Delhi for the first time (since '99) - Part I

The Rajdhani Express is really the best way to travel by train to Delhi. The ticket is more expensive than those of other trains on the same route, but with your Rajdhani ticket you get food. And it is much better food than what is offered for sale on the average over-nighter, where dinner is usually a pretty unappetizing and spiceless subji and dal that needs the addition of lime pickle to be vaguely interesting.

The first time I visited Delhi during this, my second sojourn in the sub-continent, my colleagues and I took the Rajdhani, having reserved berths in the 3AC carriages. We monopolized the compartment in which most of us had berths, seven of us squeezing onto the bottom bunks that serve as seats during the day. The elderly couple sitting opposite each other by the window and small table didn’t seem to mind us taking up so much room in a space meant for six people and they even took an interest in the conversation in Hindi my colleagues were carrying on and laughed at their jokes.

My experience of the Rajdhani’s catering started with a late afternoon snack (we boarded at 5:30), which arrived at our compartment in the arms of a white-jacketed steward, who distributed small boxes to each of us in turn. In the box was a sandwich with an invisible filling (possibly mayonnaise), a small vegetable samosa wrapped in waxed paper, a cartoon of mango juice and a bottle of water, and a ladoo-type sweet for dessert. We each also received a mini-flask of hot water for tea or coffee, so the snack became something of a picnic, each of us sipping a drink and balancing our trays of food on our knees.

Dinner three hours later managed to go one better than this afternoon picnic. To my delight the steward taking orders was asking for a preference between veg and non-veg. Of course, I opted for non-veg and so enjoyed a chicken curry accompanied by the ubiquitous dal, rice and roti, which was followed by individual tubs of vanilla ice cream. Soon after we had finished eating, the train pulled into a station that I was told was famous for its chai. Two of my colleagues hopped out onto the platform and quickly went in search of a chai stand. I got down too but stayed within a few feet of the door, not confident enough to stray further away from safety. I had an inkling that once the train got moving it was not going to stop for anything. I got back on with at least another minute to spare and waited in our berth for the tea to arrive. Once it did, my colleagues pleased to have got the small cups and plastic bag of hot tea onto the train in time, we sat back and sipped the chai and I talked with Nishant and Monal about Paul Robb’s A history of India, which I had brought with me. At about 9.30 the elderly husband and wife at the window indicated that they wanted to go to bed, so our group broke up and we each set about unfolding the sheets for our narrow beds. I had a top bunk; my ankles and feet stick out into the aisle and mean the middle and lower bunks are best avoided.

The next morning we arrived at New Delhi station and Nishant and I split off from the rest of the group to make our way to the flat of a friend of his. I rarely sleep well on the train, the bunks are too narrow, too short and either you end up surrounded by snorers or the light at the end of the bed wont turn off. So it was with slightly gritty eyes that I looked out at Delhi from the auto for the first time in nine years. It looked different. I had a vague memory of lusher vegetation, more chaos and greater noise. Although this was early in the morning, the feel of the city was not the same as I remembered it to be. I mentioned this to Nishant and he agreed, the city had changed, especially in the last five years. It struck me that the buildings had been cleaned up; the plethora of old hoardings had been replaced with state of the art advertising displays with ads for Tata Indicom, Airtel and Vodafone.

After ten minutes or so we were into the broad, well-maintained avenues of central New Delhi. Traffic here was orderly, regulated and well accommodated by the wide roads. A car ahead of us at a light had a ‘Press’ sign in the rear window. As we turned off a cross roads onto one of these identical looking streets, we were flagged down by a policeman in standard khaki uniform, brown beret and polished black shoes. I assumed this was a routine check, but instead of asking the driver for his papers the policeman stepped forward to climb in and perch on the driver’s seat. The driver protested and waved the officer back in with us, where there was just enough room for him to squeeze in next to Nishant. On his shoulders were big dull silver stars. Nishant adopted an expressionless face and asked our passenger how far he was going. It turned out not to be far, just 500 meters down the road, where the policeman got down without paying anything and looked at least a little sheepish. Nishant looked at me and said ‘this is Delhi’.