LOOTING the RAJDHANI

I've always felt some special excitement about a large railway station. In Bombay there are two - Victoria Terminus or VT as everyone calls it, a flamboyant hymn in praise of Victorian self-confidence. And then there's Bombay Central, a much more prosaic affair. It ends in Byculla, on the edge of the great working class bazaars, the Red Light district of Khamathipura, what used to be the native town, beyond the pale of European civilisation.

Indian Railway Stations are all about Possibilities. Huge hand-painted boards announce departures to the corners of India, to Amritsar in Punjab, Shillong in the Northeast, Trivandrum and Madurai in the South. Railway stations, for me, still possess that special quality of journeys commencing, of journeys ending. Of individual dramas and adventures, of narratives completed or merely suspended, of waiting for someone you love, or leaving to find love.


Railway stations are also a wonderful place to come and watch Indians in all their diversities. There are whole families curled up asleep on wooden benches, on the stone floors. They appear to have been there, waiting, for days on end. And maybe they have! Elsewhere, friends sit and talk, smoke chappatis or rotis from their tiffins. Sweepers sweep, feet endlessly shuffle, red-coated porters hang out, waiting. There are regiments of orange sellers, chai sellers, biscuits sellers, soft drink sellers - all peddling their wares to those about to depart.

And, at the entrance to platform Number 8 a small crowd is moving forward, in anticipation, awaiting the arrival of the great Rajdhani Express, the overnight diesel express train from Delhi. The engine shudders in towards the buffers, right on time. The porters, little Nehru caps perched on their heads make for the first class A/C coaches. The best tips are there! And in their wake little bands of street kids. They jostle, act nonchalant, trying to escape the eagle eyes of the platform guards and the police.

I'm supposed to meet Kuldip, one of the Sadak Chhaps. Kuldip says the Radjhani is where he earns his daily bread. I want to find out what happens. We said we'd meet at 8 at the entrance to the platform. But it appears we've missed each other. Doors open. Travelers climb down, looking for familiar faces. Porters climb in to take out luggage to waiting taxis. The street boys slip in between legs, infiltrate their way into the cracks of chaos and arrival. They're into the train before it's come to a final halt.

I follow two boys in, still hoping to find Kuldip. In the first sleeper compartment, one of the boys spots a couple of mineral water bottles deep under the seat. He reaches in to grab them. A passing attendant tells him to scram. We tumble out back onto the platform, clamber in to the next carriage. The boys swiftly pick through the waste paper. Nothing. Completely empty. The attendants have already been and cleaned up before them.

We try at least five carriages. Each one Empty. And the boys are nervous. They're moving fast, maybe too fast. Back out on to the platform. "Get going. They're on the other side. Meet you at the chai stall near Maratha Mandir!"

They slip between the iron railings into the car park. And disappear back into the morning rush-hour. Next day, same time, same place. This time Kuldip and the gang are here. But the Rajdhani isn't. It's running three hours late. Time enough to find out why Kuldip didn't show yesterday.

Kuldip fits the stereotype of a street kid. He's small - maybe four foot six: clothes, skin, hair are all variations on the color black. He's got a Buccaneer's swagger to his walk. There are no flies on Kuldip. He's nobody's fool. For the best part of a year he acted as my assistant and I could rely on him. But this was before I knew him well.

"Kuldip, how long have you been doing this?"

"Ever since I came to Bombay." Which may only be a few months, but seems like half a lifetime to Kuldip.

"You mean every morning, you come down to the station and you go through the trains very quickly before the sweepers get here?"

"Yes, quickly. If I don't come earlier than the sweepers then I don't get anything. So, I've to come early, and quickly I have to collect whatever is left over by the passengers."

"How long does it take you to sweep the train?"

"Half an hour to one hour."

"Yesterday, when I came, it seemed you were all out of the train within twenty minutes! I couldn't find you at all."

"Yesterday, there was some special checking. There was some officers from Childrens Home to take away children to remand home. So we were scared, and we got away quickly. The police are here every day. But we try and dodge them. And we finish our work and quickly run away. But sometimes we do get caught. And when we get caught, they take us to their office and they make us sweep their offices."

"And then they let you go?"

"Yes, they let us go after that."

"What's the most you ever get in a day?"

"There are seven of us together and each of us get Rs5 to Rs6 everyday. It's not enough. But what else to do?"

"When the train like the Rajdhani comes, which compartment do you make for first? You make for the pantry car? Or do you make for the First Class? Or which type of passengers leave the most?"

"In Radjhani, first we go to the pantry car because we get food there. I didn't go there yesterday because those people from the Remand Home were there to catch children and take them away."

How many more years do you think you're going to do this? You think you're going to do this forever?"

"I won't do this forever. The moment I collect some money I'll go back home to Delhi."

"Why did you leave home?"

"My father was a drunkard and he used to drink and then beat me up. So I ran away from the home."

A final question: how old are you, Kuldip? All of eleven years old. And he's been doing the Rajdhani since he was nine!


His ambition is to settle down and become a motor mechanic. (Writing this many years later I have to report he's still not achieved his goal. When I last heard he was working on a fishing boat).

Next day: Thursday 8:00 AM, Platform Number 8 and the Rajdhani is steaming in, dead on time. Kuldip and the gang are all present and correct. As a precaution, I've armed them all with platform tickets. Together we saunter out of the main hall towards the platform. The ticket inspector sees us approaching. He steps forward to shoo the kids away. But Kuldip and the others whip their platform tickets out with triumph. They flourish them in his face with exaggerated deference, and swagger past. The Inspector is visibly gnashing his teeth. This will not be allowed to go unpunished.

We're heading first for the pantry car. Kuldip's found uneaten sandwiches, still warm in the heating trays. A kindly attendant pulls out more bags of crisps, stuffs them into Kuldip's hand. Kuldip clutches them in triumph. Drops them into a plastic shopping bag. Returns to the job in hand. Opens other heating trays. We're working our way swiftly down the corridor, checking in to each compartment, sorting with an experienced eye through litter. Nothing really worth stopping for.

"'Uncle Follow me! Hey, Santosh, Shankar, hurry up! You boys! Scram! Out of my way! I've got to get this man's luggage out."

The boys exit smartly onto the platform, into the next carriage. Film music softly on the P/A. An announcer's rehearsing. Another sweeper's already cleaning out this carriage. First come, first served.

"Get out of the way! Buzz off, kids!"

We dive into another carriage. More metal food warmers are torn open. Santosh has found some empty glass bottles, two of them whisky. Now, this is what I call the good life Shankar starts humming a film tune. And yet another sweeper tells us to scram. Kuldip just ignores him. "Chello!" Let's go. Down we get again. Another pantry car, stuffed with goodies. This carriage is a dead end, no communicating door. Turn round, back the way we came.

Freeeeeze!

Framed in the doorway is a very large Remand Home Policeman, swagger stick in hand. All I can think of is a Tom and Jerry cartoon. Big Cat corners little mice making off with the cheese. There's no other way out. This means certain arrest for Kuldip and the three street kids with us. We're trapped. Well and truly trapped. The boys shrink behind me. Kuldip peeks around my waist. The policeman speaks.

"What are you doing here? Why are you hiding behind his back?"

Standoff. Ten seconds pass. It seems like ten minutes. "Can I get pass, please! These are my friends. Come on!" Funny what you can do without thinking. The Japu Policeman reacts instintively. Maybe it's the white skin. He makes himself small. I move past, the four boys like minnows following in my wake. The policeman seems momentraily stunned. He lets us escape out onto the platform. None of us can beliece our luck.

"See you back in Byculla. Let's get outa here."

Two of the boys slip between the railings into the car park and safety. Kuldip, Santosh and I walk back down the platform, bottles clinking happily in our sacks. Whisky, spring water, rum. And that is how, for a few days at least, I became an honorary Sadak Chhap, "Uncle." I'd taken on the Japu Police - sort of - and won. And this is how Kuldip agreed to become my assistant for the next few weeks.

But that's another story for another time.

 

Essay
Episodes 1 - 4
Episodes 5 - 8
Episodes 9 - 12
Episodes 13 - 16
Episodes 17 - 20
Episodes 21 - 24
Episodes 25 - 28
Episodes 29 - 32
Episodes 33 - 35

Main Episode List
Cast of Characters
Credits
MP 3

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