One of the most charming aspects of the train rides in India: the rhythmic "tadak, tadak" punctuated by lengthy whistle sounds from the engine. A lifetime of memories associated with those sounds. But, sitting inside the air-conditioned "executive class" I could hear very little of the "tadak, tadak" and not even a faint whistle sound.
Which is why I walked over to stand by the door for a few minutes and take in those sounds. The happiness from listening to that was simply priceless.
"Tadak, tadak."
Perhaps I stood there with a big grin on my face. The on-board railway catering staff--two guys in their late twenties--smiled back at me. And this time I consciously smiled at them.
"Coffee, tea, sir?" asked one. I nodded a negative.
"Tadak, tadak."
They continued to go about their business. Noticing that I was kind of squished in by the door, thanks to the food crates stacked up there, one of the staff cleared up everything from near the other door and motioned me to take up that better real estate.
I liked those two guys. They were systematically taking care of things and with pleasant demeanors. I wanted to take photographs of those two, but was not sure how much it would be an imposition, and an exercise of economic privilege, if I were to ask them. I wimped out.
"What if I took photographs of the coach, and in that process included them in the shot?" I thought to myself. After all, the coach is a public space.
"Tadak, tadak."
I worry that I overthink things. Maybe life is far too simpler than what I make it out to be. But then such thinking is the only way I can exist.
I took out my camera and framed a shot of the coach through the glass door. And clicked when one of them appeared in the view. A little more of "tadak, tadak" and soon, I was back in my seat. A couple of hours later, the train rolled into the station platform and my task was to locate the argumentative Indian.
Forty-eight hours later, I was on the train, to get back to Chennai. It was the same catering staff. "Oh hey, thanks" I said to one of them when he handed me a water bottle and a wide grin.
A little while later he came to serve hot water and instant coffee. I was dying for coffee, even if the horrible instant version. "A double, sir" he said with a smile and a wink, as if he read my mind that I was drooling for coffee. I noticed that he had handed the rest only one packet each. Boy did I need that double pack!
Soon, I was by the door to listen to "tadak, tadak." I returned to my seat.
The catering staff set about serving soup. I was hungry enough that I could have eaten anything. I finished the soup and the breadstick.
The other smiling guy asked me whether I would like more soup. I moved my hands to indicate a no. He asked me again, and I again smiled and vocalized a no. As I moved my hand away from the bowl, he poured more soup into my bowl. He smiled and said something in Hindi.
His hospitality reminded of how my aunts back in the day treated our "no." When they asked whether we wanted more food, it was not a question but an expression of their intention to serve us some more. There was no point saying no to them--if we covered the plate, they even served on top of our fingers! I am glad that some old traditions have not died out.
"Tadak, tadak."
(An old one, as the train gained speed out of Sengottai, where grandmother lived)
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