Falaknuma Express

D. Ranga Rao

I generally fly by air or travel by A.C. coaches on trains when I globe-trot on my business trips. One day a strong urge to emulate Mahatma Gandhi at least in the second half of the year hearlding the new millenium over took me suddenly. I wanted to identify myself with the milling millions of my countrymen for once in my life. I decided to travel by unreserved second class in the general compartment. I very much regretted the thoughtless decision of the Indian Railways to do away with the Gandhi Class on the trains some years ago depriving me of the privilege of travelling third. That the present general second class is in general the old third is beside the point.

I was in Guntur when this worthy idea struck me. That was where I was born, bred, educated and worked for some time. As I had to rush to Hyderabad on an urgent work I naturally chose the Falaknuma Express for three good reasons. She was a Superfast Express. She runs to Secunderabad non-stop. She covers the distance of about 285 kms. incredibly, believe me reader, in hardly four and a half hours. The very idea of travelling by this Express called after the famous Falaknuma Palace of the Aga khan at Hyderabad sounded romantic to say the least. I marvelled, how sometimes I take such laudable decisions:

On the day of my journey I woke up early in a jolly mood with a song on my lips. I dressed myself in a manner that would make me look a typical second class passenger of the Indian Railways – in soiled phyjamas and an equally common looking zubba. It was 6.a.m. when I purchased the ticket and proudly walked on to the platform with my head held high.

A sweet female voice announced on the Public Address System (PAS) that the Falaknuma Express from Howarh to Secunderabad was expected to arrive on platform No.IV. Hats off to the Indian Railways for the punctuality I thought, though the clever announcer discreetly avoided saying when. But the preposition ‘on’ in her announcement disturbed me. How does a train, though Indian, arrive ‘on’ a platform? If that happened the passengers waiting on the platform, including myself now, will be under the wheels of the train. I dismissed the horrible thought as a harmless Indianism of the Railways. However I silently sent up a prayer for a safe and happy journey.

After fifteen minutes the same sweet voice announced that the Falaknuma Express was expected to arrive in fifteen minutes. A delay of fifteen minutes was no delay at all judged by Indian standards. So I started pacing up and down the platform in a leisurely manner looking up at the posters, signboards and ads. I sprinted down the sub-way in boyish glee and came up platform III where the Hubli Passenger was stationed. I inspected the engine, the bogies, the guard-cum luggage van-a habit of my school days. I asked the T.T.E when the train would reach Hubli. “Tomorrow at 10-30” he said briefly without specifying a.m or p.m. Clever guys, the railway tribe. I was lucky I was not taking that train. My train was a Superfast Express and would take me to my destination in just for hours! In the meanwhile the female voice announced that the Falaknuma Express was running thirty minutes late and was likely to arrive at 7.00.

My joy was short lived and the word ‘likely’ in the announcement unnerved me. Unconsciously I quickened my pace. To cheer my drooping spirits I walked up to the refreshment stall for a cup of coffee. The brown railway concoction called coffee was tepid and tasteless. As I sipped the cheerless cup, the Simhadri Express pulled up at platform III. I went up to the train to see how things were on the train. Only the Chief Guard dressed in Super Rin white uniform impressed me with his smart looks.

As I walked back to my platform the same voice, less sweet now, announced, that the Falaknuma Express was expected to arrive at 7.15. It was quarter to seven and I had a thirty minute wait for the train. I decided that a brisk morning walk would do me good and started walking up and down the platform at a fast pace with a brave face. At first passengers waiting for the train stared at me with amused looks and later began to giggle at my jog-trot.

At 7.15 on the dot a long goods train arrived grunting and groaning at platform IV. I was greatly upset at the scant respect the railways showed to a Super Fast Non-stop Express train by allotting platform IV to a goods train with empty wagons while other platforms were free as the Hubli Passenger and the Simhadri Express had left for their destinations. In desperation I asked an old porter when my train would arrive. He looked quizzically at me with a “God! what fools these passengers be!” expression and said that the train had to come from Howrah and that Howrah was not nearby.

The by-now-familiar voice announced that the Falaknuma Express was expected to arrive within a few minutes on platform IV. I was elated at the definiteness in the voice. This time I asked a young porter where I could find the unreserved general compartments on the train. He said they would be at the front but quickly added that they may be at the back. I decided to take my position at the North Cabin-end of the platform. By the way, dear reader during my school days this Cabin was called the West Cabin. The geographical change in the direction of how West became North, the railways alone should explain!

As I started walking towards the North Cabin, the goods train came to life suddenly and began to move off to my great relief. At last things were taking the right shape. As soon as the platform got cleared of the goods train I observed the passengers old and young, women and children waiting on platform IV run with their bag and baggage, lug and luggage, climb over and jump down the opposite platforms as in the Sydney Olympic Hurdles Race and dash towards platform I. Before I could know what was happening and collect my wits someone behind me shouted ‘Falaknuma’ and ran forward pushing me down. As the sub-way and the over-bridge were equi-distant from where I fell, I got up, dusted myself quickly an decided to play the role of a hurdles runner myself at sixty plus and joined the others in the race as I had no other go. I managed to reach platform No.1 before the engine of the train could knock me down. The tall, hefty and handsome engine driver who looked more a military man with his Maneksha mush and brown beret grinned at me as though to congratulate me for having made it. On seeing him I felt he deserved to be the driver of the ‘Palace’ on wheels. Though gasping for breath I managed a vague smile at him in gratitude for not running me over. Fortunately the unreserved compartments were next to the engine where I stood.

Happily for me the compartment was not crowded. Indeed there was plenty of elbow room. The reason is not far to seek. These days rail passengers prefer the rear bogies to save their precious lives. So I had a few wooden berths all for myself at no extra cost. The darling Falaknuma Express! I now calculated that the train would take me to Secunderabad by brunch time. It was all in the game. I would surprise my wife showing myself up at 11’0’ clock. I was sure the train would ‘make-up’ the lost time.

As I took my seat at the window, a family of Swarna Bharati’s V.I.P’s, the ticketless beggars, climbed into my coach with their children ‘in native honoured clad’ and spread themselves comfortably all over. Within a couple of minutes the train steamed out of the station. As the train passed the North Cabin I heard the sweet voice announce over the P.A.S that the Falaknuma Express was ready to leave from Platform No. IV.

To my great joy the train picked up speed with a reckless abandon. I was sure she was doing anywhere between 80-100 k.m.s. The frequent whining whistle of the diesel engine next to me and the regular rhythmic roll of the wheels on the rail joints was tuneful and melodious music to me. Being next to the engine I was rocked side ways and was lulled to sleep. I dreamed, I was standing in my home at the dinner table looking at the steaming and mouth watering dishes with their aromatic smell. You should see the expression of surprise on the beautiful face of my lovely wife at my sudden and unannounced appearance!

My dream was abruptly disturbed when the train came to a sudden screeching halt. I looked around in a confused state of mind. There was not a soul any where around the track nor was there any signaling equipment flashing the red light. The Swarna Bharati’s V.I.P’s and others were in deep slumber. For full fifteen minutes the non-stop super fast train, the pride of Indian Railways, stood motionless and still without any reason or rhyme. As suddenly and as abruptly she started with a great jerk that threw me down from my wooden ‘berth’ resulting in a painful blob on my forehead. She picked up high speed again in no time and was soon cruising merrily along as though on an air cushion like a Japanese or German bullet train for nearly an hour to my great joy. The darling Falaknuma Express! I surmised that logically the running time between Guntur and Secunderabad need not exceed four hours.

Very soon my calculations were proved wrong. The train started shedding speed first. Then she began stopping at places where there were no stations. These stoppings grew more frequent and were of longer duration each time. It was half past one already. Forget brunch. My wife would have eaten her lunch and put back the empty vessels in the sink. I was hungry and angry.

The double track begins near about Bibinagar station. I reasoned that once the train reached this spot she would make a dash to Secunderabad. My surmise proved wrong again. Inscrutable are the ways of the Indian Railways. In the single track stretch my train speeded as if in a hurry. Reaching the double track stretch she maintained a steady snail’s pace as in a slow motion sequence of a movie. I craned my neck out of the window to see whether the track was under repair. No. The track was in a superb shape. I got so annoyed that I felt like jumping off the train and push her forward. I lamented that I did not possess the strength of a Hanuman, a Bhima or a Samson. The train started pulling again the serpentine bogies slowly in a leisurely manner, while I sat grinding my teeth in helpless agony. My spirits enlivened when the outer signal came into sight. The Falaknuma Express, no longer my darling, stopped dead again. I was so near and yet so far away from my destination, how far away in minutes or hours I could not guess. At last the train steamed into Secunderabad Station at quarter to three. As I walked past the engine, the driver looking fresh as a flower waved to me with his Mona Lisa grin extended from ear to ear in a jovial mood, which I responded with a sullen and soulless expression.

I reached home jaded, listless and hungry. My wife, who doesn’t stir out of the house even if heavens fall or the earth quakes, chose for a change that day to attend the afternoon show of a popular movie and locked me out.

Bravo! Indian Railways!! Glory be to Swarna Bharati’s new Millennium!!!.

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