I get inside Old Delhi railway station after my human Frogger game, and find an absolute mess of a place. Dirty, filthy-dirty. It is almost as crowded as it could be. There are people everywhere, in every space, in every position, in every area. People are streaming through the metal detector, it is a constant screeching beep. There is not even anyone there to check people. Fully half of the people don’t even walk through the metal detector, they just walk on either side. People are putting their stuff on an x-ray machine. The crowds’ forward momentum makes me think I’ll be pushed downstream faster than my pack can run through it’s x-ray. Somehow I grab it just in time, and with a few looks from the guard at the x-ray equipment, head into the station proper and try to find some signs in English.
I find the sign on the wall that says Cloak Room. There are probably 25 people in an area the size of two cars, with all their luggage. They are checking bags in, and checking bags out. They are arguing with the 3 men sitting at what looks like a folding table looking disinterested, and they are arguing with the 2 small old men that are handling courier-ing of the paperwork between the folding table and the counters.
They don’t seem to speak a word of English. After waiting about 15 minutes, and some people have left, I get the idea that there is no line, and there is no order. You push your way to the front and handle your business. I don’t push, but when someone leaves, I occupy that spot, and strategically, I end up at the counter in about 10 more minutes. I ask a question in English, and he responds in Hindi. I ask again, simpler, but no English. He’s still sitting at the folding table and he’s looks to be of some authority. He motions for me to come around. I make my way back out of the throng and through a hallway and back into the office. The transaction has waiting periods of 5 minutes or more between when I ask a question and when I get an answer I understand. Eventually, someone asks in Hindi for me and tells me in English, and some progress is made. I have my paperwork, they’ve seen my passport, I’ve given them the bag, but they won’t take the money, after about 5 more minutes, I’m advised that you pay when you pick it up and another kind person tells me they do shift changes for 30 minutes at specific times and I won’t be able to come back for it until after they’re done. The same sign that said Cloak Room also said Retiring Rooms which can be used for travellers under certain conditions, but you have to pay. This was not a problem for me, but the several people working there all said they don’t have Retiring Room. So maybe it’s an old sign or maybe I didn’t fit or something, but that wasn’t an option for me.
I grabbed my camera case, and I thought, optimistically, that I would catch an tuk-tuk out of the kill-zone so-to-speak, and look at something else. The problem is that all those places are going to be equally as crowded, and I’m quickly reaching my limit, though I have 10 hours to go before my train (due to my early start on the day). I decided to stay put for the duration. I checked my bag, so I don’t have anything to do to pass the time, except my phone, but its battery is too low and I need it to get on the train (e-ticket), so I have it turned off.
The time I spent at DLI (Old Delhi railway station) was the worst experience so far, and has made me change my itinerary to exclude the stopover in Mumbai. For ten hours, I was stared at, pointed to, and had my picture taken without my consent like I was a circus animal. I felt like a circus animal. There was no place to sit that wasn’t occupied. There wasn’t even much floor to choose from. I walked the platforms, I asked the people in charge which platform I would need to be at, etc. Every bit of information I got there was hard-won, and I mean hard. It was an unpleasant experience by any scale, the conditions were terrible, the high heat was made worse by close proximity of people who have no problem in the first place of invading your personal territory, and I had already had my fill of people and chaos. I wanted to find a hole and lay in it. Although if there was a hole somewhere, somebody would have already deposited a turd and some urine in it, followed by about another thousand or so.
There was one restroom I found after about 6 hours. Shortly before I found it, I had found a sign that said toilet at the very end of one of the platforms. I walked up the stairs and saw a small dark room, which I thought you had to enter. I took one step and realized that apparently you peed into the room. The pooling urine was well on it’s way out of the room, but had only gotten about a half inch up my shoe as I stood in it and it didn’t go into the holes in my crocs or soak my socks. The floor sloped away from this “entrance”, and I think the room’s floor was actually on the ground, essentially creating an 8 foot tall, room-sized vat of putrefying liquid waste with the odor to match. I heard laughing from behind me and I look over to see an over-full train with people with their arms hanging through bars, faces pressed up against them, watching and pointing and laughing. I unzip and take care of my business anyway and try to ignore the spectacle that I am, or at least give them something worth watching.
Probably related to the jet lag, I was in a dreadful fight to stay awake. I lost on many occasions. I was falling asleep standing up. I was falling asleep leaning on a railing. Shortly after I was startled awake one time while leaning on a railing, I turned to find a group of people laughing as they had just taken my picture while their friend was standing next to me or rather, next to my posterior. I was on display when I went into the food booth there. I was on display when I ordered, I was on display when I found a seat, and I was on display as I ate. Everywhere I went, nearly everyone I passed, nearly everyone who passed me, whether sitting, standing, or lying down, was looking at me continuously from the time I entered their field of vision until the time I left it. I say nearly because I saw some blind people mixed in the with sighted.
I think had I been in a better mood, I would’ve handled it better. I would’ve laughed when they laughed. I would have smiled more. I would have interpreted things differently and not so personally. But I didn’t at the time, and it was a truly miserable experience by which I will probably judge all future layovers.
I found a bench in an actual waiting area, and repeated virtually the same conversation 7 times in a row with different men who wanted to talk with me and practice their English. While not great fun, they were all friendly and kind (one guy actually wanted me to come to Jodhpur with him for 2 days and he would show me his city on a personal tour; he worked in the army and not a travel agent), and the conversations helped pass the last 4 hours. When I was out of circulation, the staring decreased massively. I think part of the problem was that by me moving around, I was always in contact with a new group of people who were surprised to see a foreigner. In retrospect, after I found the platform and made a mental plan of how I would get back here, I should’ve stayed put somewhere.
As the departure time approached, I picked up my bag from the Cloak Room, headed to the proper platform and wiggled my way in (with my huge pack) in to the throng of people trying to read the paper charting of which berth is assigned to which person. I found out I was berth 16 and waited, standing next to the seated crowd, for the train to come. As we’re waiting a train pulls in on the other side of the same platform. The police move in as there’s some kind of disturbance and much shouting. The main police guy is a large man in every direction and he slaps people on the back, heavy like thunder. He gets into an argument with an old man on the train who appears to be of some authority. All the Indians are watching with eyebrows raised, like it’s television. The big police man doesn’t hit the old man, but he does try to pull him down but is unsuccessful. Things cool out, the old man stays and the large policeman walks away, and the Indians are alight with animated and loud conversations about what just happened. The policeman hits a guy with his thunder hand for what appeared to be saying something inappropriate and their was no response by the guy doing the talking. Within a minute, the train starts to depart again, moving very slowly. There are probably 3 or 4 people, per doorway, that do not fit. They are literally hanging out of the train with one foot in the door, and their hands on other people closer to being inside the train, or on the handles outside the door. They have their backpacks and bags and purses, and it’s all hanging out the door of this moving train. I don’t know if the people continue to pack in closer inside and make room, or if these people are now on the outside of the train for the duration. Hopefully it’s a short journey is all I can think. The train is still pulling out pretty slowly, and here comes a man shouting and out of breath, and dragging this girl who I take to be his daughter by some kind of arm lock. She is completely developmentally and physically disabled. Her arms are contorted and stiff, her head is twisted to the side, and her legs are bowed and tight in unnatural arcs. He is hoisting her up by her arms with his arms, takes a large step, pulls her sideways like a fish dangling on a line, and drags her up again. He is clearly and purely devoted to this child. I know the kind of effort he had to make just to get to this place in the station with the stairs and crowds. She’s maybe thirteen, and he is trying against all odds to get her on this train which is slowly picking up steam. I choke up and have to turn away so I don’t lose it. When I turn around again, I don’t seem them anymore. I don’t know if they made the train or not.
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