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)
Showing posts with label trains. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trains. Show all posts
Monday, June 30, 2014
Saturday, June 28, 2014
The travails of a solo traveler
I had forgotten how busy a train station can be in India even in the early hours of the day, in the darkness of the clock barely past five. The heat, the humidity, the crowds, the noise, and stray dogs seeming to bear witness to everything that happens, is a world away from my daily existence by the Willamette River.
"I travel to get out of my comfort zone" is one of the many responses I give students if ever they ask me about my peripatetic preferences. Especially when the older I get, the more I seem to want to stay with the familiar and the comfortable.
Getting into the coach--the compartment, in the vernacular--was, thus, a wonderful entrance into a world of cool and quiet comfort. An aisle seat in the direction of travel. Phew!
I stepped out to confirm my name and seat number 51 on the chart by the door. It was the correct train and coach. Phew!
I settled into my spacious seat.
If everything is so well, then the cosmos might have other plans, I worried. Experiences I have had in plenty, right from my formative years in the old country, when I have been subject to the disadvantage-of-the-young-single-male-traveler. Almost always, I have ended up losing my seat that I would have carefully selected.
A gent about fifteen to twenty years older than me took up the seat across the aisle from me. He asked his seatmate by the window whether he would mind trading seats with his wife. "Number 1 is also a window seat" he said. The guy couldn't because the rest of his travel party was in the row ahead.
I knew it was only a matter of seconds before I would be ... when I felt my left hand being tapped.
"Would you mind switching seats with my wife who is in "1"--a window seat?"
"Am sorry I can't. I hate window seats and choose the aisle because I am a tad claustrophobic."
"Oh, that's ok."
"But, tell you what ... we can do a double switch if you want. You can ask my seatmate when he or she comes, and then I can trade seats with you." Following baseball for a few years means that the game's "double switch" jargon comes easily.
Which is what happened. Phew!
Sriram 1, Cosmos 0.
I now worried that the cosmos would want to get its sweet revenge ...
... to be continued ;)
"I travel to get out of my comfort zone" is one of the many responses I give students if ever they ask me about my peripatetic preferences. Especially when the older I get, the more I seem to want to stay with the familiar and the comfortable.
Getting into the coach--the compartment, in the vernacular--was, thus, a wonderful entrance into a world of cool and quiet comfort. An aisle seat in the direction of travel. Phew!
I stepped out to confirm my name and seat number 51 on the chart by the door. It was the correct train and coach. Phew!
I settled into my spacious seat.
If everything is so well, then the cosmos might have other plans, I worried. Experiences I have had in plenty, right from my formative years in the old country, when I have been subject to the disadvantage-of-the-young-single-male-traveler. Almost always, I have ended up losing my seat that I would have carefully selected.
A gent about fifteen to twenty years older than me took up the seat across the aisle from me. He asked his seatmate by the window whether he would mind trading seats with his wife. "Number 1 is also a window seat" he said. The guy couldn't because the rest of his travel party was in the row ahead.
I knew it was only a matter of seconds before I would be ... when I felt my left hand being tapped.
"Would you mind switching seats with my wife who is in "1"--a window seat?"
"Am sorry I can't. I hate window seats and choose the aisle because I am a tad claustrophobic."
"Oh, that's ok."
"But, tell you what ... we can do a double switch if you want. You can ask my seatmate when he or she comes, and then I can trade seats with you." Following baseball for a few years means that the game's "double switch" jargon comes easily.
Which is what happened. Phew!
Sriram 1, Cosmos 0.
I now worried that the cosmos would want to get its sweet revenge ...
... to be continued ;)
Sunday, January 06, 2013
Roaches, mice, and my fellow human passengers
The aunt who had thrilled us all with some phenomenal vegetable biryani, among many other mouth-watering dishes, when we were younger was now temporarily immobilized with an ankle fracture. Another aunt who throughout her life has often been mistaken to be my mother's twin sister lives by herself not too far away from the other sister.
My brother and I managed to get confirmed train tickets to visit with them.
It was my brother's first overnight train experience in India after many, many, years. "Well, be mentally ready for cockroaches" I told him, recalling my not-so-pleasant encounters with those critters (here and here) during my previous trip to India.
The academic in me does not want to make such comments that those who live in India can consider offensive--that I am dissing their country, after having ditched it in favor of life in the US. But, on the other hand, I am not exaggerating facts nor reporting anything false. Being sensitive to feelings is no easy task!
My father who was listening in couldn't help commenting "it is a tropical country and there will be insects like this."
Yep, I had mildly pissed him off.
We waited for the ticket examiner before getting to our respective berths. A fellow-passenger was bullshitting his two colleagues about how vaccinations are not healthy and that kids should not be given those shots. I thought to myself that it is thanks to people like him we are continuing to have problems eradicating polio, which even threatens to make a comeback.
And then I spotted one.
A roach.
Slowly crawling up the seat across from me.
But, I didn't want to reach across and nuke it--it was in another passenger's territory, and I preferred to wait until it made the mistake of wandering into a no-man's land.
It did.
I stamped on it.
A professorial looking fellow-passenger, who had earlier yelled into the phone for some IEEE paper details, noticed my action. "You will be lucky if you don't see any mice" he said with a smile.
We visited with the family folks. Like with the MasterCard ad, their happiness in seeing us was simply priceless. It was worth considerably more than the hassles of roaches on the train.
The return to Chennai was on a special train that seemed to run on some arbitrary schedule from the very beginning when it was shunted in from the yard about twenty minutes late.
We were only six passengers in a coach whose capacity was 46. I didn't know if I had to worry about roaches and mice or about thieves--after all, there is a feeling of security when among a lot more.
I went to lie down on the berth. My head was almost down when I spotted a mouse rushing. I jumped from my seat with loud exclamations of "shit, shit, shit."
My brother was clearly amused.
I didn't sleep well that night.
After we reached home, I had to report this. "Remember all the talk about roaches last time?" I asked them. "Well, I didn't have to worry about them this time."
I had set it up well for the punchline, I thought.
"Because, this time I saw a mouse!"
My brother and I managed to get confirmed train tickets to visit with them.
It was my brother's first overnight train experience in India after many, many, years. "Well, be mentally ready for cockroaches" I told him, recalling my not-so-pleasant encounters with those critters (here and here) during my previous trip to India.
The academic in me does not want to make such comments that those who live in India can consider offensive--that I am dissing their country, after having ditched it in favor of life in the US. But, on the other hand, I am not exaggerating facts nor reporting anything false. Being sensitive to feelings is no easy task!
My father who was listening in couldn't help commenting "it is a tropical country and there will be insects like this."
Yep, I had mildly pissed him off.
And then I spotted one.
A roach.
Slowly crawling up the seat across from me.
But, I didn't want to reach across and nuke it--it was in another passenger's territory, and I preferred to wait until it made the mistake of wandering into a no-man's land.
It did.
I stamped on it.
A professorial looking fellow-passenger, who had earlier yelled into the phone for some IEEE paper details, noticed my action. "You will be lucky if you don't see any mice" he said with a smile.
We visited with the family folks. Like with the MasterCard ad, their happiness in seeing us was simply priceless. It was worth considerably more than the hassles of roaches on the train.
The return to Chennai was on a special train that seemed to run on some arbitrary schedule from the very beginning when it was shunted in from the yard about twenty minutes late.
We were only six passengers in a coach whose capacity was 46. I didn't know if I had to worry about roaches and mice or about thieves--after all, there is a feeling of security when among a lot more.
I went to lie down on the berth. My head was almost down when I spotted a mouse rushing. I jumped from my seat with loud exclamations of "shit, shit, shit."
My brother was clearly amused.
I didn't sleep well that night.
After we reached home, I had to report this. "Remember all the talk about roaches last time?" I asked them. "Well, I didn't have to worry about them this time."
I had set it up well for the punchline, I thought.
"Because, this time I saw a mouse!"
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
The temperature rises fast, but not my temper!
The temperature gauge reported a pleasant 60 degrees when I left home soon after eight in the morning. With the sun struggling to break through the clouds, it was the best driving conditions I could have asked for.
Through the first two hours, the temperature slightly fluctuated--between 58 and 61--and I enjoyed the cool air rushing in through the vents.. But, when I saw the beginnings of a blue sky at a distance, I was not thrilled. Sure enough, quickly it was up to 71, and when I reached Ashland, about three hours from home, it was a bright and sunny midday at 81.
There is nothing we can do about the weather, how much ever we might complain about it. So, I did the best possible attitude adjustment I could, when I resumed the long drive to Southern California after a pleasant lunch break at the park. Lunch prepared at home, thank you ;)
Over the mountain stretch, I wanted a break from driving in the 87-degree heat, and swung all the way over from the fast lane to the exit to Dunsmuir.
Dunsmuir?
I drove through the main drag. It seemed like even the locals did not want to venture out in the blistering heat. A couple of tourists were dragging themselves to a cafe.
Similar to how life is full of unexpected twists and turns, even my exiting at Dunsmuir was an unplanned one.
More was to come--I turned on to a side street, which led to the rail depot. With plenty of trees on the side that provided wonderful shade. I was certain that the vehicle would appreciate being in the shade for a while; if only my car could talk to me when I drive!
As is typical of most small towns in the US, here too the rail depot had the red, white and blue all over the place. It is amazing how true the stereotypical representation of small-town America is, with the fluttering flags, pies at cafes, and with a charm about them.
The rail engineers were walking up and down the locomotives, which made me think that perhaps the freight train would leave soon. There was no way I was going to miss out on that--this was a golden intersection of my fascination for trains and my fascination for small towns.
And then it happened.
The train tooted twice, and I hurriedly got my camera into the video recording mode. Initially, it seemed like the train barely moved at all. It did. And a little bit more. The pace picked up slowly. I noticed there were three locomotives in tandem, and I was sure this would be a mighty long freight train. I started counting the wagons, and soon lost count. I put away the camera and delighted at the sights and sounds of a mile-plus long freight train going past me in a strange small town in the Siskiyous.
I didn't care much about the temperature after that, even though for most of the rest of the trip it hovered at between 98 and 100! Further, as Scarlett O'Hara said, "tomorrow is another day!"
Through the first two hours, the temperature slightly fluctuated--between 58 and 61--and I enjoyed the cool air rushing in through the vents.. But, when I saw the beginnings of a blue sky at a distance, I was not thrilled. Sure enough, quickly it was up to 71, and when I reached Ashland, about three hours from home, it was a bright and sunny midday at 81.
There is nothing we can do about the weather, how much ever we might complain about it. So, I did the best possible attitude adjustment I could, when I resumed the long drive to Southern California after a pleasant lunch break at the park. Lunch prepared at home, thank you ;)
Over the mountain stretch, I wanted a break from driving in the 87-degree heat, and swung all the way over from the fast lane to the exit to Dunsmuir.
I drove through the main drag. It seemed like even the locals did not want to venture out in the blistering heat. A couple of tourists were dragging themselves to a cafe.
Similar to how life is full of unexpected twists and turns, even my exiting at Dunsmuir was an unplanned one.
More was to come--I turned on to a side street, which led to the rail depot. With plenty of trees on the side that provided wonderful shade. I was certain that the vehicle would appreciate being in the shade for a while; if only my car could talk to me when I drive!
As is typical of most small towns in the US, here too the rail depot had the red, white and blue all over the place. It is amazing how true the stereotypical representation of small-town America is, with the fluttering flags, pies at cafes, and with a charm about them.
The rail engineers were walking up and down the locomotives, which made me think that perhaps the freight train would leave soon. There was no way I was going to miss out on that--this was a golden intersection of my fascination for trains and my fascination for small towns.
And then it happened.
The train tooted twice, and I hurriedly got my camera into the video recording mode. Initially, it seemed like the train barely moved at all. It did. And a little bit more. The pace picked up slowly. I noticed there were three locomotives in tandem, and I was sure this would be a mighty long freight train. I started counting the wagons, and soon lost count. I put away the camera and delighted at the sights and sounds of a mile-plus long freight train going past me in a strange small town in the Siskiyous.
I didn't care much about the temperature after that, even though for most of the rest of the trip it hovered at between 98 and 100! Further, as Scarlett O'Hara said, "tomorrow is another day!"
Monday, March 12, 2012
Strangers fed me. At my dinner time. May their tribe increase!
"X" and "Z" came with me all the way to the railway station platform to see me off. I was immensely happy they did, because I have no idea when I would see them again. Waving one's hand as the train leaves friends or relatives behind seems like a real goodbye, which no airport experience can duplicate.
We reached the designated spot for my coach just as the train's engine made its appearance. Right on time we were. Even before the paranoid me could get to the chart to ensure my name was there, "X" and "Z" spotted it, where all the passengers' names were listed in Hindi. "They have your last name as "खे" instead of "के" remarked "Z" prompting an explanation of how I ended up preferring "Khé" over "Ké" in changing to the identity that is now almost twelve years old.
After dropping off my bag, I stepped out of the coach to spend the remaining minutes with X and Z. "There are two older women there, and my lower berth seat has been taken" I told them. It seemed like the coach was full of older people, perhaps all on their way to Shirdi. After a few minutes of chit-chat, I jumped back into the coach and stood by the door as the engine's horn tooted, and the train started moving. I waved out to "X" and "Z" until I could see them no more.
When I returned to my seat, the two older women had now been replaced by three older men. One asked if I could trade my lower berth for his upper berth on the side. "No problems" I said. Perhaps he expected some other response; he started explaining his problem with his knee. "I will take the upper berth" I interrupted him. He expressed his appreciation through a firm handshake.
As I settled into my seat, and into the journey, it occurred to me that I hadn't brought anything with me to quieten my stomach at dinner time, which was only a couple of hours away. I decided to merely sleep it off.
It was just about my usual dinner time when one of the older women, who was originally at my seat, offered me a plate full of lemon rice and a bonda. "Oh, no, thanks. I am fine" I politely lied. She insisted I take it. The man with whom I traded berths said in his loud voice that they had lots of food and that I ought to eat with them.
From the chit-chat, I knew that they were from Rajahmundry, and I worried that the lemon rice would be hot, hot, chili hot. I carefully took a spoonful of that rice and ... no chilies at all. Just the way I like it!
"Perhaps the bonda would be hot" I thought as I bit into it. Surprise of it all--the filling was sweet.
I slowly ate this delicious meal, which was a wonderful surprise. I was barely done when the woman appeared again to offer me another helping. "Oh thank you so much" was all I said.
After dumping in the trashcan the well-cleaned out plate, I thanked the women once again for sharing their tasty food with me. I then walked over to the gent to whom I yielded my lower berth. "Thanks for the food" I told him.
When my travels began, I ran into wonderful people and hoped that I would meet only good people along the way. It has been nothing but the best. What an awesomely reassuring feeling it is to know that there are such folks, eh!
Yet again, I am reminded of Abou Ben Adhem:
We reached the designated spot for my coach just as the train's engine made its appearance. Right on time we were. Even before the paranoid me could get to the chart to ensure my name was there, "X" and "Z" spotted it, where all the passengers' names were listed in Hindi. "They have your last name as "खे" instead of "के" remarked "Z" prompting an explanation of how I ended up preferring "Khé" over "Ké" in changing to the identity that is now almost twelve years old.
After dropping off my bag, I stepped out of the coach to spend the remaining minutes with X and Z. "There are two older women there, and my lower berth seat has been taken" I told them. It seemed like the coach was full of older people, perhaps all on their way to Shirdi. After a few minutes of chit-chat, I jumped back into the coach and stood by the door as the engine's horn tooted, and the train started moving. I waved out to "X" and "Z" until I could see them no more.
When I returned to my seat, the two older women had now been replaced by three older men. One asked if I could trade my lower berth for his upper berth on the side. "No problems" I said. Perhaps he expected some other response; he started explaining his problem with his knee. "I will take the upper berth" I interrupted him. He expressed his appreciation through a firm handshake.
As I settled into my seat, and into the journey, it occurred to me that I hadn't brought anything with me to quieten my stomach at dinner time, which was only a couple of hours away. I decided to merely sleep it off.
It was just about my usual dinner time when one of the older women, who was originally at my seat, offered me a plate full of lemon rice and a bonda. "Oh, no, thanks. I am fine" I politely lied. She insisted I take it. The man with whom I traded berths said in his loud voice that they had lots of food and that I ought to eat with them.
From the chit-chat, I knew that they were from Rajahmundry, and I worried that the lemon rice would be hot, hot, chili hot. I carefully took a spoonful of that rice and ... no chilies at all. Just the way I like it!
"Perhaps the bonda would be hot" I thought as I bit into it. Surprise of it all--the filling was sweet.
I slowly ate this delicious meal, which was a wonderful surprise. I was barely done when the woman appeared again to offer me another helping. "Oh thank you so much" was all I said.
After dumping in the trashcan the well-cleaned out plate, I thanked the women once again for sharing their tasty food with me. I then walked over to the gent to whom I yielded my lower berth. "Thanks for the food" I told him.
When my travels began, I ran into wonderful people and hoped that I would meet only good people along the way. It has been nothing but the best. What an awesomely reassuring feeling it is to know that there are such folks, eh!
Yet again, I am reminded of Abou Ben Adhem:
Abou Ben Adhem
By James Leigh Hunt
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel writing in a book of gold:
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?" The Vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men."
The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next nightMay their tribe increase, yes! Here is to hoping for more such stories when I meet "X" and "Z," whenever that might be.
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
A white guy from Gujarat takes photos from a moving train :)
So many of my interests coming together in this: trains, mountains, setting sun, ...
An older guy standing near the door of the train coach that I was in kept looking at me, perhaps wondering why I was so keen on taking photos from the moving train. Or, perhaps, he too was wondering whether I was a "white guy from Gujarat" :)
An older guy standing near the door of the train coach that I was in kept looking at me, perhaps wondering why I was so keen on taking photos from the moving train. Or, perhaps, he too was wondering whether I was a "white guy from Gujarat" :)
Monday, February 20, 2012
Roach Express, Air Roach, and Roach Home. Well, coexistence!
For a few years now, I have always opted for an aisle seat in planes primarily because of the need to get away from a psychological feeling of being trapped if I am in the window seat. Turns out that choosing an aisle seat has another advantage in India--away from the creepy, crawly, ones!
A couple of weeks ago, I was in the plane on my way to Delhi when all of a sudden something seemed strange at the peripheral end of my vision. I turned my head to my left. One row ahead of me, on top of the window, was a medium-sized cockroach slowly moving. I hoped that it would not switch into a reverse gear and come towards the row where I was seated. Thankfully, it kept going towards the front, and soon it disappeared from my view.
Later, as I narrated this incident, a friend remarked that I ought to be immensely relieved that it was not one of those flying roaches. Imagine that! Such a scene would have been hysterically funny in a movie--"Airplane" would have been even more hysterical with a couple of flying roaches--but, in real life, it would have become something like snakes on the plane :)
At home, it seems like I spot a roach on an average of every fifth day. I grab the can and spray and kill it. Sometimes, it is a dead roach that I see and am glad something else got to it before I did.
But, neither the dead roach nor the live one seem to cause any discomfort to people as much how I react to them. I come across, I suppose, as a wimpy American. So be it; I prefer an existence without such critters saying hello to me.
In the train, it was even more an intense interaction with roaches. Small and big, they were casually roaming around in the pleasantly air-conditioned coach. I pointed out a roach that was very near a fellow passenger, and suggested that she kill it. "No, let it be" she said.
While internally all freaked out, I was trying my best not to jump out of the moving train. I kept an eye on the roach, which had escaped death. Unfortunately, in its wanderings, the roach came near me.
I raised my feet without trying to be obvious about it. Quietly, but surely, my shoe came down on that roach.
One dead roach, yes. But, I knew there were more in the coach. I was sure it would be a near-sleepless night. At least, mine was an upper berth, far from the terrestrial critters, I hoped.
Yet again, evidence for me that India is not for the faint of heart, and I am one big wuss who cannot handle even a small roach!
A couple of weeks ago, I was in the plane on my way to Delhi when all of a sudden something seemed strange at the peripheral end of my vision. I turned my head to my left. One row ahead of me, on top of the window, was a medium-sized cockroach slowly moving. I hoped that it would not switch into a reverse gear and come towards the row where I was seated. Thankfully, it kept going towards the front, and soon it disappeared from my view.
Later, as I narrated this incident, a friend remarked that I ought to be immensely relieved that it was not one of those flying roaches. Imagine that! Such a scene would have been hysterically funny in a movie--"Airplane" would have been even more hysterical with a couple of flying roaches--but, in real life, it would have become something like snakes on the plane :)
At home, it seems like I spot a roach on an average of every fifth day. I grab the can and spray and kill it. Sometimes, it is a dead roach that I see and am glad something else got to it before I did.
But, neither the dead roach nor the live one seem to cause any discomfort to people as much how I react to them. I come across, I suppose, as a wimpy American. So be it; I prefer an existence without such critters saying hello to me.
In the train, it was even more an intense interaction with roaches. Small and big, they were casually roaming around in the pleasantly air-conditioned coach. I pointed out a roach that was very near a fellow passenger, and suggested that she kill it. "No, let it be" she said.
While internally all freaked out, I was trying my best not to jump out of the moving train. I kept an eye on the roach, which had escaped death. Unfortunately, in its wanderings, the roach came near me.
I raised my feet without trying to be obvious about it. Quietly, but surely, my shoe came down on that roach.
One dead roach, yes. But, I knew there were more in the coach. I was sure it would be a near-sleepless night. At least, mine was an upper berth, far from the terrestrial critters, I hoped.
Yet again, evidence for me that India is not for the faint of heart, and I am one big wuss who cannot handle even a small roach!
Sunday, August 22, 2010
This, too, is India ... rain, train, and pain?
Passengers travel on the roof of an overloaded narrow-gauge train which travels on flooded tracks, after rains in Gwalior, Madhya Pradesh. Photo: PTI
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Planes, trains, and automobiles: deaths in India :(
Within a matter of couple of days, transport disasters big enough to make international news :(
I can't even begin to imagine what the friends and families of the dead will be going through ....
First was this plane crash in Mangalore, in which 158 died
Next was a Maoist sabotage of a rail line that derailed a train and triggered the death of 145
And, this morning I find this news item:
At least 30 people have been killed and about 30 others injured in a bus crash in southern India, media reports say.The question is how much were these avoidable ...
I can't even begin to imagine what the friends and families of the dead will be going through ....
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