Trip Up On The Last Leg

This is the story of how an Ashram led to me having to effectively bribe Indian Rail and how I ended my train journey signing a fraudulent police document.

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I find myself in Delhi once again - but this time it's on the eve of my return home. So this will be my last blog from overseas - for now. There will be plenty backblog to come once I return home...

So I finished at the school last week. The last day ended with the performance of the school song I wrote followed by a giant simultaneous group hug from all the students of the school to thank me for all I'd done at the school [perhaps they were mobbing me?]. It was all quite emotional - but a great experience.

On a parallel thread, some staff [or faculty if you're a yank] from the school introduced me to a local Guru. I won't say much about him here - as I'm not sure I've digested everything yet - but suffice to say he was an extrodianary person who made quite an impression on me.

His home had become an Ashram of sorts and I'd stayed there a couple of nights. One morning I was going through my escape plan from Gangtok and trying to decide whether to fly out to Delhi or get the train. The website 'makemytrip.com' [which should be called 'ripmeoffandfuckupmytrip.com'] put flights at about 5000RP [50 GBP] and the train at about 1600 [20 GBP]. After some thought I decided I'd go for the cheap option and see a bit more of India, not wanting to be a hypocritical flash-packer.

Well, I waved goodbye to Gangtok and got a jeep to Siligury. Jeeps [or 4WDs] are the only way in and out of Gangtok unless you're the proud owner of a helicopter. It was a bumpy ride through landslide terrain but I made it to Siliguri just after sundown.

That night I felt the most unwell I have done for all of my trip. Mild fever, stomach cramps [no orangey BJ thankfully...] but mad mad dreams - all night. I woke up in a sweat in the morning and dragged myself under the shower to make my way on the next leg of my journey home.

I got to the station with an hour to spare and had a small vegetable chowmein [a great breakfast in my books] but still felt very dizzy. I had a ThumbsUp which didn't help much. I searched for an ibuprofen in my bag - didn't have one. I haven't taken an aspirin or Ibuprofen in 5 months it seems! Never mind - onward.

So I get to the platform and the train pulls in bang on time. My 'ticket' says third class AC [there was no second class sleeper on this train before you call me a gapper-slapper]. The strange system of Indian trains sees 1980s era computer print-outs [with the perforated hole-punched tear-off edges]stuck to the outside of the trains with long lists of everyone who is on that carriage. My name was nowhere. In desperation I took my ticket to various uniformed [or uninformed...] people who looked like they might give a shit [always a gamble in India] and after much rustling of paper it was generally agreed that the piece of paper I held in my hand was not a ticket, but a twenty pound waiting list voucher. I'd been had by the most official looking website.

"Sorry sir, you can't get on this train" the mustached grumpy railway inspector said.
"Can't I buy a ticket?" I asked optimistically. I knew this was a stupid question - trains sell out days before - esp AC ones.

"Go to the station master - he will help you" said the man.

Well I knew this was a lie. After queuing for 20 mins I'd have been told exactly what I knew already, and missed the train. My carefully planned journey home was stumbling at an early stage [- I am hoping to get back for my Dad's 60th]. So, I did what any sane person would do.

I ran down the platform, out of his field of vision, got on the train and hid in the toilet until it pulled away.

Now this might seem bonkers - and slightly sadomasochistic [anytime in an Indian train toilet is time you'd rather spend in a festival toilet] - but I was on a mission - and I was a stowaway - like James Bond, but a bit sweatier and with a backpack - and not in the MI6...

I knew that this was the only train out of here for days and I also knew the guy who told me that had one motivation for telling me that which seems to be shared by so many officials in India - genuine apathy. He simply couldn't be bothered to help me. So - it seemed I was to become his problem and make him help me - in a kind of karmic way.

So once we were rolling I needed to construct a plan. 20 hours in a toilet didn't seem realistic - yet I hadn't moved far beyond that in my planning. I thought to myself - "if I'm going to stowaway I should do it in the last place they'd expect".

Within 5 min I'd found a berth in first class and had settled down on my bed, listening to Ravi Shankar [remember at this point I'm highly fevered and had been dreaming of just lying down all the way to Delhi...]

Suddenly there's a tap on my leg. 'Excuse me'. 'oh well - here comes the hassle' I thought...

'What would you like for dinner? Veg or non-Veg?'

Aghhhh the life of a stowaway.

Well - I'd just settled back to sleep when another tap came. This time it was a ticket inspector - low and behold the same one who had told me not to board the train. He did not look happy - I'd become his problem.

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I was subsequently paraded up and down the train [with a mild fever and a back-pack] and made anyone's problem but the person who I happened to be with at the time.

After much discourse it was established I COULD buy a ticket for 4000 RP or 5000 for first class. At this point - it officially cost more than flying. I was joyous as I'm sure you can guess. I paid up - using the stipend the school had given me for my work and bedded down to get some rest.

Soon, a strange, ghastly music permeated my brain. Earplugs [my first line of defense] seemed strangely ineffective to this dreadful music - which seemed to be on a 7 min loop. I ferociously prowled the carriarge for the puropotrator - but it remained constant throughout - even into the next carriage. This was an all pervasive evil. This was lift music on midi instruments - the only thing comparable would be 14 year old girls playing their mobile phone ringtones directly into your brain. This would not do.

After asking up and down the carriage I found the source. The guardian of the music was a guy who'd helped mediate before when buying my 'ticket' to replace my 'ticket' [more on that later]. I mentioned the dreadful music. He asked me did I not like it? I flipped the question right back at him. 'No one does' he cackled - and all around laughed like maniacal lost souls on the last train to hell. I said "Indian music is amazing, why are you playing this shite, don't you have any Ravi Shankar?". He shook his head and opened a metal cabinet door to reveal a bust up tape player with the door missing. Scattered around were other gems such as 'Jazz hits' and 'Classics' - which I'm quite sure no tape contained. "Why do you play this music?" I asked, genuinely. "Indian people are stupid - they will put up with it". I frowned. "They are not stupid" I said - "they are just obedient - but I'm English and I complain if I don't like something".

They turned the music off - seeming happy to do so and loving each insult I threw at it.

Suddenly, the same grumpy inspector appeared. Yet again he saw me at the centre of a crowd and undoubtedly wondered how I was to become his problem this time.

"Where has the music gone" he barked "don't you like it?" he bullyingly asked me, testing my mettle. I hadn't the energy to take him head on and referred the question to my accomplice who'd turned off the music. My accomplice laughed and said 'No'. At this the inspector chuckled and waddled off back into his own world of lethargy, speckled with petit bureaucracy. The music stayed off.

On my way back to my seat I got a cheer and was thanked by each of the people I'd asked on the way down about where the music was. I guess if you see something changeable as unchangeable, then it becomes so.

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Let me just say - I slept well and was given about 5 meals and endless free tea - all of a quality better than any flight and we arrived an amazing 15 min early on our 1,470 KM journey. Ok - compliments for Indian Rail end here.

I slept quite well, sweating out most of the fever in the AC. I had eaten some eggs [egg white], which as some friends will know this has interesting effects. Let's just say that at one point on my carriage a baby had its nappy changed. The man with air-freshener walked past the baby and sprayed my berth. Despite this - I was relatively unhassled until we arrived.

When the train did pull into Delhi - all chaos erupted. It seems people want to get their huge trunks full of godknowswhat off of the train before women and children. I couldn't deal with it - I hadn't the energy. I stayed out the way on my top bunk.

Without going into meticulous detail about what was where and when, someone stole something from me. It was just up on the bed and it's the first time I've let anything out of my sight on a train - and the last.

It was my small pouch of electrics - containing [amongst other things] the harddrive of ALL my photos from the entire trip [which I have not been able to upload either...]. Before you gnash your teeth and wail in empathy - I had the foresight to back everything up [mostly] in Gangtok onto one of the school computers [in case of such an eventuality]. So assuming it's still there I should be able to upload some photos after airmail delivers DVDs...

So - not only had my pouch been stolen - now had my afternoon. I'd planned to go to the Indian National Museum - feeling guilty having not made the effort before.

After telling various disinterested men with mustaches, uniforms and big sticks - it was a young student who helped me and walked me to the right place. "Why didn't you fly?" he asked. I smiled through gritted teeth.

I spent the next 4 hours in Police offices. Here again I was met with that apathetic attitude - stopping at nothing to save themselves more work. First I was accused of making it all up. Then when they asked to see my ticket, apparently I only showed them a 'fine form' [I was later told by a fellow passenger I'd been fined about 2000RP too much - I wasn't surprised - they were all grinning too much and speaking Hindi when I paid]. This 'fine ticket' seemed good enough thankfully. I was taken to the CCTV room so they could prove nothing was stolen [!?] but stangely the 7 cameras covering the 18 platforms didn't really clarify anything. I sat eating chocolate and playing chess on my phone to kill time between their faffs as they'd send for someone else to decide a new way of not dealing with my problem.

I was taken back to Delhi Railway Police. I was very frank with them from the start. I said "I don't expect you to get it back, but I just need you to sign a document saying I've reported it stolen so I can claim it on my insurance". This seemed all too much again. First I was accused of letting it be stolen [!?] because I knew it was insured [who needs Sherlock Holmes...]. I said, very cooly, "can I just confirm that you are accusing me of lying?". This is a strong word to say out-loud in an Indian Police station and it changed the dynamic. Lying goes on on paper all the time here, but to utter it out loud - well...

I went on to explain that the HD had little value, only that it contained all my photos. Then they rejected the word stolen and tried to use misplaced - I rejected this - not believing in dematerialisation. Next they tried to convince me it had happened back in Siliguri - or somewhere else. They listed fictional place names that it could have happened at - places I'd never been - anywhere that would have to fill out the paper work but New Delhi Railway police. I stood my ground and restated my terms. "I just want a signed document from here saying I have reported something stolen". It really didn't seem much - I wasn't asking for money.

Eventually the Cheif Faffer was called, the most creative of the Uniformed Legthargics. "Look" he pitched "if we say that it was stolen here it becomes a judicial matter and you have to go to court". "My hairy arse" I thought, loudly. I said [with a friendly smile] "if the Indian Gov wants to fly me back to testify, I'd be more than happy".

I realised there was a game here and I wasn't playing by the rules. He wanted, or should I say WAS going to bend the truth - and I just wanted my police report and to be out of there. I imagine the real truth was their crime statistics might be badly affected and thus affect tourism [god-forbid statistics should reflect the truth]. So he told me a place name I'd never heard of and asked if I could report it missing there. "I've never been there!" I said. He frowned as if he'd have to explain I'd need to got to court again. After some deliberation the official place of stealing was named as the stop before Delhi, not that it really matters I suppose. Eventually
I was given my report and signed it. It only took 4 hours.

Anyway - after all that I still intended to go the the museum. My fever had other plans and Dr Jack stepped in and I put myself to bed. I stirred for a vegetable Chowmein and watched the sunset over Delhi on the last night of my travels.

I've had a wondeful trip and I've been so lucky in so many ways.

Thank you for everyone who's read along or been in touch while I've been away. I hope that my backlog will prove just as interesting.

Look out for:

'Why I Fish' - an explanation of the perversion of fisting. Sorry, fishing.
'So Where Am I?' - an examination of the surreal borders for modern travelers
'Final Ponderings on Japan' and lots of others I've probably forgotten about.

I might even try recording some as podcasts for naughty people at work to listen to so it looks like they are working [I was told my blogs sound better than they read, but that's probably because of my terribly sexy voice]

So this is it! Good bye from Delhi - who knows when I'll travel next - but I promise not to blog if people pay me enough...

Right - enough guff,

Peace and love from Delhi,

Jack