Rael gaadi rael gaadi- chhuk chhuk chhuk chhuk

[Text by Anusha, photos by D.B. and MyIndiaPictures.com]

Toh maidam aap South se BELONG karte hain?

Train travel makes for the best anecdotes in the history of travel. In the multicultural and perpetually crowded frenzy that India is, train travel (that too in the sleeper) and with an unreserved ticket always unfurls into the best experiences for a lifetime! The fight begins with the dump of a website- irctc.co.in. Any ticket from any remotest of places to any other corner of the country always generates a waitlisted ticket so why bother getting a ticket! Well if all the brains in the Silicon Valley & the IBM’s & the APPLE’s are mostly Indian Boy-geniuses then how come no Indian Govt. Website actually works? Unless off course if you book two months in advance which most of India doesn’t...so who does get a reserved ticket, I wonder!


There was this one time I actually managed to book a ticket but the voice of a hormonal lady on the platform kept saying “Khripya Dhyan dein...blah blah blah...ek ghante tees minute se late chal rahi hai...” after every half hour. So I decided to just take any god-damn train headed my way- without a ticket.

Irrespective of whether you manage to get a seat or you don’t, in India, everyone is entitled to grab a seat. If the coolies let you enter in the first place. Brace yourselves if you’re hauled in for a long distance journey. The stench of urine and the spit of the paan will welcome you right at the mouth of the gate, along with clogged washbasins spilling water and overflowing dustbins. As the pandemonium unfurls the population of India starts fighting on who will enter first. Two collies will burst into the bogie after managing to push through the entrance together.

While you fight your way through the fat aunties with tyres of flab that can singlehandedly cause traffic jams, or uncles with bellies stretching a kilometre perpendicular to their bodies, who carry huge trunks and are stubborn to not let anyone live till they settle or insane toddlers who start throwing circus tricks. The Indian Travelling family is the most harassed traveller on the train... till they reach their seats. 


Then one of the mom’s loses her cool and points to you, while you pretend to ignore her hoping to vanish in thin air, in shear fear and embarrassment of being asked to babysit her kid- it happens just like that, “Beta, woh dekho... didi se baat karo... woh dekho didi kitne ache se baithein hain, app tangg kyun kar rahe ho?” Bass... then the kid is officially didi’s problem. Who dares ask the mother “Agar tum khud itne pareshan ho toh main kya ukhhad lungi?” But then you decide it’s better to take care of the annoying kid than let the brat stick a finger into the ceiling fan to gain attention. His dad grunts in anger and picks him up with one hand from his suspenders and throws him to the top berth for asylum.

There is always a noisy family, and then there are the lonely bachelors... or a group of guys in their youth- The Scavengers. They will tirelessly walk up and down and up and down the aisle of the bogies, preying on eye-candies. And they will always sleep late, chatting away to glory in the coach full of sleepy heads. If they find a pretty face- that is it. They will venture out in pairs, giving all the guys in the group an equal amount of time for bird-watching and will be unabashed in their eye-corner stares and peaky eyebrows.

Then off course we always have a smart ass. No offense, but this one is invariably from UP or Bihar or these days it could even be Jharkhand. His mouth will be frothing in Paan to the point of disgust and yes...he will choose to talk through the gooey redness of his mouth. “Aisha hai, ek baat batate hain aapko...dhyaan dijiyega... yeh jo Bala Saheb Thakarey ji hain...Inko bihariyon se sahi mein problem kya hai pata hai....” And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men will never put this humpty dumpty together ever again. 

What will follow is an introduction – “Aap kahan se belong karte hain?” Mostly this is a safe way of asking a person about his roots before you pass the next offensive statement and offend him. In India you never know. So I say “Main Dilli se hoon.” “Achha dilli se hain...toh Gujarat kyun ja rahe hain?” to which I stare at him thinking... “sorry, agli baar poochki jaungi!”

Dude cut the crap already before you spray your spit everywhere. “Mera ghar wahan hai.” “Achha achha... lekin aap dilli ki lagti toh nahi hain” to this my gut retorts - Dilli ke log kaise lagte hain? Technically a Delhite can be anyone because Delhi actually has no original “Sect” so unless I stick a Post-it on my forehead saying ‘Delhite’ you can never really make out one, but I decide to stick to “Haan main Tamil hun.” He acts to go into a shock hearing this and can’t stop himself from saying “Aap Tamil bhi nahi lagti hain!” Yeah well... sue me!  Spare me the stereotype.

Oh...wait for it! Then the discussion takes a new direction altogether, because the minute they realise you aren’t truly a Delhite- they decide to let the pent-up hater inside them out.  They go into great lengths describing every little flaw of Delhi... the menace of a capital... CP, Paalika Metro...Khod diya hai.... blah blah...  how unsafe it is for girls and for anything feminine walking on two feet.. blah blah... rape......blah blah...ladkiyan, chote chote kapde....blah some more... the autos “besharmi se” loot them. Once the recitation is over they say, “So you must be happy being in the west now.” I don’t understand this regional dissing that all Indians indulge in shamelessly. If you’re Tamil you diss the Punjabi... If you’re Punjabi you diss the Bengali... If you’re Bong you diss the Marathi and if you’re Marathi you diss the Bihari- and let us not forget the age old mind-numbing pain-in-the-arse question which sounds like nails on a chalkboard “Aap Tamil se belong karte hain (I am sure he meant Tamil Nadu, poor fellow) toh aap ghar pe kya bolte hain- TELUGU?”

God, please kill me. Really are we that culturally illiterate about our own country? The state is called TAMIL NADU for a reason, not TELUGU NADU for crying out loud! “Nai main Malayalam mein bolti hun.” What difference will it make to you- to the rest of India- Tamil, Malayalam, Telugu and Kannada is all the same. Although if I go to Bangalore they’d tell me Coorgi and Kannada were different as well.  

Yeah... I like my Rajni jokes too as much as Santa :P

A Delhite would then jump in and diss on Bala Sahib Thakarey. Then he’d diss on Communism in Kerala and the not-so-motherly Maumauta (Mamta) Didi in Bengal. Yoa mama so fat... no bro, your mama so black! Hate hate and more hate. By the time the journey ends you would just have had enough of the obnoxious intruders in your coach. All throughout the journey the red gooey-mouthed guy would say he’s a Marwari Jain- no onion, no garlic kinds- and order non vegetarian dinner to which you are forced to stare at him in disbelief!

How does it matter which state we belong to? The worst possible thing to be asked to me is where do I come from. If I say I belong to the South, the South Indians smirk at my non-South Indian accent, and if I say I belong to the north, the North Indians mock my non- North Indian looks.

I was born in Mumbai, lived in Gujarat till five years of age, shifted and lived for 10 years in Delhi, moved to Singapore for 2 years, did my college from Jammu & Kashmir- 5 years, then came back to Delhi for a year and a half. From the top of my mind my closest friends comprise of a Mallu, a Dogri, a Himachali, a Rajasthani, a Sikh, a Bengali, a Sindhi and a Punjabi – 4 Delhites + the rest of India. If I explain this then there will be no potential for bitching about the other states or people around me which the Indian Traveller loves to do, so why should I be the Party Pooper? Today I live in Baroda. Toh bhaisahab... main kahan se belong karti hun? Aapko kya pharak padta hai? Aap shuru ho jao...chalo.