Mahananda Express to Old Delhi (New Jaipalguri-Old Delhi, November 21-23, 2008)

I usually book my train tickets online and it has overall been very convenient. At the time of booking a train from New Jaipalguri to Delhi, the only open train I can find is the Mahananda Express, which travels this route every day of the week. Little do I know, it also has a reputation to be one of the slowest trains. I am scheduled to depart at 11:15am on November 21, and arrive at the Old Delhi station at 6pm on November 22. That's already a 31 hour train ride. In the middle of the night, I wake up and realize we are often stopped for long periods of time. It seems the Mahananda Express is no "express" at all; it must have a low priority on the tracks. We stop for long periods of time on and off throughout the journey. The train ends up arriving at the Old Delhi station about seven hours late, at around 1am, making the journey a 38 hour ride.

I don't mind a slow train. I really love train rides, just sitting back and enjoying the scenery, both outside and inside the cabin. And getting through books I want to read. Time stops when I am in transit, and I like the opportunity to relax.

I cannot recall who shares my cabin. It may be a mother and her two daughters on the long bunks, and a man on the short window bunk, with a few bunks to spare. Somehow the conversation turns to dance, and I learn that the mother is a classical Indian dance instructor near Delhi--maybe in Chandigarh. I ask if she can recommend places to study dance in India, and she says she can teach me! I am too timid to ask how this might work--fees, housing, other logistics. But I politely say that would be nice, though I might be leaving the country in just four days. I also have a conversation with the older daughter about Bollywood. I tell her my friend's co-worker at Google is the cousin of Deepika Padukone, one of the biggest heroines at the moment. Smart and mature, she says, "Eh, these things pass. In a little while, there will be someone new." At one stop, the mother and daughters meet some relatives on the platform. The relatives hand them some fresh food. The younger girl looks like she's crying because she had to say goodbye to her relatives so quickly. The man at the short window bed offers us bananas throughout the trip, always saying, "take, take."

I cannot recall if I am confusing train trips, but I believe that at one point the mother and daughters disembark. The short window bed man stays on. This might be a memory from another trip, or it might be from this trip. I also remember sharing a cabin with two men who are apparently powerful members of the Indian police. They tell me that if I need anything, they can help. Near the end of the trip, they seem to drink some alcohol and get a little tipsy. The higher-up in the police force keeps inviting me to his mother's village home. He says that 70% of Indians live in villages, and if I haven't been to a village yet, then I haven't seen the "real" India. He says his mother will treat me like a daughter. It sounds interesting, but I am much too wise by now to accept such an offer as a single female traveler. Luckily, I have an excuse because I have a flight scheduled to leave the country in a few days.

The other memorable passenger from this train ride is the only other Western traveler on my train car. I avoid talking to him for the first part of the journey. I am sick of small talk with other travelers by now, repeating questions such as, "Where are you from? What have you seen? How long will you be in India?" But then, maybe halfway into our journey or so, after having stepped out on the platform and staring out the open door for a while, he comes and sits across from me.

"This train is so slow. We're already so late," he complains to me. "Yeah, this is India," I reply. This short sentence is often used by travelers and Indians alike as a comprehensive explanation of situations here. He doesn't seem placated. I can tell he needs someone to complain to, and that someone is me. He says he's taking the train back to Delhi because he has to go to a travel agent to pick up a refund on a flight that was canceled. This is another thing he's angry about.

At one point in our conversation, a very young newspaper wala sells us the newspaper. I don't know the real price, but I am happy to pay the five rupees he requests. I reason that if he is ripping me off, I don't mind because I am supporting a child who's working rather than begging, and it's only five rupees. But the Westerner across from me argues with the mere child. "It's really supposed to be three rupees, but you blacked out the price on the front. I'll only pay the real price." Then the man brushes the child away. At another point I give a child who is sweeping the cabin a tip, and the man again shoos the child away. "Sometimes you have to tell 'em to fuck off," he says, "Sometimes it's the only way to get 'em away."

I am certainly not impressed by this man, but it's nice to be able to talk to someone, and I have nothing else to do, so we continue our conversation. I soon realize that the conversation is basically one-sided, that this man doesn't want to listen to my India stories, and merely needs to voice his. I learn he is from Germany and has just started receiving his pension, and so decided to revisit India. He had been here many years ago and wanted to see how it changed. He looks young to be receiving a pension, so I ask how this was possible. "My medical condition," he says, "I went to the doctor and they filled out the forms, and the government approved."

A little later in the conversation, I ask him what his condition is. It may seem like I am asking very personal questions, but I find that travelers usually open up to each other because we'll probably never see one another again. "AIDS," he says. I am a bit taken aback, although I do my best to hide this. He is the first person I've met who I know has the disease. I always thought I'd meet a person in a third-world country with AIDS, or in a shelter or something. But he looked so normal. Which is, of course, the point. AIDS is not obvious.

I continue to probe whenever I feel this is appropriate in the conversation. He says he worked in Japan as a young man, learning how to translate Japanese and German. He seems very intelligent. The type of person who is maybe too intelligent to know how to interact with others. He says he believes he contracted AIDS sometime while he was traveling in Asia. I'm thinking he got a bad blood transfusion or stepped on a used needle. He didn't find out he had the disease until maybe 10 years after being infected.

I am just baffled by how this could happen to a person. Later, I ask if he knows more specifically where he was infected. "Thailand," he says. Oh. Sex industry, I realize. Wow. This is the first person I meet with AIDS, and I am sorry to say I have no sympathy for him. He has complained to me, acted uncaring toward street children, and now I learn that it was his own risky (and, in my mind unethical and disgusting) behavior that caused his situation. Writing this now I feel terrible. But at the time, I was just stuck with this gruff man talking at me.

We continue talking. He says his antiretroviral drugs are working the way they are supposed to. He got an early pension because he needs to take mid-day naps and tires easily at work. But he doesn't seem to be in a terrible situation. Yet, he will not tell his doctor about his India trip until he returns to Germany. And one of his medications is supposed to be refrigerated, which traveling in India does not allow. He says he has three chances to relapse, and this hasn't happened yet. He'll get his blood tested when he returns. He also thinks he contracted Hepatitis B while traveling, another thing to deal with when he gets home.

The train is so late, it's looking like we'll be arriving at the Old Delhi station past midnight. I am beginning to be worried about navigating Old Delhi alone to find a hotel, so I ask what the German man's plans are. He thinks he'll just sleep at the traveler's room at the train station, or in the station waiting room. I don't want to do this, and finally I convince him to split a rickshaw with me to get from the station to Old Delhi. I call a hotel listed in the Lonely Planet and make a reservation--two single rooms--for us. Then we go to our bunks and sleep for the beginning of our second night on the train. We are woken up at around 1am to disembark. I try to bargain hard for a rickshaw, but at this hour in such a touristy destination, we have little luck. Because we got in so late, when we arrive at the hotel, our rooms have already been occupied. The hotel owner recommends another place and promises we'll get the same price. One of his workers walks us to the second place, probably owned my the first owner, or by a close relative.

We are given two rooms--one cheaper room on the first floor just across from the reception desk, and a much nicer room upstairs. Somehow the German man manages to get the nicer room, and I am stuck with the noisier reception area room. He goes up to sleep and I double-check on the prices to make sure they're really the same rate. Not surprisingly, both rooms are more expensive than the original hotel--especially the upstairs room. I bargain hard to make sure we only have to pay the first price we were quoted.

The next morning I see the German guy (I cannot remember his name) and he thanks me for getting him a beautiful 400 rupee room for 200 rupees, which he will stay in for the next few days before his flight. Apparently he had heard my bargaining. He says he'll buy me breakfast as a thanks, and we head off to a nice cafe he remembered from the first time he was in Old Delhi.

At breakfast I divulge my dilemma. I don't know if I should leave with my scheduled flight on November 25, or if I should extend my ticket and study yoga at an ashram and see more of India. Thanksgiving is coming up and I am getting a little homesick. It will be hard to be away for Thanksgiving and Christmas. But I have this nagging feeling that there is still more for me to do in India... I haven't accomplished all I had set out to do...