Train to Delhi, 7/8 May 2007

There’s something leveling about the Indian Railways. No matter what class, caste, religion, you will be covered with the same dirt, sweat and use the same toilets. No matter what brand of shoes you wear Gucci, Reebok, or Bata; your toes will be trod on. We Himalayan trekkers (87 of us—probably 25 adults and the rest a range of kids from 7 to 19 years) were a buoyed lot, proud of ourselves of the challenge we had took on—12,000ft—we are coming up! We chatted and laughed at each other’s expense over Rite Bites, Chips, the famous Indian Railway chai and coffee that walk up to you in the ubiquitous dispensers, the cold drinks in buckets full of ice, the cutlets, the bread-anda, etc. We passed the fields of paddy and wheat, the orange orchards of Nagpur, the lakes clogged with water hyacinth and rubbish, the early morning bums of faceless fellow homosapiens along the railway tracks, the cows, the buffaloes and the vendors on the platforms—till we chugged into Delhi two hours late.

An organizer was aghast at our luggage.“ Is this a fashion parade or a trek? All you need is shoes, two pants, two shirts, a sweater, cap and a raincoat. You should be able to swing your rucksack over your shoulder like a purse and walk like this”, he said, doing a catwalk jiggle. But there we were huffing and puffing with our 12 day ensemble of underwear, shirts, pants, socks, several tubes of Odomos, analgesics, back braces, plastic mugs, plates, toilet rolls, tissues, sunscreen lotion—the list was unending. To make us feel even more wonderful, our Karol Bagh hotel greeted us with rooms on the 3rd floor and a lift out of order.

We take stock of our inner group of 9—Meena, Nayanika and Ayesha are our strength, luck and joy, Aparna is the medicine woman with medical supplies a medical representative would envy, Priya is the universal mentor to ours as well as all the other kids on the block, Lien is the dynamic mover and catcher of the best seats on the bus, train, etc., I am the journal keeper, Liz is to document the trek on the camcorder, and Preeti is the last word on everything.

Unfortunately the camcorder blacks out on us and Liz and I set off to every single Sony showroom in the vicinity in Ram Ayodhya Sahni’s auto (RAS seems like a godsend on Hanuman’s auspicious Tuesday). Liz trades for a automatic camera as the camcorder issue can’t be resolved, and decides that RAS is someone Priya has to actively consider—he’s got the height, the pan habit can be cured and he’s an entrepreneur who owns his auto—but who knows what will happen in the knotty world of matrimony!

We finally board the bus (the best seats, thank you Lien!), luggage piled up on top and set off from Delhi to Rishikesh.