This is the journal of Benedict Beaumont as he travels round India on a Mororbike.

This is the journal of Benedict Beaumont as he travels round India on a Mororbike.

Monday, December 19, 2011

Counting Piles of Shit

'I have a train for you! It leaves tonight at 7.30pm. Both for you and the bike'.

'Fantastic Vik, well done! You are a miracle worker! I thought all the trains were booked up for weeks'.

'Yes, yes, but I have found one'.

I was back in India, in Gorakpur, 50km over the border from Nepal. Only 50km in some ways, but oceans apart in others. Gone was the calm, gentle pace of life, gone was the majestic beauty of the countryside, gone were clean villages and smiling people.

Instead, as soon as I crossed the border, there was piles refuse everywhere, the constant din and danger of the traffic, livestock wandering round eating rubbish, dirt, deception, filth, pollution.... I grinned. It felt very alive, pulsing and teeming with life. It was good to be back.

I couldn't face the 20 hours drive back to Delhi. As soon as I had got to the railway city of Gorakpur, I had enquired at a hotel. The manager, wrapped in a parker, had sucked air in through his teeth and looked doubtful. He called a travel agent called Vik, a small ferrety looking man. Somehow he had come through for a train that very day.

I was a bit sad that I wouldn't get to see Kishnagarth, which wasn't far. This was where the Buddha had died, and after Lumbini, it felt like a natural bookend. But if fate throws you are card like this, you don't twist again.

However, as we all find out, fate can be a fickle mistress, full of turns and twists. What she offers with one hand, she is like to take away with another.

'Sir, Sir, bad news', Vik came running over. 'Train cancelled due to fog'. I wasn't sure I could really trust him but I had no choice.

The grey and chill mist had followed me down from Nepal. It clung to everything, a moist nuzzling cold and cloying wet kiss from the Gods.

"Damn! Is there another train tomorrow?'

'Yes, don't worry. I have already booked you on it. Tomorrow you can go to Kishnagarth, and catch train 10pm in the evening.' he smiled ingratiatingly at me.

The hotel was right by the train station, but that was about all it had going for it. I turned down three rooms before I found one that might have passed a hygeine inspection, if the inspector was blind, corrupt or incompetent. But the food was good, and I slept through the noise of the traffic outside.

I decided to take a bus rather than ride to Kishnagarth next morning. Part of it was laziness, but I had experienced these behemoths for months from mhy bike, I wanted to see they were like from the inside. Cramped, uncomfortable, agonising waiting on one hand and then suicidal acceleration on the other, Oh, and very cheap.

'Make sure you are back by 4', Vik has warned, so I made sure I was back by three.

Vik was waiting for me, ringinghis hands and shaking his head, 'Bad news, bad news, you have no luck. This train you are booked on is all AC. No baggage train, It cannot take bike'.

'What!' I was beginning to suspect Vik now. I had handed over 8000rps for tickets, and so far all I had got was excuses and failures. Irritation and anger started to bubble inside.

'Come, come, we speak in my office'.

Before he could soothe me, I started. 'Look, you said that all the trains were booked for weeks. Yet you found me two trains. I am not sure I believe you. I think you are trying to rip me off'.

'No, no sir. You can check in the train station and the bookings on the computer. Everything I said is true'. He said the right words, but there still didn't appear to be a lot of sincerity.

'I could do but trying to get myself understood is very difficult. If you are trying it on with me I will be very very angry.

I know its not your fault, but I have to get back to to Delhi. I have a flight to catch'.

'Ok, ok. We will get you there'. He made some phone calls. 'Ok plan is this. There is a train at 4pm tomorrow. This one leaves from Gorakpur so we can definitely get your bike on. I am 99 per cent sure we can get your ticket too. We may have to put you on train and then when ticket inspector comes round you will have to ask him if you can have sleeper bunk. Tell him you have plane to catch in Delhi'.

'Ok, well thats better than nothing'.

'Yes! Now you will be here all day tomorrow?'

'Not going anywhere as far as I can see'.

'Good. We will meet then and get your bike ready'.

So that was that then. Stuck in Gorakpur for another 24 hours, Nothing to do but count the different piles of shit and listen to the never ending symphony of traffic.

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