The Night Train to Varanasi
After Holi and a couple of days exploring Orchha, we were going on the overnight train to Varanasi. The plan was to eat dinner at a cooking school in Orchha, before taking tuk-tuks to the train station at Jhansi. From there, we’d catch the 10:30 p.m. overnight train to Varanasi.
Rajni’s Cooking School
We were doing some adventurous eating with the Indian curry, dal, paneer, masala, tikka, and naan. For this vegetarian, Indian cuisine offers many nutritious and savory meal options. Plus, I’ve been told that turmeric–a key ingredient in curry–is a good natural elixir for arthritis and other ailments of people our age. Bryan and I talked about incorporating our favorite Indian dishes in our meal rotation back home. Perfect, because on this night, we were headed to Rajni’s cooking school for a lesson, some recipes, and dinner.
First, she made us Masala chai and served it in delicate cups. As we sipped the spiced tea, we watched as she and her helper ground the curry ingredients on a stone mortar with a rock for a pestle. They cut and seasoned eggplant, then fried naan, heaping it into baskets to pass around. Rajni explained the process and ingredients to us, and invited us to sit with her and help. At last, the food was served on divided metal plates. Savory. Delicious. Healthy. Yum…down to the very last bite.
Before we could offer to help do the dishes, tuk-tuks came to take us back to the hotel to grab our bags and make the one-hour trip to the train station in Jhansi.
At Jhansi Station
Our tuk-tuks dropped us off in a teeming parking lot. Headlights illuminated people walking to and from the station, and squeezing luggage through the metal gates at the doors. Khush got us situated on the platform, with some of us waiting in a women-only room before our sleeper-car train arrived around 10:30 p.m. The station was full of people, some had staked out space and were sleeping on blanket pallets on the platform.
I was beside myself with excitement. I love a train ride! And an overnight ride in a second-class sleeper car in India, well, my skin tingled with the thrill of it.
On the Overnight Train
Khush rallied us just before the train pulled into the station. We boarded the crowded train quickly, found our places, and made space to cram our bags under the seats. All of us were in the same car, but we were split up into trios or quartets. We sat smiling at the six Indians who were sharing the compartment as the train slowly pulled out of the station and swayeded down the tracks.
Not long after the train left, it was decided that it was time for bed. The Indians showed us how to pull down the bunks, pointed out the brown-paper wrapped sheets and pillow to dress the bed, and coached us on climbing up. To imagine the sleeper car compartment, picture a U. The bottom of the U is two longer and deeper bunks. Across the aisle, each of the sides of the U have three shorter, more shallow berths. Thus, each compartment was designed to sleep eight people.
Bryan ended up with one of the longer bunks. I had a middle berth. I stood on the bottom bed to put my sheet on and climb in. It was a small space. My camera bag and a bottle of water needed to be in bed with me for easy access and safety. Clothes and shoes were left on. I squirmed into my space. It was impossible to sit up–the top bunk so close to my face. I nearly panicked. Carina suggested rolling onto my stomach and looking into the open space of the aisle. It worked. Anxiety abated.
Sleeping on the Overnight Train
It was hot, then cold as the train rocked and click-clacked through the night. A thick wool blanket was at the bottom of my berth, but it was a trick to reach it without dropping it, knocking off any of the stuff in bed with me, and without being able to sit up. Eventually, I got covered and slept.
At one point, I awoke to see Simon talking to me from the dark aisle, “Where’s Khush?” The train was moving faster, and everyone was asleep except for a handful of people who’d just gotten on. There was some question over assigned berths. The woman beneath me knew Khush’s berth number–and repeated it three or four times, like a chant designed to remember. Simon nodded and disappeared down the dark aisle.
Waking up on the Overnight Train
The train car woke up slowly. Whispers. Shuffles. Squeaky berths being folded up and returned to seating. Some people had exited at early morning stops, and we sat in their empty bunks playing cards, eating our snacks, reading, and waiting for the signal that we’d reached our stop. The only thing missing from this perfect little morning was COFFEE!
I was reading A Long Way Home by Saroo Brierley. When he was only five years old, Saroo went with his brothers to scavenge at their village train station. Little Saroo fell asleep on an empty train car. When he awoke, the train was a long way from home. He was unable to read, and did not know his hometown or his own last name. He survived for weeks by himself on the streets of Calcutta trying to figure out the train that would take him home, haunting stations for food and shelter. Eventually, he was befriended by a trustworthy adult, transferred to an adoption agency, and adopted to a family in Australia. He spent many years exploring the Indian rail lines with Google Earth, trying to piece together his memories and locate his family and hometown. I won’t spoil the ending for you. But please read this powerful story.
Trains in India
The train stations and railroad tracks in India seem to attract people who may have no better place to go. I saw gangs of kids scampering across tracks, tents alongside rail lines, groups of women cooking on small fires near stations. Every newspaper I picked up in India had a section dedicated to identifying people who had been found dead on the tracks. A photo of the dead person’s face was featured, along with the place, date, and time he or she was found. A practice both efficacious and macabre.
The train sat for an hour at Allahabad. Vendors came onboard selling samosas from a yellow bucket lined with a greasy newspaper. And we wondered if we jumped out to find coffee if the train would pull away and abandon us…or god forbid, we get back on a train and it be the wrong train. Thinking of little Saroo, I stayed put. Coffee would have to wait.
Group-Travel Tip Pools and Luggage Men
Finally, we arrived at Varanasi around noon, after a 13-hour journey. We piled out of the train into the bright sunlight with our bags.
Early in the trip, we gave Khush 3,500 INR ($55) each for a tip pool. He used this money to tip on behalf of the group for baggage handling, restaurant service, toilet use, local guides, and the bus drivers and co-pilots. In Varanasi, Khush negotiated with a few men who stood in a close semi-circle near him. Suddenly, they took their tablecloth-sized scarves from around their necks and wound them tall and tight on their heads in one sweeping motion. These three strong men then stacked and carried our suitcases up the stairs ON THEIR HEADS! As with all the money in our tip pool, Khush passed the payment to one in our group, and pointed out the man to pay.
Oh India! Incredible indeed. Welcome to Varanasi!
Thank you for reading
Select photos are available on Etsy.
Also, if you’ve been to India, please leave a comment about your favorite memories and places! I’m dying to go back and would love recommendations.
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Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
