Or, so you’d think. Indian trains have no limits. You can always get on the train. There will be a way. Always room for one more, right? Somehow, some way you will get on that train. Just start pushing...
For all our train journeys in India we’d had reserved seats, usually in grubby non air-conditioned sleeper carriages. But our own assigned seats all the same. For our trip from hectic Kota Junction to Sawai Madhopur we had no advance reservations. No seats guaranteed. It was time to go second class.
I’m sure you’ve all seen the photos – the mad rush for the second class cabins as the train arrives. Trains stuffed full with not a cubic inch of spare space in the carriage, people hanging out the open doors as more people attempt to squeeze past them.
I don’t know how we got into a carriage that was already stuffed to bursting, but after a few mildly panic-stricken minutes of pushing and shoving, with Ben holding one big backpack over his head, somehow we were inside, just near the doorway, right in the middle of a crush of gasping, sweaty people, all groaning as they were forced to manipulate their bodies in all kind of uncomfortable ways to accommodate even more people cramming their way inside. Keep in mind that it was around 43 degrees outside, and much, much hotter inside the carriage.
There are six people to a three seater bench, people stretched out awkwardly on the luggage racks, people crouched on bags on the floor. Ben and I don’t even have enough space to stand up straight, we are leaning back on the people around us for support. But this, we tell ourselves, is all part of the Indian experience, and besides, our journey is just over an hour. Some people have already been here for ten hours or more.
When you travel second class, more politely known as “general class” or "unreserved", you witness a miraculous show of empathy and tolerance not seen anywhere else in Indian society. Your patience and endurance may be stretched to its absolute limit. One man had his manky bare feet almost in another man’s face. Another man went to spit paan juice out the window and missed, hitting the guy next to him instead. On a long journey, terrible farts in the packed carriage are frequent. But for the duration of your trip, your personal space is also theirs. You are united in your suffering. You are stuck with these people in these conditions for however many hours, or days... and no matter what, you just have to get along.
Our one hour train journey soon turns into two hours, and then two and half. We’ve made “train friends” with all the people around us who know enough English to tell us which station we have to get out at. We’ve twisted and shifted as somehow, vendors fight their way through the carriage, a handful people get off at one station and then twice their number get on. Nobody has groped me despite almost everybody in the carriage being male. We are tired, stiff, sweaty, smelly and filthy, and we get off at our station, smiling and elated and saying to ourselves “never again”.
