Vande Bharat…

Fleeting Thoughts By Ashvini Ranjan

I travelled by the Vande Bharat (VB) train from Mysuru to Bengaluru for the first time only last week. Although I had driven to the railway station several times to drop my family members travelling by VB, I had never travelled on it myself.

When we decided to take the train this time to Bengaluru, I experienced the same schoolboy excitement that I remember from my first school picnic. It reminded me that, however old we become, there is always a child hiding somewhere inside us, waiting for an opportunity to come out.

As I entered the platform, my wife wondered why I had suddenly stopped and was staring at the train. It was my first opportunity to see a Vande Bharat from such close quarters. I also discovered something rather embarrassing.

Until then, I had read its name as ‘Onde Bharath’. It was only when I stood in front of it that I realised it was actually Vande Bharat. Perhaps I had unconsciously given the train a Mysurean identity! It certainly looked impressive, sleek, shiny and dressed in its attractive white and blue colours.

We had arrived fifteen minutes before departure, giving me enough time to walk towards the front of the train and admire its aerodynamic design, with my wife trailing behind me.

Decades-old memory

She wondered why I was smiling. She did not know that this modern train had transported my thoughts nearly seven decades into the past.

I must have been about eight years old when I travelled by train for the first time. I had spent several sleepless nights thinking about the impending journey. We arrived at the railway station in a tonga from Shivarampet, where we lived, at least an hour before the departure of the train.

We were eight siblings, but only four were chosen for this journey. The selection process was complicated and depended largely on the intensity of the tantrum one was capable of throwing. Those who made the final cut were briefed thoroughly before the journey.

Sitting by the window was considered a privilege and had to be shared in rotation, according to a schedule decided by our mother. We were instructed to hold each other’s hands so that nobody got lost in the crowds.

The eldest had the important responsibility of carrying the water container specially designed for train journeys.

All our clothes were packed into a Holdall. It was essentially a bedroll with a thick outer covering and several pockets. Suitcases were either a rarity or non-existent.  It did not bother us in the least if our clothes emerged from the Holdall looking crumpled.

A porter, known in those days simply as a “coolie”, dressed in a bright red coat,  carried the Holdall to our compartment for a small payment.

The railway station of the 1950s was a living, breathing theatre of anticipation. The platform vibrated with a breathless activity. At the head was the majestic steam engine, a mechanical beast huffing and panting as it belched thick, billowing clouds of black smoke; the sharp, ear-splitting hiss of white steam shrieked from its valves, wrapping the platform in a sudden fog.

All around, frantic passengers rushed up and down the length of the train, scanning carriage windows in a desperate search for empty seats.

Amidst the commotion,  the station staff cut through with the mandatory clang-clang-clang of a heavy iron bell, signalling final preparations.

Then, the moment of climax. The Station Master stepped forward, raised his arm high and waved a bright green flag. With a mighty deep shudder,  the great engine finally gathered momentum, slowly pulling its world of travellers to their chosen destinations.

Passengers who had come to see their families off would walk alongside the moving train, waving, holding hands and shouting last-minute instructions, usually to write letters. They continued walking until the platform came to an end.

Modern travel experience

How different everything is today.

Modern trains are far more organised.  Online reservations and prior allotment of seat numbers have considerably reduced the anxiety and the frantic search for seats.  Punctuality is no longer something to be treated as a pleasant surprise.

Our VB departed from Mysuru’s Platform No. 1 at exactly 1.15 pm, as scheduled.

Unfortunately, my excitement about the modern train began to decline almost immediately with every passing minute.

It started with a series of annoying, loud announcements in three languages, English, Kannada and Tamil, over the train’s public address system. First came a warning that the doors were closing.

The announcement continued even after the train had departed, because each sentence had to be repeated in all three languages, with a pause  between them.

Then came the welcome announcement about how pleased South Western Railway is to have you on board.

This was followed by information about the time of arrival at Bengaluru and Chennai, a warning not to overload the overhead luggage racks, a reminder that the train was non-smoking, the schedule of serving food on the train and finally, an instruction to flush the toilets after use.

Aircraft also make similar announcements, but they somehow manage to convey the necessary information in less than two minutes, perhaps because they know that passengers have paid to travel rather than to listen to a three-language podcast.

Another source of irritation was the loud conversation on mobile phones. Some passengers seemed to believe that speaking louder would somehow improve the mobile signal.  The gentleman sitting nearby appeared to be a wedding matchmaker.

He was speaking at full volume and asking the person at the other end about the prospective groom’s gothram. Unfortunately, the gentleman on the other end seemed to have heard it as “bathroom”. The conversation became unintentionally more entertaining than anything to be shown on the train’s entertainment system.

About tickets and age

Children, meanwhile, had discovered the aisle.  They ran up and down it, making enough noise to suggest that the VB had suddenly been converted into a school playground. Their parents did not seem particularly concerned. Perhaps they believed that, having paid for the tickets, they had also purchased the right to occupy the entire train.

Then came the ticket checker.

The couple sitting beside us had occupied three seats in the same row.  The father, mother and their young son. There was only one problem. They had purchased only two tickets.

The parents explained that their son was below five years of age and therefore did not require a ticket. The boy, however, looked considerably older than five.

The ticket examiner, clearly experienced in dealing with such situations, did not argue with the parents. Instead, he turned to the boy and asked him a simple question:

“Do you go to school?”

“Yes.”

“Which class?”

“Second standard.”

“And how old are you?”

“Seven.”

The case was closed.

The father then pleaded with the ticket examiner to excuse them for the lapse. But rules were rules and the officer insisted that the fare had to be paid with a penalty.

As I sat back in my seat, I could not help reflecting on my first train ride as an eight-year-old boy and my first Vande Bharat journey seven decades later.

The technology has changed beyond recognition. The steam engine has disappeared. The smoke has disappeared. The Holdall has disappeared. The red-coated porter has almost disappeared.

What has not changed quite as much is us.  Our conduct and behaviour!

We still speak loudly on our phones. Allow children to disturb others. We still try to avoid paying for a ticket when we can. We still need to be reminded not to overload luggage racks, not to smoke and even to flush the toilet after use.

VB is undoubtedly a modern train, with speed, comfort and technology that would have seemed like science fiction when I was eight years old.

But no advancement in technology can by itself provide the comfort and pleasure that such advancement is intended to offer.

For that, perhaps, we need another kind of upgrade,  an upgrade in our behaviour.

The train may be Vande Bharat.

But the passengers are still very much the same old Bharat.  Unwilling to change!

e-mail: ashviniranjan@yahoo.com