Ducking out of Delhi

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Tiger Tracks

It turned out that my expectations of a row with the hotel owner were unfounded and there'd simply been a miscommunication. The “10%!a(MISSING)dditional” he'd spoken of was in fact a reference to me having paid only 10%!d(MISSING)eposit online and I needed to pay the additional amount. Luckily I hadn't gone into the conversation with any edge, otherwise I'd have looked like an idiot on several counts!

Having left the hotel I popped into their sister building around the corner in the same alley, the considerably more shabby and grotty Kuldeep Guesthouse, to use the pay phone. There are no end of complaints on the hostel booking website from people that have booked in at New King, where I stayed, only to be told on arrival that it was full and they were instead sent to Kuldeep. Having seen the place I can understand their anger – it was pretty horrible and that was being judged by eyes that have become rather accustomed to filth in the previous few days.

Loaded like a mule with my heavy bags, which now contained my hiking boots and the heavy clothed I'd travelled from England in, I returned to the café in which the friendly Indian man had tried the jewel scam on me the previous night. Regardless of that happening, I liked the vibe of the place and it seemed a nice location to watch the world go by as I let the hour pass before my train was due. I'd been sat just a few minutes when I got chatting to another couple of travellers, both from Nevada, bound for Rishakesh. I spoke to the girl, Ashley, at first, she was taking photos of the street scene and I showed her some of my shots and tried to help her recreate them for herself. She was studying photography and knew the theory, but our cameras were producing different results. I sat to eat and spoke to her boyfriend, Tyler; he was a musician and he intended to head to Rishakesh to learn to play the Sitar, a traditional Indian stringed Instrument. They were taking the Metro to get there bus from Old Delhi, right by where I was to get my train. They offered to show me the way on the Metro which I accepted and they went off to gather their bags. No sooner had they left, than a new group took the table – the card playing couple from the previous day with an additional few people.

We chatted for some time and it transpired that they too were bound for Rishakesh that night. They had just an hour to get their bus but that seemed of no consequence to them; they laughed at their tight schedule as they ordered a meal each. We'd not been chatting for long when I heard someone yell JAMIE from the street below. The American couple had returned and it was time to move on. I parted with the group in the restaurant as they awaited their food and headed out in to the streets to begin the journey to Ramnagar, hopeful of being in the company of wild tigers the following day.

Struggling through the crowds at New Delhi train station, we found our way over the vast sets of platforms and lines to the metro station beyond. Dodging the advances from the rickshaw drivers we entered the metro station, now beginning to drip with sweat in the intense heat, with rucksacks loaded to bursting point on our backs and our fronts. Once past the thorough airport-esque security checks and bag scans we had no bother getting a ticket. I wished I'd found out about the metro sooner, as it cost just 9p to get where I was going, around 80p-£1 worth of journey by rickshaw. After booking the tickets, Ashley kindly lent me her Indian mobile, as I'd still not got around to getting one, and I rang ahead to the lodge I was hoping to stay in Ramnagar when I arrived early the next morning. Unfortunately I still hadn't mastered the art of speaking intelligibly to Indians with limited English and the call was rather short. Ashley, who'd been living and studying in the south of India for some months, rang back and got the booking sorted, ready for my 5am arrival.

As we descended to the train platform, a train was in and waiting, we ran for it and choosing a separate door, I dived onto the train with milliseconds to spare before the doors closed tight; a mean feat when I was carrying 2 huge bags front and back! Thankfully the subway train was air conditioned and the sweating began to ease. I'd soon find out however that this respite was only very temporary.

As I left the metro at my stop, one before Tyler and Ashley, we said our goodbyes and I thanked them for the help. Perhaps we'll meet again in Rishakesh, we mused as I left.

Training Day

No sooner had I stepped from the train that I found myself back in the world of crowds, noise and humidity. The route out of the metro station up to Old Delhi train station took me through endless cream corridors, trudging along in the busy evening crowd, until I hauled myself and my bags up the hundred or so stairs back into the noisy Delhi night. I already had my ticket but the station was huge. I stopped to ask a family how I could find out where to get my train and they kindly pointed me to the enquiry desk. To my despair I found the desk to in fact be a tiny barred window, 8 inches square, surrounded by what can only be described as a scrum of shouting people, jarring for position. At the back of the mob was a hint of an orderly queue, so naturally I joined this. One man from behind me blatantly pushed in front of me and proceeded to get into an argument with the people ahead of me, who seemed to be objecting on my behalf. The man was aggressive and I was 2 hours early, so I let it go but I'd learned a little lesson and held my ground much more steadily after that. After jarring my way into the small window space I found out where to find my train and made my way to the main station platforms. The station was packed and I had to walk along platform 5 for some time before I found a spot where I could sit on my rucksack. I sat and read the back end of Touching the Void, a true story of epic survival after a mountaineering accident in the Peruvian Andes. When a train pulled in at the platform, too early to be mine, I watched in awe as people ran along the platform, jumping on to the side of the moving train and hanging on for their lives as they tried to guarantee themselves a place in the packed second class carriages. I'd seen scenes like this in films before, but it was something else to watch it in action. Elderly people were spared no room as they too had to dive for the train and fight to get a place simply to stand on it. Everybody needed to go somewhere and it seemed unless they looked out only for themselves they might not be getting on the train, stacked so tightly that many on board the 30 or so carriages were pushed into hanging out of the open emergency exit windows.

Still unable to find any distinguishing features on the trains or notifications on the platforms, I asked a woman nearby how I would know when my train arrived. She spoke god English and it transpired that she too was taking the Ramanagar Express and would let me know when it arrived. “It should be the next train”, she had said. Reassured by this, I leaped onto an available bench space and continued to read. Some time later I felt a tap on my shoulder; the woman I'd spoken to told me the train was on its way but had changed platforms – I'd missed the announcement and thanked her sincerely for letting me know. I would have been a long night in Old Delhi and a huge mission to get a new ticket, had she not told me.

When the train arrived I had to find carriage 3b. This proved tricky as the train was about half a mile long. I started at the front and began walking the length of the train looking for my carriage. In the end I was in a sweaty and frantic race to find it as at least ten minutes had passed and I was yet to get to my carriage. I pushed my way hurriedly through the crowds until I eventually found 3b, almost at the back of the train. I'd not been on long when the train left – another almost-failure! I swapped seats with a man from a few bays down so he could sit with his family, which led to a rather confused exchange with the ticket inspector a short while later.

I made my bed up for the night, a small brown leather tray 3 tiers up, but air conditioned and with clean sheets. I secured my bags to the bed and read until lights out. No sooner had I lay down to sleep however than the fat, dirty man in the bunk opposite let out the loudest snore I've possibly ever heard. He went quiet after that and Iay still, hoping it was a one-off. It slowly became clear it wasn't. His snoring was erratic, a few minutes of silence broken by a few bellowing grunts and the occasional guttural, phlegm-filled cough and splutter in my direction. Luckily one of my bags was on a shelf between us and perfectly positioned to stop me getting showered in germs. I tried to ignore the noise, but unlike a consistent snore, which can blend into the background, this sporadic and timing-exempt honking soon became the sole focus of my mind. I took a pair of earplugs from my bag which I hadn't used since Charlotte had given them to me at a techno festival in summer, but even this did little to help. As I lay there awake, I began to feel a little resentment for this selfish man, despite being aware that snoring can't be selfish. I debated this in my head on a very philosophical for some time, before becoming absorbed in one of the most mesmerisingly grotesque things I'd seen for some time. I noticed that as the slept, his overhanging belly was moving in strange ways, seemingly alive in its movements. As I stared in gross intrigue, I started to notice that just before each thunderous bout of snoring his belly would levitate upwards, as though pulled skyward by a magic string, before collapsing back off the end of his bed with the start of the bellowing noise. I could (and maybe should) have kept this little bit of the tale to myself, but it seemed to define my last waking experience before tiredness got the better of me and I managed to snatch a few hours sleep.

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Photos

Paharganj Evening
The last shots of Paharganj were taken as I waited to leave for the metro with Tyler and Ashley

Inventive Begging
Two young girls walk down the street holding out cloth to catch coins and music plays from one of their bags

Crammed In
Commuters squeeze themselves onto an escalator at New Delhi Metro Station

Platform People
My immediate surroundings as I sat for two hours in Old Delhi train station