest the idea of sharing. You cannot escape it. Spaces, odours, gazes, words, smiles, pleasantries. There is always a constant feeling of not being alone. It can be a bit stressful at times, but for me, it beats the alternative.
Somewhere along the way, the train stops. There is a rattling sound coming from the central aisle, louder and louder. A fresh face appears, pushing a cart with a pot of masala chai. The scent of spices inebriates me, but not enough to taste the tea. I skip, shukriya.
In this Lucknow Express night train sounds, odours and faces mix in the darkness, united below the curved iron roof and, higher up, under the cloudy sky, in the night similar to many others on the way to New Delhi.
There’s something so inherently poignant in seeing somebody’s world through their eyes. A world different from yours. Letting yourself go to this version of reality, where new rules apply. As long as they are not in contrast with your ethics, all is fine.
My Indian journey helped me shake off some prejudice by doing so - temporarily forgetting some rules and norms that are, after all, just a social construct, a way each of us navigates our own culture.
You can gift yourself by exploiting that novel sense of abandonment. Follow what you see. Feel the crowd. People.
It might take away some wonder and amazement, or it might make it even more precious.
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