Open Door Policy

During the two and half months we have spent in India so far, we have had the pleasure of traveling across large sections of the northern part of the country by what is probably the best and most convenient form of long distance transportation in India, the train. The train lines are very much the strength of modern Indian, as the extensive networks of tracks carry natural resources and people to every corner of the vast and rapidly developing country. Our recent journey across the states of Uttar and Madhya Pradesh, however, allowed me to see sections of India that, while close to the train, are well outside the developing world.
The journey began when we arrived at the station south of Varanasi a little before 4 am on Friday morning. Our arrival, however, turned out to be a tad premature as our train, as usual in India, was over an hour late. While waiting for the train we wrapped ourselves in our shawls or coats and tried to ignore the constant stares of our fellow travelers, a hallmark of the trip, and quietly fall back asleep on the dark platform. Eventually the train arrived and we quickly lifted our luggage aboard and crawled into our narrow berths eager to sleep for a few extra hours.
Upon waking, I slithered out of my bunk and tried to climb down to the floor without waking the people below me or smashing my head into the low ceiling (I failed at one of these and thus had a dull headache for part of the morning). Once I was safely on the floor and in my sandals I walked down the corridor and pushed my way past the men brushing their teeth with neem sticks to get in line for the bathroom. After using the bathroom (always an adventure on the violently rocking trains) I, copying the other early risers on the train, walked over to the open compartment door, and after firmly grabbing onto the railing, leaned out* into the wind whistling past the train.
Though it is impossible to recount everything I saw, simply because I saw way too much, I can sum up most of my observations by saying that from the speeding vehicle I was able to see the village lifestyles – how the vast majority of the Indian population still lives. From the train I watched old men and boys herding buffaloes, cows, and goats across landscapes barren except for low lying shrubs. I watched women hard at work with sickles harvesting crops in small, lush, green patches and then carrying on their heads the massive bundles of stalks back to their mud houses. But more importantly I saw where the modernization of India has failed: in piles of rusted metal, large abandoned concrete structures, and dry and broken irrigation ditches, while the villagers continue to live in a distant era connected to the modern world only by the occasional train.
While, I don’t know nearly enough to determine whether these villages are flourishing green utopias or struggling communities badly in need of government assistance (I would guess that it is a fine balance with many villages falling into both categories) the door of the train has exposed India to me in ways that living in a city could not. At the same time, however, numerous fleeting glances from a moving train are nothing more than an introduction. They are nothing to base theories or ideas upon and they don’t provide nearly enough information. In other words, while the view from the door was spectacular and eye-opening, next time I think that I will have to climb out of the door (when the train is safely stopped) instead of just standing in it.

* I would like to assure all parents reading this piece that when I say “leaning out of the train” I don’t mean that anything other than my head was outside of the train and that the rest of my body was firmly and safely planted inside the train at all times.