31st May 1992 Day 316

The Diary
We checked out, caught rickshaws to the station and bought first-class tickets without any problem or queueing at all. The train was 'The Bombay Mail' and it arrived on platform 2. To get seats we were told to visit the TC on platform 1. We wandered up and down platform 1, enquiring in the offices, receiving blank looks and getting directions back to where we'd come from. We eventually found the TC. A room filled with about 10 blokes lying around. "See the conductor, train is on platform 3". We thanked them for their ineptitude and went to platform 2. No officials of any sort.

When it finally showed up

We sat down. A stream of beggars filed past us, trains came and went but not the 10:40 Bombay Mail. I went to the Enquiry Desk to find out what had happened to the train. They wouldn't even come to the window so I aimed a torrent of sarcastic remarks in their direction and went to the Assistance Desk. "Go to the Enquiry Desk" they said. At this point, in a very loud voice, I said "they're not even coming to the window, tell me what's happened to the Bombay Mail? I'm going to Satna". Mr Assistance looked down, checked his papers and said "It's 2 hours late, it will arrive on platform 2". "Thank you".

We were in a station full of unfriendly, unhelpful, lazy buck-passers. My blood was boiling. The 10:40 eventually turned up after 1pm. We got on the first class carriage but the occupants wouldn't open the doors, claiming it was full. I cracked up. Expletives filled the air. The conductor was not to be found, no-one would own up to being an official. When the conductor eventually did turn up, he listened to me and then walked off. We resigned ourselves to standing by the toilets for the 3 hour journey, which took 4 hrs, and we were joined by three incredibly grumpy soldiers. 


We decided at this point that the Indians were the unhappiest, most uncommunicative race we'd encountered. No-one would approach us with help and they will only speak English if approached by us first. Then they seem not to understand our English although we can understand them perfectly well. Anyone that doesn't speak English won't even try to communicate. They'll shrug their shoulders, look the other way or walk away. Indian travel is one big battle. 

At Satna we caught an auto-rickshaw to the Hotel Park. "The Hotel Park" we repeated several times. "Yes, yes" our driver said and took us to the bus station. We tried again. When we got the hotel he wouldn't give us 5rp change from a 20rp note. But Oz stuck it out and he eventually, grudgingly got the note out of his pocket. Nothing's easy.


We found a restaurant to eat in. Chicken on, mutton off. But the service was quite good and it was cheap. Indian TV is crap though. I also noticed today that my old camera, as well as my alarm clock, had gone missing. Thieves about.

2012
TC ? Ticket counter maybe?


I'd certainly travelled on crowded trains before and also stood by the toilets - but not near toilets (a hole in the floor really) quite so smelly and disgusting.


Were we the only people to have trouble travelling by train in India? I think not. It can be quite complex and remember this was in the days before the interweb.
http://www.halabol.com/2012/06/08/irctc-bookings-painkiller-needed
http://www.lonelyplanet.com/thorntree/thread.jspa?threadID=1682786