Indian trains are an adventure in themselves. Crowded, noisy and full of buskers selling samosas, chai, a chance to polish your shoes, or singing for a little money. Lots of beggers, both children and adults. It would be easy to give away all your rupees in the space of a city block.
On the trip from Varanasi to Agra, we missed our scheduled overnight train and a 12 hour overnight turned into a 24 hour scramble from one train to the other. I ended up in an upper bunk in a sleeper car with very little head room, all my luggage and some of other folks as well. Although I am very stiff today from sitting like a pretzel for too many hours, it gave me lots of opportunity to observe the culture on the trains.
Even in the reserved section, the seats are only reserved if you are adamant about claiming them, demanding your space. Folks just come and join you in the seat or on the bench,
opening up their stainless steel lunch boxes with chapatis and sabjii or curry.
opening up their stainless steel lunch boxes with chapatis and sabjii or curry. It's a challenge being a woman in the part of India. (We're told it will get better in Punjab with the Sikhs). The 'male gaze' is everywhere, and the younger women on the trip especially are targets, most especially Amy, our redhead. As you can see from this picture, the men are always staring at her. It's often uncomfortable as there is a sexual overlay. In Indian society, marriages are still arranged and often men and women don't have the opportunity to interact casually, so every interaction with a women is charged. I have to say, I'm thankful that I'm older. They just call me "Auntie."
When we travel as a group, we attract attention everywhere we go. It seems that we are as strange to the local Indians as parts of their culture seem to us. The protocol when we arrive at the train station is to drop our bags in a pile and circle them until we know where
the train is leaving from. Inevitably, we are soon circled by a crowd of men (rarely women). Eventually, we can engage some of them in conversation, if they speak English, and the tone shifts some. Most begin with a comment about Obama. Almost everyone I've met is overjoyed that Bush and has high hopes for Obama's ability to create better relations world wide.
the train is leaving from. Inevitably, we are soon circled by a crowd of men (rarely women). Eventually, we can engage some of them in conversation, if they speak English, and the tone shifts some. Most begin with a comment about Obama. Almost everyone I've met is overjoyed that Bush and has high hopes for Obama's ability to create better relations world wide. One of the phenomenons in India, not just on trains, are the number of children busking, selling flowers or tourist trinkets. Some of them, like some of the flower selling children I met in Varanasi, are selling before and after school to supplement the family income, but many, like this small girl who was working the train by singing a song, accompanied by some stones she clicked together, are often working for some 'boss' and most
all she makes goes to him. We've taken to giving these children food - a banana or an orange or some crackers - in hopes that they will actually get to eat it. The train stations are full of very ragged children who obviously are not in school since they are busking during school hours. Most of these children are very small, and the national figures on malnutrion and anemia are still very high in India. The kind of purposeful mutilation of children so that they will be more successful beggers that was depicted in Slumdog Millionaire is not as evident as it used to be from the reports of those in the group who have been to India many times, but the lives of these children are still very challenging. From what I've been reading about the begger/busker children, they live in a kind of slavery, answerable to their 'boss' 24/7. When we were still in Varanasi, I watched a group of small girls, maybe 9 or 10, playing on one of the Ghats. They were challenging each other to dance. I was just thinking about how much fun they were having and how typcially play looks, even across cultures, when an older man appeared, shouted at them and all of a sudden the play stopped, postcards and trinkets were pulled out of a small bag and they were busking again. The easy and joyous interaction of play shifted to '10 rupees, mama. Only 10 rupees.' In most of the larger towns, it's impossible to have an interaction with a child that is not connected with asking for money.
all she makes goes to him. We've taken to giving these children food - a banana or an orange or some crackers - in hopes that they will actually get to eat it. The train stations are full of very ragged children who obviously are not in school since they are busking during school hours. Most of these children are very small, and the national figures on malnutrion and anemia are still very high in India. The kind of purposeful mutilation of children so that they will be more successful beggers that was depicted in Slumdog Millionaire is not as evident as it used to be from the reports of those in the group who have been to India many times, but the lives of these children are still very challenging. From what I've been reading about the begger/busker children, they live in a kind of slavery, answerable to their 'boss' 24/7. When we were still in Varanasi, I watched a group of small girls, maybe 9 or 10, playing on one of the Ghats. They were challenging each other to dance. I was just thinking about how much fun they were having and how typcially play looks, even across cultures, when an older man appeared, shouted at them and all of a sudden the play stopped, postcards and trinkets were pulled out of a small bag and they were busking again. The easy and joyous interaction of play shifted to '10 rupees, mama. Only 10 rupees.' In most of the larger towns, it's impossible to have an interaction with a child that is not connected with asking for money.M
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