There and back again, an Indian’s tale, II

After the wicked rickshaw ride, I got off at the Secunderabad train station. It was a little overwhelming, and I at first second-guessed whether or not I should take the train. It’s apparently cheaper (and I would find this in fact is true) than a rickshaw, and I was going all the way across the city, so it seemed monetarily the better choice. But I don’t read or speak Telugu, and I hardly understand English. What if I accidently got on a train to Delhi? Cool for me, but Katrina would have killed me…

I forged ahead, got a ticket (for four rupees… essentially eight cents) and headed to the trains. There were about ten platforms and four parked trains already there, and the ticket didn’t say anything helpful. Nothing about which platform, which train number, nothing. So I started awkwardly (very awkwardly) asking every Indian around which was the right train for “Lingerpally.” I was told three different trains on three different platforms. I went up the stairs, across the sky bridge, and back down again twice before finding out what I should be asking is for the “local train.” Platform 7-A. The route you can see below - from Secunderabad to Lingerpally.

Nothing in India is on time, and when it is, it’s probably because the original time has been postponed a couple times. The trains follow suit. I waited an extra 20 minutes for the train to show up, and when it did, it was a 20 minute wait on the train for it to start. I was seriously thinking this was the wrong way to go, but couldn’t bring myself to leave because I knew as soon as I stepped off it would toot the horn and drive off. I found out later that the train was having a couple difficulties and it usually isn’t that long. But, without further ado, it started away.

What an adventure! The train ride was probably my favorite part of my experience here so far. I got to scan the entire city, seeing the abject poverty of makeshift shanties and tarp houses juxtaposed with first class, hi-tech sky scrapers. Cows, pigs, dogs, and other varmints lived along the train tracks, we crossed a river, numerous stagnant and smelly water ponds, and over a lot of roads where I could watch the chaos of the traffic below me. It was peaceful, cleaner air, and the breeze coming in the open doors was refreshing against the omni-present, smothering heat. I also loved watching the local Indians. Kids always want a wink or a wave from the white guy on board, and may of the men try to be helpful, offering me seats and advice. I preferred to stand by the open door though so I could poke my head out and watch the city. This of course made for a couple close calls with oncoming trains that almost decapitated me. But not much detail needed here. Katrina will probably be reading this…

Unfortunately, the train was very efficient, and arrived at the stop across the city in just a short time compared to how long it takes to maneuver the roads. I wished it could have lasted longer. True, sometimes one could hear the rails creaking or feel the entire train-car shaking, and wonder if it was smart to have ever stepped on board, but apparently it’s ok. There was an article in the paper this morning about 26 who just died in a train crash, but I suffered no such fate.

At the train station it was easy enough to catch a rickshaw to the University to finish the first leg of the journey. He was a great guy, this new driver. He asked about my religion and we had a good (albeit broken) conversation about how God created love, not religions. He’s apparently a Christian, and then five minutes later, assured me he was also Hindu. Made me smile. He gave me his phone number and asked that I come visit him and his two kids and wife. I just might.