Aurangâbâd, 14 January 2000
Train crossing
The incessant rocking of the bus and the late sunset had done their part. All the talking had been done, and most of us tried to find a comfortable position to doze off. It was quiet on the bus.
After sunset, the moonless night was pitch-black. The white-yellow headlights and red rear lights displayed a moving ribbon following the contour of the road. We turned off the Delhi road without entering Melagaon, nobody noticed. I was fast asleep.
Sometime later, I noticed that the bus had stopped, but only after it had not moved on for some considerable time, I heaved myself up and looked outside.
In front of us was about a fifty metres long line up of cars ending at the boom gates of a railway crossing. It must have been closed for some time already, as I guessed from the length of the queue.
On the left side of the road was a long ramp, which was mirrored by one on the opposite side of the railway line. These were ramps for a road bridge, and they were built at a low inclination to accommodate ox carts.
I was informed, the government had promised to finance the structural part of the bridge. The locals have been building those ramps over a period of eight years. They have been waiting for four years for the government to fulfil their promise.
We waited. “Where is the train,” I asked our co‑pilot who was the more approachable of the two. “It will come,” was his answer. A mild curse nearly slipped off my tongue. Why did I ask? I should have known the answer. For those interested: this was the crossing near Nandgaon.
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When I woke up an hour later, I realised that I had slumbered off. All around the bus, as far the eye could see, up and down the road were cars, some with their headlights on and all the passengers standing in between them.
Even next to us were two lanes of cars, on the side for the oncoming traffic. How is that all going to settle? I wondered but still drowsy I dismissed the thought, it was not my problem.
Only a few metres away from the road all was steeped in darkness. I decided to go outside, mingle amongst people and see and hear what is going on. The driver opened the door for me. He was surprised that I would want to go outside. He thought I had some urgent business to do.
After I had squeezed my way through the crowds, I decided to walk next to the road, and I was inspired to climb the slope of the ramp. I stumbled a few times and slipped down. The darkness and the unevenness of the ground didn’t help so only after a short climb of about five metres I turned around.
The view was impressive, a long queue of car lights disappearing in the dark distance. Then, far away I could see a bright light, the headlight of the train but it did not seem to move at all.
Somewhat excited I returned to the bus and reported the news to the driver. Unimpressed, he commented it might take still up to half an hour until the train would arrive at the crossing. I could not believe it.
He was right. And everyone ignored it. It was a long slow-moving train, and it took about ten minutes to pass. The activities outside calmed down when people boarded their cars and started their engines. From my elevated seat on the bus, I watched the scene with some anticipation for what was going to happen.
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The boom gates opened. As far as I could see, three, four lanes of cars on either side of the railway track occupied the whole width of the road. Both parts of the queue moved forward for five metres, towards each other until they reached a head-on stop in the middle of the railway crossing.
What now? How could they pass each other? A cacophony of car horns shook up the night air, in a second all students jumped up awake, scared to see what had happened.
People got out of their cars again, but now they were screaming and lamenting. After a minute, the co‑pilot tapped me on the shoulder and waved me to follow him. We got off the bus and made our way towards the group just in front of the bus.
He started yelling at them, and once he had their attention some sort of negotiation started, and he continuously pointed at me. I did not understand a word. Why had he asked me to join him? For my size, I realised. I must have been some sort of a threat to them, but really, I did not know.
A few cars move off the road, and immediately our bus nudged forward to occupy the vacant space, several cars trailed us closely. The yelling and negotiation process continued. There was movement, and soon the Indians realised the solution to the problem and cooperated.
Ploughing our way through a sea of cars, we reached the open road again. How many hours later? Just because of a railway crossing. I assume that the train passes here every day. What is the solution if there is no bus?
It was just after ten o’clock.
Hotel Windsor Castle
After an eventless further two-hour trip, we arrived in Aurangâbâd shortly after midnight. When we finally stopped in front of our hotel, the Hotel Windsor Castle, all was dark, the front door closed and barricaded with an iron bar gate. What now?
A young boy had been sleeping in the doorway. Our arrival had woken him up. Immediately he jumped up and ran away. What was this about? He is going to call the hotel owner, I was told.
Really, a few minutes later a man in a respectable black suit arrived and opened the door with much bowing. He guided us into the dining room. When the light went on, we saw a phenomenal banquet waiting for us.
Sleepy waiters appeared from everywhere. All we wanted was, to go to bed straight away but there was no way. The food was delicious, and it was impossible to refuse.
An hour later, we were in bed.
Summary
We got on the bus in Mumbai at eight-thirty in the morning, left Mumbai at about eleven and arrived in Aurangâbâd around midnight. Whichever way you want to look at it, fourteen and a half hours or eleven, the distance is less than three hundred fifty kilometres.
I also found out that there was a train line from Mumbai to Aurangâbâd. Why didn’t we go by train? Even it might have taken the same time, it definitely would have been much more comfortable than travelling in a small bus.
In a few days, we did take the train for our travel from Mumbai to Vadodara. The distance was the same, about three hundred fifty kilometres. It took us about four hours. One wonders.
Another noteworthy aspect of this journey is that I did not take any notes about our return to Mumbai; neither can I recall any details. Maybe, it was not as eventful, or maybe, it was due to exhaustion.
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Aurangâbâd, Friday, 14 January 2000
published: 16 July 2015
India and Nepal Travel Journal 