Train journeys allow you to not only observe a geography and the manifestations of human culture [houses and stuff] but also see the gradual [or not so] transitions that get edited out through the act of flying. You also get to talk to an interesting selection of people. My over nigth journey to Calcutta allowed me to take in a great deal of the Bihar, Jharkhand and West Bengal country side. Most notable was the transition from Jharkhand to West Bengal – where the dry barren fields gave way to lush newly planted rice paddy. Testimony to an investment in irrigation? It was certainly too stark to be purely down to geography and water table.
The gentleman I shared a cabin with worked for the government department looking after miners’ pensions. He was extremely well read and considered in his opinions. He was 58 years old – not that he told me or I asked – it just was written on the numberous sheets that are displayed on the platform before you board a train informing you of your seat number. His India is going – though whether it ever really existed is debatable. He is amongst those who were young children around the time of independence or just after. Individuals who hold dear values of integrity amongst their leaders, and view the current situation as a ‘criminalisation’ of their polity. He told me of the gangs who prey on the miners, extorting money and dealing out violence. I asked him if his job was dangerous and he told me of how he had been badly beaten but two months ago by unknown thugs at night. He occasionally rubbed his left knee, and when he walked down the train corridor he did so with a slight limp. It was obvious he did not like where he was currently posted, and hankered to be back with his family in Mumbai – where his neglected Morris was stored. He had an air of sadness, even melancholy, that rubbed off on me as the train slowly swayed through the often empty countryside and small towns. On nearing Calcutta he warned me that people would try to rob me, and to be on my guard. It was like the country he had loved was crumbling to dust around him and those that now inhabited it fought over the dry remains. He did not see positives or potential in economic growth and modernity – just the unleashing of ill-discipline and greed. To him India was in decline, a drift without the calibre of leaders required to save it. It will no doubt feel the same for many in his generation – as it must have been in China - as change occurs so rapidly that it is difficult to digest and adapt. And with change comes a scramble for the opportunities that arise and the fear of being left behind must be strong. When dreams are not fulfilled or shattered then desperation and illicit methods come to the fore. However, the Calcutta I arrived in [and have now returned to after visiting Dhaka is not as he painted it]. For sure, Calcutta is a crumbling dirty place, but also fascinating. More laid back than Mumbai or Delhi, it to is embracing modernity, with the largest number of clubs and bars of any India city [or so I am told]. The increasingly prosperous young things need places to play. And here they can freely express themselves, especially the young women. Economically self sufficient, attitudes to dress, alcohol and sex are changing. A photo that summed it up for me showed a young woman leaning back against a bar, mouth wide open whilst another poured vodka into her mouth ‘Ibiza style’. Both wore sleeveless tops and short skirts. A site so common in Europe that it would be easy to pass it over, but here it has greater significance.
Dhaka is also a changing place – but like West Bengal – water appears plentiful in the rural areas. The bus journey is a relatively comfortable but drawn out affair, with over two hours spent at the border between India and Bangladesh [though it was notably quicker on the way back]. There is no sign of the promised extension of the ‘grand trunk road’ that was trumpeted a couple of years ago as a way to easy trade between South Asia and South East Asia via Bangladesh and Burma. In fact the road was hardly fit for purpose – resulting in a constant game of chicken between coaches as they constantly over took lorries, rickshaws and other potential road kill. This strikes me as a major difference between India and China – infrastructure – a crappy road may result in an uncomfortable journey but constricts traffic and trade. Even the border crossing resembled a back water, rather than the major link between two fellow members of SAARC. Compared it to the very much out of the way border between China and Viet Nam – two countries that weren’t really the best of friends until recently – and again the comparison of infrastructure is stark. The Chinese have built a huge shiny new border facility at this crossing, despite it being relatively sleepy. The India / Bangladesh border is packed – but its facilities don’t reflect this.
Dhaka is dry too – though in the alcoholic sense. This was particularly disappointing as I arrived on my birthday – which won’t go down as the greatest in history. 14hrs on a bus and no beer. Great!
However, Dhaka is a surprising city. Surprisingly ordered and clean. And incredibly welcoming. It was refreshing to see such smiles when I told people I was from England – despite Tony Blair’s adventurist excursion in Iraq with ‘W’ it seems our good deeds out weigh our fuck ups. The only real downside to Dhaka was the traffic from hell – car ownership is high and rush hour stretches the road system to the limit – despite the incredibly high number of cycle rickshaws [photos to follow]. I have to give a big shout out to Rubel who befriended me on a pedestrian bridge. In his early 20’s and studying accountancy at college he was eager to talk and learn more about life in the UK. But Rubel – your mum WILL find out you smoke, despite what you think!!
