One Last Hurrah

I am sitting barely 1 kilometer outside of Patna, Bihar. In a third-tier air conditioned train car. The a/c has been turned off. We've been sitting here, 1 measly km from the final destination for 8 hours now. The frustration in me has risen to the top and exploded out my skull. This really is the end. I've just sent Gabe a text littered with the F bomb and references to India and trains. It is hour 36 by the time the train inches forward to the platform. Thirty-six hours on a train.

AND I've done a 48-er straight before.

AND I still have another 8 hour train to catch after this.

AND this is just one way. In 4 days I will take it all back to Bhuj, to the tune of 47 hours.

IN FACT, of the next eight days of my life, over half will be on trains. 105 of 192 hours.

But first, before we go any further, let's take a look at the bigger picture, and, more importantly, the last 3 days before this train destruction. For yes, it really is destruction. Complete emotional and mental and physical destruction.

This trip to Bihar is my last hurrah. The one last adventure before the end. I thought my Bihar days were over but the boss insisted I had one left in me. Fortunately for me, the last hurrah began swimmingly with a 3-day trip to visit some fellows in Daman, Dharampur, and Baroda. Cue the curtains:

Part One: Dharampur and Lily's Greendom

Gabe and I begin my 12-day journey on a fitting 12-hour train Bhuj-Valsad where we disembark to discover something I'd been searching for for the last 2 months: the monsoon! Threateningly dark rain clouds hovering above and light rainfall already coming down, we take a quick stroll through the town en route to the bus depot where we jump on the rickety Dharampur bus just as the downpour commences. Our next 45 minutes from Valsad to Dharampur saw Gabe and I launched in the air a few times (taking a seat at the back of the state-run buses is never the right decision), but more importantly, the greenest green greendom I have seen since I can't remember. This part of southern Gujarat is the prime lush monsoon zone and it was showing for sure. Fields and meadows of green, deep and thick. And cool, cool weather. This is definitely the opposite of what I've experienced for the last 9 months.

After a short-lived, though at first seemingly endless mini draft of all Indian cities ending in '-bad' and/or '-pur', Gabe and I finally arrived. Lily's abode is a little paradise inside an even bigger paradise. Peacocks and butterflies abound. We take a stroll through the campus of her NGO, ARCH, and spot a piece of land so green and so interspersed with random large rocks, it can only be described as "Scotland." Plus, there are cute water buffaloes grazing there. I insist that we take a voyage to Scotland and our pre-dinner walk includes it. Philosophical talks are had in Scotland. I remember it in a daze, as a dream.  Before dinner we venture over to the house of Lily's neighbor, described only as "My Old Man", for much needed travel advice. After telling us that the Northern hill stations were "godforsaken places", he left us with this premonition: "There is something wrong with the human race. But doomsday is coming, so don't worry." Great travel advice I must say.

That night we hunker down under the mosquito net, protected from the oversized moths and other bugs, and finish off the night watching Lagaan, the famous Bollywood film about the Indians defeating the British via the powerful cricket bat... and dancing musical numbers too of course. I suppose that if I too were an invading army in India, I wouldn't hesitate to bow down in the face of such coordinated choreography.

Part Two: Daman, aka the land of beer and chicken

Ah I would be lying if I said we came down there just for Lily. Although she is a strong pull, there serendipitously happens to be a little tiny piece of land just 60 km from Lily called Daman, which coincidentally falls on the ocean, which surprisingly is a Union Territory, which means although flanked by Gujarat is really not part of Gujarat, which ultimately means has different laws than Gujarat, which basically translates to: come here because you can drink alcohol and eat lots of meat. Well, of course we obeyed and the next day after Dharampur we had lots of cold beer and lots of great chicken and fish and eggs. And although there was no beef, you better believed we discussed it in two forms: great big American steaks, and In N Out/Five Guys burgers.

Because the beach ended up being a big mass of trash, stray dogs, and sketchy looking people, we opted to relax in an A/C restaurant for the last hour and eventually made our way back to the train station and caught the Kutch Express en route back to our final destination. I jumped off at Baroda to visit another fellow, Marni, and as a waylay to my upcoming Bihar travel, and Gabe carried on to the land of milk and honey (as in, not beer and chicken). In Baroda, I took the time to continue my carnal gastronomical needs by attending to a lunch at a restaurant called Barbecue Nation. No further explanation needed. Hmm, I'm just realizing that these later blog posts tend to lean towards massive and uncontrolled meat eating...


Part Three: The End of the World (as I know it)

And now we return to my present predicament, preceded by a midnight departure on the Azimabad Express from Baroda, an overnight pass through Rajasthan, a monsoon-soaked Day 2 journey through Uttar Pradesh, and my final, delayed arrival in Patna on Day 3 at 12:14pm, 36 hours later. Perhaps I am being overly dramatic, but when you spend so much time in one small berth, with limited mobility, and your source of cooling has been switched off for 8 hours straight, and you start sweating, and, and, and.. well, one tends to go insane. One tends to imagine that the world has come to an end. What do you do, and what do you think on such monotonous journeys? My book list was exhausted, crossword puzzles stuck. Hours earlier I ventured to open the train door as we whizzed past rural Uttar Pradesh at close to 80 miles per hour. I stared out at the green, and thoughts came to my mind.

• I have three pairs of pants. All three pairs have holes in them. Is it really worth it to buy another pair, this close to the end?
• I'd marry an Indian girl if her family supplied me with enough water buffaloes. They're just so damn cute. Especially the baby ones.
• There really is a lot of temples in this country. Especially random ones in the middle of nowhere.
• Before I came here I knew two things about India: naan is bread and samosas are good. 
• When I get back to the US, I'll take all my friends out to an Indian restaurant to show off that I know what I'm talking about. Then, I'll never step foot in one again.
• I try in my head to deduce the percentage of my time in India that has been spent on trains.

I debate which berth is the best. It's actually more work than I thought. Obviously we know that the middle berth sucks. Not only can you not sleep/lie down at any time that you want, you also have the least wiggle room and the hardest to access berth. Now what about the lower? Obviously older men and women prefer this as it means no climbing for their frail (or obese) body parts and easy access, especially for bathroom breaks, but it includes anyone and everyone sitting on your berth with their grummy clothes for an average of 12 hours out of the day, effectively canceling out any chances of relaxation or emotional security over the cleanliness of your berth. Then there's the top bunk: pro - you can sleep whenever you want. Con - everything else. Side lower and upper berths - far and away the winners. Privacy, check! Sleepability, check! Right to your own berth, check more or less! Only con - if you are over six feet tall, might be a problem. And luckily for me, the only "6" that I'm even remotely close to has the words "5 foot" in front of it.

And thus my thought processes go on and on, just as we pass over a river, water buffalo below, Taj Mahal in the distance (see above). Eventually I end by singing "It's the End of the World" by REM. I must say that this year has taught me to be extremely appreciative of the fast, reliable, safe, and quick transport systems we have in the US. That it takes me 1 hour to go 60-70 miles, and not 3.

And so my last hurrah is in process. Tomorrow I'll be in rural Saharsa, back with the Bamboo Centre. Battling mosquitoes and the monsoon. I think this is the last major test. And perhaps if I can just wither another 2 and a half days of trains, the world will be brought back from the brink of destruction. It can be done. It must be done. End Transmission.