For decades, the Railways were the only long-distance option for middle-class Indians. And so, despite all the problems, there was a certain romanticisation of trains. Heroes sang in trains, heroines danced outside trains, and background dancers – on top of trains.
Despite all the romanticisation, devoting two days to travel didn’t make any sense. Once Goddess Lakshmi began smiling at me, I switched to flights that claimed being on time was a great thing (in theory). Time might be money, but with trains, you paid money to lose time. I was a train(ed) skeptic. But my recent trip on the Vande Bharat changed my opinion on Indian Railways entirely.
Food was provided every two hours, without hawkers who treated the MRP as a gentle suggestion. Samosas didn’t look like they were fried last year in illegal oil from Venezuela. So impressed was I with the food that I raised my hand for two bars of Snickers – only to have to pay for them.
But what about cleanliness? Every time I stepped out of a train, I resembled a potato stored in the kitchen attic for a month, covered in soot, grime and dust. Train journeys made you thank the kind souls who invented soap. So imagine my surprise when I found that there was absolutely no dust on the train.
The staff swept and mopped the floors every two hours. Indians take the word ‘groundnut’ literally, dropping the shells on the ground. But even the elders politely offered their trash to the dust bin. But the true test of the Vande Bharat trains? Toilets – those metal blocks which belonged in the Cellular Jail that could give you lifelong trauma.
What I saw on the Vande Bharat was a miracle. A toilet that did not require you to be a practitioner of intense pranayama. Clean, efficient toilets, with the option to upgrade to hot showers. There were no mugs tied to metal chains. The window didn’t open, giving you the strange feeling of looking at strangers while on the job. You weren’t directly defecating through the length and breadth of the country.
Which brings me to my biggest anxiety with trains. Every time I travel in General or Sleeper class, a constant anxiety runs through my mind. When the train enters a popular station, my eyes shift towards the door. Swarms of people walk into the coach with the confidence of Afghan invaders. Their eyes scan the coach, and ask you to shift. You shift a little, and offer them space. Gradually, the Mughals are joined by the Turks, the Lodhis and the Ghoris. Luggage is dumped under your feet, someone parks their posterior on the seat opposite yours. Another climbs up to your upper berth and pitches their tent of victory. ‘Vasudaiva Kutumbakam’ – you tell yourself. ‘All Indians are my brothers and sisters. The nation is one giant joint family’.
Vande Bharat solved the problem of illegal encroachment of berths – by removing berths altogether. Since there are only chairs, there is no Option to Shift. You Delete the thought and Return Home, else I call the Caps, Lock you up. The doors open for a couple of minutes, and the train has extremely few stops. So nobody gets on the train without a ticket. Things might get worse in the future. We might paint the trains red with paan stains. Visiting the toilet might require a tetanus shot in the future. But for now, I change my opinion on Indian Railways. When we want, we can have efficient modes of public transportation working with clockwork precision.
Indian Railways solved their biggest problem – Indians.
(The writer’s views are personal)