Our hotel host in Matheran had checked our train tickets and was upset to see we were booked on the slow train that stopped at every village station. “The local train will take six hours to get to Pune,” Mr. Lord had told us. “I recommend you change your tickets for the Konya Express train. One leaves Neral at 10:30 am. If you get there early, you can easily change your tickets.”
This seemed like good advice. At the station, we were able to change to the Express, but the only tickets available were for second class. We figured a bit of discomfort for two and a half hours was better than a day-long train ride.
Surprisingly, the train arrived on time.
Una and I, each wearing our heavy, travel pack on our back and a bulging day-pack across our chest (travel-style), boarded the second-class carriage. We pushed and shoved up the stairs with the other boarding passengers. As soon as we saw the crowded inside of the train car, we knew we were about to have another adventure.
Every inch of floor and seat space was already taken. All the seats were filled, mainly with Sari clad older women, while more women and men stood between the seats and over-flowed into the aisles. Farmers wearing white “sarong-like” dhotis and threadbare business shirts with the sleeves rolled up, sat on string-tied baskets bulging with produce. Others squatted on their haunches between the facing seats. We were able to find a few square-feet of space between stacked luggage and sandal clad feet. Una took her pack off and wedged it between her legs, while I preferred to keep mine on.
As the train began to move, we found our balance and soon rocked with the movement. People constantly pushed and shoved up and down the aisle. We had to shift our position one way or another each time someone walked by.
Even though the train was labeled an express, it still stopped at stations every fifteen minutes or so. Not only did passengers get on and off at each station, but vendors came on to sell snacks, fruit, bottled drinks, candy, and toys. They shouldered their way up and down the cars as the train moved on, calling out to attract customers. At the next station, the first group of vendors jumped off the train and another group climbed aboard. At one station, a blind beggar boarded and walked through the cars, singing and holding his hand out for coins. When the train stopped again, he was helped down to the platform by a young boy who accompanied him.
Amidst all this flowing traffic, I was glad I had kept my pack on my back. I didn’t need to lift it over and over; I only had to turn and pivot to allow people to pass. However, the pack was heavy. Two young men standing nearby expressed concern for the American lady standing in the crowded aisle. First, they tried to help me remove my pack, saying, “Too heavy, lady. Too heavy for you.” Stubbornly, I insisted it was easier to keep it on. But, after almost two hours of standing in the swaying train, I was beginning to feel the stress on my back and feet.
Finally, the crowds in our car began to thin, and my fellow passengers insisted Una and I take seats that became vacant. What a relief! I took off my pack, nestled it between my knees, and leaned back. For the half-hour on the train, I was able to sit in relative comfort.
We arrived in Pune in mid-afternoon and easily found a tuk-tuk to take us to the Girl Guide Center. When I had been in India twenty-eight years earlier, I hadn’t even known about this place. As a child, I enjoyed Girl Scouts, especially camping. In the 1970s, I dreamed of having a daughter and being a Girl Scout leader but, I knew nothing of the International aspects of Girl Scouting. By 2001, at the time of this trip, I had already been a Scout leader for eighteen years. Since the early 90s, I supervised a troop of high school age girls and had taken one group on a six-week trip around Europe. We had visited two European World Centers, one in London and the other in Switzerland. Now I was excited to be able to visit Sangam, the WAGGGS (World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts) center in Pune.
Una (who had also been a Girl Scout) and I were welcomed warmly by the manager who was dressed in a blue shalwar kameez with the WAGGGS emblem repeated along the border. The international traveling groups usually visited in the summer, so Sangam was fairly quiet during our visit. A dozen British women from a Friends of Sangam organization were spending a week at the center, working on simple improvement projects and interacting with Indian Girl Guides. These friendly Brits invited us to join in their activities while we were at Sangam.
One morning, we accompanied them on a sightseeing tour of the city. We traveled in a small, rickety bus with no doors, the torn and soiled seats spilling bits of foam rubber. Our guide was a young Canadian “program specialist” and her companion, an Australian Girl Guide. We visited a variety of city sights and were treated to a picnic lunch of chapatis, curried potatoes, and tomato cucumber salad.
A party with a troop of local girls was the highlight of the evening. First, we played typical Girl Scout games on the lawn, then the girls changed into vividly colored party outfits. After a buffet dinner of Indian food, we watched a performance of traditional and “Bollywood” inspired dances. The girls’ dupattas (long scarfs) and the panels of their tunics fluttered as they spun and twirled in front of a backdrop of international flags.
Una and I had one more train to ride to return to Mumbai. Once again in a first-class carriage, we were able to stow our luggage and settle into comfortable seats before the car began to fill with passengers. Soon every available seat was taken. Luggage and boxes of all kinds were stacked between seats and in the overheads. Passengers without assigned seats still stood in the aisle, but they tended to group near each end of the car, leaving the center section open. This train had its own uniformed vendors who walked between the cars selling pastries, sandwiches, hot chai (sweet, milky tea), and bottles of water and soda.
With the assistance of fellow passengers, we got off at the airport station and arrived at Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport well before our flight home. Our Indian adventure was about to end.
I had finally seen Rajasthan and the WAGGGS World Center. But best of all, I found it was possible to return to a place seen before and still experience new and wonderful things. India had changed very little in the twenty-eight years since I had been there the first time. It seemed a bit more crowded, some roads and public transportation had been improved, and fewer people slept on city sidewalks. However, there were still plenty of beggars, cows wandering the streets, crowds, and air pollution. The phenomenon of families of displaced poor camping on the highway medians was a new sight, probably because there had been no wide grassy medians in 1973.
I suspect that changes over the last twenty years since this 2001 trip have been much bigger and more significant. Perhaps it’s time to go to India again!
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