Overnight train ride in Ghandi Class – India

I sat in the designated waiting room (ladies only) at the New Jalpaiguri train station for about four hours before making the shocking realization that I held a 2AC, sleeper-class ticket for tomorrows date. With about 20 min left before the train’s departure, the lineups at the ticket counters went out on to the street. In my desperation, I immediately turned to a man waiting in line and sought his help. I tactfully posed, or rather asserted myself, as a single, female traveller who had found herself in quite the predicament. The guilt trip I laid on him, in my attempt to seek his compassion, worked as I had intended. He offered to let me in before him and serve as my translator. I was panicked and nervous. To be completely candid, my fear stemmed from past experiences with the lack of sympathy and generosity of Indians towards other Indians or persons of the same subcontinent.

However, my determination to get on this train and catch my flight the next morning to Chennai gave me the courage and ample fortitude to overcome this personally derived stereotype. I was told, not so regretfully, that the ticket I purchased could not be changed as all seats were booked and that the only option I had was to pay a General Class fare. So I happily paid the nominal fee and went running off to catch my train, which was departing in less than 5min. Of course, the platform I had to reach was the furthest away and anyone who has train travelled in India knows the impossible length of the trains and the crowds that collect to get on them. Never having travelled in the general class section before, I was completely oblivious of its location and assumed that it would be near the end, past the AC and Economy carts. I finally ended up at the very last cart and was told that I had to go to the front of the train where the “women only” compartment was. Equipped with two very heavy backpacks, I made the mad dash towards the front of the train as it slowly started pulling out of the station. I finally reached the front cart where the security officer, completely shocked by my presence and desire to get into his cart, promptly informed me that this was in fact the men’s compartment and I had no business being in it. My response was a little more shocking he soon realized as I pushed him aside and jumped in.

It didn’t take me long to realize that the ticket I bought worked as a first-come, first-serve basis and being open to anyone for a very cheap fare, it welcomed the general class in its most appropriate sense. So there I stood, among a dozen poor and shocked faces, sweating through my clothes with anxiety. Cockroaches scampered around the floor, the broken toilet door allowed a vile smell to waft ferociously from its source and the angry security officer looking for answers seemed unforgiving. He reckoned that my presence was absurd and that I belonged in at least the sleeper class along with the other middle-class passengers. So he did what Indians do quite well and naturally - he bargained - a price for me to use his sleeper bed. I promptly refused thinking I’d rather trust myself to share a bunk with any of the other strangers present. Then one of those strangers spoke - in English! He introduced himself and assured me that he too found himself in a similar predicament as he decided to make a last minute trip home and was unable to purchase a sleeper class ticket. He had traveled in general class before but never out of choice. I had immediately found a friend in this strange place. He represented me with tact and diplomacy, imploring that I was a “foreigner” and travelling alone. The antagonist finally gave in and offered up a seat that was soon to become vacant by a departing passenger. He was completely dumbfounded when I demanded that my new friend be seated as well and if that was impossible then I was quite content sitting on the floor in protest, throughout the 12hr overnight journey. We finally came to an agreement on the terms that we were to sit separately seeing that there was no “relation” between us. So from time to time I smiled at my companion who sat on the other side of the compartment and in his reciprocating gesture I felt completely safe. Sleeping bodies populated the floor, the smell of masalah perfumed the air as passengers huddled to eat the dinner they had prepared at home and the wind from the cool night blew in from the open windows, carrying with it traces of the villages and cities that we were rolling through.

While traveling in South Africa, Ghandi was thrown off the first-class compartment even though he held a valid ticket and was eventually thrown off the train when he refused to move to the third-class passenger car. Upon his permanent return to India in early 1915, Gandhi would use trains to travel the length and breadth of India and he always traveled by third-class*. I wish I had known this during my unforeseen adventure – perhaps it would have eased my thoughts and given me a sense of pride in my actions. But I knew from the onset that getting to my final destination would be a worthy experience in itself; journeying during the night through one of India’s most perilous corridors in a cramped compartment with watchful eyes and no way to sleep but upright and on a steel bench. We arrived in Calcutta in the early morning. The rising sun and awakening city slums signaled the end of my journey. Over steaming cups of chai we sat on the station platform and laughed at our retelling of the previous night’s events. In that moment, drowned out by his laughter and profoundly positive disposition, I suddenly forgot that he had another 16 hours to travel - again in General Class.