Episode summary:
I travelled through India on a night train from Mumbai to Delhi in a second-class carriage to experience the sights, sounds and smells of the Indian countryside after dark. It was a fabulous experience, meeting local people, eating vegetarian train food and being ‘in the night’ as the train trundled slowly past farms and villages.
If you are wondering ‘what is the best night train in India’ or ‘what it’s like on the night train from Mumbai to Delhi’ this podcast might give you an idea.
Listen to a podcast about riding the night train from Mumbai to Delhi through the magical Indian countryside.
Transcript – S1 E9: On the night train through magical India
This week we’re trundling through the Indian countryside on a quiet, fragrant night.
I’m somewhere on the border of Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh. I’m on a night train from Mumbai to Delhi and in my second-class carriage everyone is sleeping. A family opposite me is curled up like rabbits, kids on laps and tucked safe in the crooks of parents’ arms. Adults are resting their heads on partners’ shoulders or on oversized bags. Two elderly women across the aisle were fighting to keep their eyes open, but sleep has now overcome them too. I’m the only one left awake.
The windows of the carriage have bars across them but no glass, so the wonderful warmth and rich scents of the Indian countryside waft in as we trundle north. Verbena, bittersweet roots and earth, smoke from village fires that smells like sandalwood and the almost comforting smell of cow dung.
I leave my seat to explore. At one end of the carriage, the guards’ booth is occupied by two railway employees snoring fitfully after a delicious thali dinner. They’ve not finished their naan bread and bhindi bhaji and I’m tempted to snatch them on the way past. Beyond the booth is the space where the carriages connect.
A pale electric light paints the interior walls a petrol blue. This is where the doors should be, but on this train there aren’t any, at least not in my second-class carriage. You have to pay extra for doors, it seems. I hope the air-conditioned carriages have doors or there’s really not much point in having the AC at all. Instead of doors, there are door-shaped spaces, ominous entrances to the black, black night. Gripping a wall handle tightly, I edge closer to one of the black spaces where the doors should be and sit down on the metal footplate. It’s still warm from the evening sun.
Being ‘in the night‘
The risk of having no doors on a train is, of course, that you could simply fall out. But I’m trying to remain positive and find the benefits of a door-less train carriage. One is that you can lean your head out just a fraction and be in the night, in nature. We’re barely travelling at walking speed and a light breeze ruffles my hair. Another advantage of having no doors is that you hear everything: the wheels click-clacking satisfyingly over the tracks, the barking of unseen dogs in dark fields. The train keeps a steady pace. The rhythm is hypnotising and varies only when we cross a bridge and everything is irregular, metallic and echoing for half a minute. Then we’re back on dry land and the rhythm returns. I lean out a bit further and see the lit carriages at the front of the train and realise that we’re curving around a long right-hand bend, skirting something black and flat. A large pool or a lake, perhaps. It’s hard to tell in the moonless night. The carriages disappear behind rocks and we follow, passing through a cutting where the rock face is suddenly inches away and the click-clack echoes back at me loudly.
Calm once more as we pass over an open area and I can just make out some small fires in the distance. Another village. As we approach, the sandalwood-like smell is stronger than before: sweet and sylvan and full of goodness. I wish I knew what wood they were burning. There’s another scent that I can’t identify. Bergamot, maybe? Neroli? Vetiver? It even reminds me a bit of the fizzing oud you smell in Arabia. I don’t know if any of those plants grow here but then my Indian botanical knowledge is somewhat lacking.
Across a magical land
As we rock gently into the outskirts of the village, I see small homes lit by lonely light bulbs. I hear the hum of generators and see two men sitting on a blue rug, talking. As we pass by, the smoke from their beedees temporarily drifts into the carriage. I wave and they stare back, wondering: “did we really just see a rather bedraggled white man on the night train to Delhi, sitting in the space where the doors should be?”
The village is small and is next to a wood. As we pass through it, the temperature drops a little and the smoke from the fires and cigarettes is replaced by the freshness of leaves and cool earth. The light from my carriage illuminates the tree canopy and I half expect to see a tiger on the prowl. The cool is a soothing balm after a day of intense heat and lots of train travel. But it doesn’t last long. Once we leave the wood, the warmth returns and we trundle ever northward in the quiet, fragrant night, across this magical land.
© copyright Matthew Brace
