“We’re Getting There” was the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority (SEPTA)’s longtime —although apparently now defunct—official slogan, and none could have been more apt. Most Philadelphians find SEPTA’s antiquated “Subway-Surface” trolley lines to be rather slow, and many denizens of the city opt for transportation by car, bicycle or foot.
However, over the course of the four years I lived in Philly the trolleys saved me at least a few dollars and sometimes a few minutes, so I reserve a special spot in my heart for those uncomfortable plastic seats and their (perhaps unintentionally) brilliant motto. The fact that I find the trolleys and their slogan endearing as opposed to infuriating is in keeping with my patient appreciation for transportation systems that some may find anachronistic in the age of Uber and major monorails (see Mumbai’s new, as yet impractical example of the latter ) but which I find marvelous for the sheer endurance of their service.
In the past, I’ve written about my love of Mumbai’s local trains, which although dangerously over capacity at all times nevertheless serve as the still-incredibly-functional arteries of a city with a constantly racing heart. Now, I’d like to wax poetic for a moment about the breathtaking creature known as the Indian railway system.
Kolkata, viewed from midway across the Howrah Bridge.
I admit that before first moving to India in 2010 I fell deeply in love with the quirky, romantic, detail-saturated, and highly fictional “Darjeeling Express” featured in the Wes Anderson movie of the same title. Since then, my love for the railway has matured; I still appreciate how intensely colorful it is and, take comfort in knowing that in times of literary struggle I can always turn to it as a clunky, cliché metaphor for the journey of life (so complex! so long! so tiring! so thrilling!), but I also have a much deeper appreciation the nuances of its extreme utility.
Yes, flying from Mumbai to Kolkata conveniently took me less than 2.5 hours and yes, the return journey by train took me ten times as long, but in addition to carrying passengers between major cities, the railway that took me to Mumbai also transported a total 975,160,000 tons of freight in just one year (*2011-2012 Indian Railways “Review of the Year,” the most recent data available). In the same year, “8,224 million ‘originating’ passengers generated 1,047 billion passenger kms.” In other words, there were a total of 8,224,000,000 unlinked passenger trips in the year 2011-2012, each averaging 127 km. Personally, I find these numbers mind-blowing.
And what better place to stand in awe of these miraculous numbers than the Howrah Railway station, the oldest and largest railway station in India. The Howrah station sits directly across the river from the gorgeous city of Kolkata, and is a point of convergence for the Eastern and South Eastern Railways. The station complex is composed of two parts: the “Old Station” for platforms one through sixteen, and the “New Station” for platforms seventeen through twenty-three.
According to a BBC News article published in 2011, the Howrah Bridge carries “500,000 pedestrians and half a million vehicles each day.” *
On Tuesday, October 7th, after spending a glorious two weeks in the land of Tagore documenting the work of my co-Fellows Andrew, Laura, and Yojna (more on them soon), I took an early-morning taxi across the Howrah Bridge and made my way to platform twenty-one. After a few nervous minutes of checking the reservation chart—a printed ream of paper posted for public display, which notifies wait-listed passengers like myself whether or not we indeed will have a seat/berth—I boarded the First Class AC car of the Kolkata > Mumbai, Duronto Express and settled in.
Although I’ve traveled extensively on the Indian railway system over the past few years, this trip was unique in two ways: the first being my first class ticket. I’ve traveled in 2S (Second-Class, Non-AC seats) for local and interstate trips; and in SL (Sleeper, two or three bunks, Non-AC) and 2AC (Second class, two bunks, AC) for long overnight trips. For a number of reasons both financial** and personal, I’ve always shied away from the first class option. However, the second unique thing about this trip—the distance—is what in the end convinced me to take the 1AC plunge.
Breakfast in the Duronto Express’ First Class AC car.
Until my trip on the Duronto Express, the longest train ride I’d ever taken was an overnight from Delhi to Mumbai, which clocked in around 18 hours total. The Duronto Express is the fastest train you can take from Kolkata to Mumbai, making a total of only five stops between its origin station Howrah Junction, and its destination Mumbai CST; however, it still takes a total of twenty-six hours and ten minutes to cross 1963 km, chugging along at an average of about 77 km/hour. “Duronto” means “restless” in Bengali—an apt name for a train that is bound to induce restlessness in all who board it.
My own illustration of the journey
Over the course of the journey, we passed through West Bengal, Jharkhand, Odisha and Chhattisgarh, and across the entire span of Maharashtra. According to indiarailinfo.com (a fantastic resource for anyone interested in getting somewhere, or in understanding how one might get somewhere), although the Duronto Express only stops at five stations between Howrah and Mumbai, it whizzes through another two hundred and ninety.
I did a lot of writing, sleeping, and chatting while on the train time, but I spent most of my hours simply gazing out the window. Living in Mumbai’s smoggy, overwhelmingly urban embrace, it can be easy to forget that so much of India remains so green.
Notes from my journal: As we move across the country, I’m struck once again by the rice paddies—an infinity of vibrant stalks rising out of earth pounded by the feet of running children. I keep my eyes peeled for signs of life in the mass expanse of crops, and jump when I catch fleeting glimpses of women rocking like gyrostabilizers under the bales of hay they balance on their heads. Telephone poles and their faint lines are apparitions rising from the dust and my, does the dust rise! We pass each junction—the names painted in thick, black, block letters across sun-yellow boards—where people wait with large sacks; they carry everything I can imagine, and so much I cannot.
And now, in the distance, a tall, red and white-striped smoke stack. We fly past another small town and I realize I don’t know what state we’re in. The landscape is flat, then hilly, then flat again, with trees and fields and one-story houses made colorful by paint, all with distinctly flat rooftops.
The sun is falling now. White birds flap long wings and the woman who shares a seat with me wraps her sari tighter. She has been looking out the window for the past nine hours now, with perhaps a half-hour nap to break her gaze. She seems content to watch her country carry out its millions of days. So many strides of legs, so many hands spinning rotis, so many minds learning, so many tons of vegetables lifted onto shoulders.
A large mountain interrupts the landscape. It is hazy—just one shade of grey against another. There are small, mud houses in the foreground, cows tethered outside, the slow rise of smoke from a cooking fire, and clothes hung out to dry. There is a small, white mandir sitting pond-side, and three small boys sitting with it. And soon, a paved road leading parallel along the train track, and a dozen women in sparkling saris walking along it. They are conversational in gesture and I wonder what they’re saying.
When we finally pulled into Mumbai CST, I was both ecstatic at the prospect of stretching my legs and showering, and a bit sad to have reached the end of the journey. The Indian railway system is complex and expansive, and in many cases it can take twenty-six hours or more to reach your intended destination. However, we—along with millions of tons of freight, and billions of other passengers each year—are indeed getting there.
* A brief tangent: according to the same BBC News article, in recent years the Port Authority has attempted to stop pedestrians from spitting on the bridge—in particular, those pedestrians who chew guthka (tobacco and slaked lime) and paan (betel leaf, areca nut, and slaked lime). The slaked lime in each of these two common “chews” is extremely corrosive and damages not only the mouth of the chewer, but also the steel hangers of the historic bridge. Authorities plan to encase the hangers in fiberglass so that the corrosive sputum in question can easily be washed off. [I’d like to thank my co-Fellow, Miriam Hartmann, for sharing the story of this fascinating dilemma with me as we strolled across the bridge one fine Kolkata afternoon.]
** Regarding the cost of travel, here’s the price breakdown for the various tickets available for the Howrah–Mumbai Duronto Express: (1AC) Rs. 5985, (2AC) Rs. 3595, (3AC) Rs. 2580. Based on the current exchange rate of 61.35 to 1 USD, that’s (1AC) $97.55, (2AC) $58.60, (3AC) $42.05.
