Tiger Tales and More: Debjani Banerjee

THE Ranthambore National Park is perhaps the best place in the world to see tigers in the wild. I knew that the tigers we see on National Geographic and Discovery Channels are almost all natives of Ranthambore. I had heard enough stories of Genghis, the beloved tiger, who was famed for hunting down his prey into the waters of the lake. But what I found out was that there is much more to Ranthmabore than tiger trails. I will always remember it as a comprehensive jungle experience that leaves one thirsty for more.


Set amidst undulating topography with a rich diversity of flora and fauna, the open habitat of the park makes for spectacular views. The arduous hilly terrain which varies from flat topped mountains of the Vindhyas to the conical and comparatively steep ranges of the Aravalli, is interspersed with jungle streams. For the initiated, the area boasts of over 300 species of trees and 272 species of birds! The park gets its name from Ranthambore fort, the remains of which can be found on top of a hill overlooking the park.

Old fortifications that dot the forest claim a splendid architectural past for the area. The juxtaposition of the fort and the jungle is a constant reminder of the grandeur of the past nurturing majestic presence.

Once the place was chosen, I began working on the details and the creature comforts. Planning the journey was not without its usual quota of excitement! As soon as our travel and hotel reservations were confirmed, the park closed suddenly due to some legal issues. My aunt had organized a field trip with her students from National University of Singapore but they were not allowed into the precincts of the park. As we dully toyed with alternate destinations – Sariska, Kanha, the park re-opened again, just as abruptly. If my scepticism regarding travel and tourism in India had raised its ugly head with the government’s quirky actions, it was proved wrong as soon as I stepped on to Sawai Madhopur station. The station was comfortable and well organized and I had to give the thumbs up for Rajasthan tourism for everything I saw and experienced between my two stops at the station.

The hotel itself was a haven. We were a motley crew and the hotel had enough facilities to make everyone happy. If I was content to admire the purple haze of the imposing Aravalli right behind our cottages, the more energetic members of the group could toss a ball in the green lawn; the children were delighted with camel rides that made off into the wilderness; for the not so brave there were hammocks and sand pits. The more inquisitive amongst us marvelled at the thriving rose bushes and all of us appreciated the prompt service that provided good food and beverages all through the day just as they had promised on the website. All in all, they pampered us to the extent that if they had relegated us from a covered jeep to an open canter for the forest safari (to upgrade more privileged guests?) we chose not to be too offended.But it is the forest that held me in its thrall. I have prided myself on being rather a veteran of forest tourism in India-- Periyar, Bandipur, Mudumalai, Nagerhole, Sundarbans, Jaldapara, Bandhavgarh – each forest unique and spectacular in its own right. I was prepared for scattered clumps of trees or an extended copse may be. After all, Ranthambore borders the arid Thar desert, how could one have expected more?

I was proved pleasantly wrong. Not quite the “woods are lovely, dark and deep,” Ranthambore forest had a lovely golden-brown hue quite unlike the lush tropical forestation I had mostly seen and enjoyed in southern, eastern and central India. The vegetation is varied and forms an interesting combination of dry deciduous trees, tropical moist vegetation and shrubs and climbers that can survive in drier climates. The deciduous patches interrupted by evergreen glades make for some spectacular scenery. The main tree cover comprises of the dhok or flame of the forest (the tongue twister version of it is anogeossis pendula) as it is a hardy tree that can withstand spells of drought. Other than the ubiquitous banyan, I could also spot jamun, berry, teak, tamarind, kadam, babul, neem, mahua, khajur apart from plenty of bamboo. In fact, our local guide mentioned that the banyan tree at the gates of the fort was the second largest banyan tree in India, the largest being in Calcutta Botanical gardens. Later, I checked that this is most likely true. Local guides have never ceased to amaze me with their wealth of knowledge. We see so much of this ‘be proud of your heritage’ drive here in local counties and I think the wonderful local guides would be an excellent example of people who have being doing that for ages.

Ranthambore fort, situated at the meeting of the Aravalli and the Vindhya mountains, was our first destination. The ornate and intricate carvings have helped historians to conjecture that it was probably built in the tenth century A.D. by a member of the Chauhan dynasty. Because of its location it was one of the more invincible forts, it was also the point of control for central India. Amongst the ruins (the fort was clearly ravaged by many wars) the Badal Mahal and Hamir’s court are redolent of past grandeur. I was fascinated by the colourful stories regarding Alaudin Khiljee’s unsuccessful attempt at conquering the fort but it is Rana Hamir (circa 11 A.D.) who holds a special place in the hearts of the locals as the legendary hero who fought the superpowers to save the fort. The Mughals were finally able to acquire the fort in late 16th century; from them it passed as a gift to the royal family of Jaipur and was used as their hunting grounds. In the 19th century the fort was supposed to have become a prison.

While I was engrossed in the tales of the past, the others were busy spotting crocodiles in the aquamarine waters of the lake right below the fort. It is in the jaws of a couple of such crocodiles that the local star Genghis had met his end. There are plenty of lakes within the forest that serve as watering holes for the animals; Padam Talao, inside the perimeter of the fort, provides a kaleidoscope of animals as they come to quench their thirst. It is also an excellent place for sighting birds – we saw gulls, terns and storks.

Our onward journey into the forest had us quivering with excitement. Craning to catch a glimpse of the majestic predator, we encountered the lovely cheetal deer and a lonesome black buck. The chirpy langurs dramatic as ever, snatched, quarrelled and jumped swiftly from one branch to another. Nilgais, in large groups, moved across our path. Most animals in Ranthambore forest seem not to be too perturbed with human intervention. Herds of sambar settled comfortably on their own land and did not as much as glance at us as we drove past. The rufoustailed hare and the palm squirrels scampered across looking very busy. A jackal slinked across. The children were intrigued with their first glimpse of bats hanging from trees– being used to the more glamorous batman stories on celluloid. The rich birdlife was evident in the number and variety we saw; peacocks walked around leisurely. One of them even deigned to show off their glorious feathers. We saw parakeets, a beautiful golden oriole, kingfishers, wagtails, the Paradise flycatcher, Partridge, red spur fowl, and the odd camouflaged owl, the last being a unique sight, the memory of which never fails to amaze me. By 5.30 in the evening we had to leave the park; the rules here seemed to be more rigid than most Project Tiger reserves.

The next morning we were in the forest right after sunrise. It was our last opportunity and by then we were quite desperate for a private audience with the lord of the jungle. We mistook every shape and outline to be that of a tiger. If the bamboo trees swayed, so did our expectations, only to be dashed at the next turn. My son is convinced that he saw the disappearing beast on a mountain slope. Our hopes truly skyrocketed when we saw fresh pug marks en route. But alas, we did not get a glimpse of the elusive predator nor its sleek cousin, the leopard. The other jeeps/canters that went out that morning had all been rewarded but we returned empty handed…or have we? Even as I close my eyes now I can see that gorgeous kingfisher amidst a splash of blue or that deer, trying to reach the overhanging branches of the tree, wanting to sample new delights. As for the tiger tale, this is only the beginning… Read more!

Greetings from Ganga

I'm just back from my first trip to Kashi (Benares or Varanasi to many). It's been an overwhelming experience for me and I'll have to wait a bit for my thoughts to settle down before I can write a post. Till then here are some photos (on the right). Enjoy!

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Adventures with my father

The sheer adventure and thrill of travelling in India has always been a fascinating aspect of my life and the person who I can thank most for it is my father - Rabindra K Dattagupta. He had an intrinsic love for speed and adventure which rubbed off in varying degrees on my mother, sister and me. We lost him a couple of months back and this is the first tribute that I'm dedicating to him. One of my earliest memories is that of trip from Baroda in Gujarat to Durgapur in West Bengal across more than a 1000 miles with Baba (my father) behind the wheel of his Rover car (don't really remember the model of the car but I do remember addressing the vehicle as Didi or elder sister). My father loved his car intensely and was as attached to it as a member of his family. My father, in fact, loved vehicles from as far back as he could remember. As an young boy he had sold a gold coin that had been gifted to him to buy a pair of roller skates. From his first bicycle to his motor bike that he rode during his years in UK, he was never without wheels. About cars, bikes, planes and engines, Baba's knowledge was almost encyclopediac, even though there was no Internet in those days for him to refer to!

My sister and me were about 4 and 5 years old and the year was probably 1969. Baba was all set to join a new job at Durgapur and after winding up from Baroda where we had lived for a year - he decided to drive down to Kolkata and then Durgapur - a steel industry hub where we then spent a good part of our childhood. Our first stop was on the Gujarat-Rajasthan border at the Temple town of Natgauda. The temple of Srinath Ji is now famous because of devotees as famous as the Ambani brothers and their mother Kokila ben. My memories of the temple and the darshan there is not very distinct, but I do remember a huge crowd of devotees surging forward and me perched on my father's shoulders and looking over the heads of others for a clear view of the temple's deity. My mother tells me that she had to cling on to my sister who was a tiny tot and was getting suffocated amidst the huge crowd. This, of course, is the typical scene at many of India's temples where devotees throng the sanctum sanctorum for a Darshan when the doors of the temple are opened by the priests daily. While memories of the temple town of Natgauda are very faint, my father always kept a photograph from the temple in our home as a mascot that would bring us luck.
While the darshan of Srinath ji was just the beginning of our long journey across India, the next stop was Jaipur where we spent some hours with relatives who lived there. My mother, I recall, had bought dozens of traditional Gujarati, hand woven saris as gifts for all the friends and relatives who we were to meet on the way. From Jaipur we drove to Agra, where my aunt (my father's sister) Indira lived. She was a professor of English at a college in Dayalbagh in Agra. The college provided bunglows for staff members on campus. I remember my aunt's house in Agra which was an old stone and brick building with a patch of garden in front. The campus was set amidst tree-lined avenues and my aunt's English department, where she took us all along, had a lovely green lawn in front. I also have indistinct memories of my aunt rehearsing a play with her students and colleagues - later I had heard from her that it was a Shakespeare production that they had been putting up. Dayalbagh is a small locality which is set away from the main town of Agra and is very quiet and peaceful. The evenings were peaceful and the nights very dark and quiet. In fact, I remember that my sister and me were scared of the darkness and remained close to the elders after sundown. Agra was the longest stop on our journey and we spent a couple of days as a happy family there. My parents and aunt probably visited monuments such as Taj Mahal and Agra Fort, but I have no memories of them from that trip at all. Taj Mahal - which I later visited with my mother and sister when I was about 10, had a very strong impact on me.

We usually started early in the morning and Baba drove through the day with brief stops for lunch and tea. But he never drove after sundown and we usually stopped either at guest houses on the way or with friends or relatives in towns where they lived. Accompanying us on the journey was Nemai, an auto mechanic from Kolkata, who sometimes drove when Baba felt tired or drowsy. He had accompanied Baba on many long drives and had often helped repair the Rover. However, when we got to Kanpur, he had some differences of opinion with Baba and decided to continue on his journey to Kolkata by train alone. For me, the most distinct memory from the Baroda-Kolkata drive remains the ravines of Chambal. My sister and me had never seen anything so spectacular before that. Baba & Ma's stories about the dacoits who lived in Chambal and looted visitors, heightened the excitement for us. I clearly remember Baba asking us to recite our nursery rhymes loudly so that he didn't doze off while driving along the rugged and winding road through the ravines of Chambal. Ma poured out hot water from a flask to make coffee for Baba when he felt too fatigued. We spent about 10 days on the road - but for my sister and me, it was like a lifetime with new horizons opening out in front of us everyday.

The holy city of Benares was another stopover before we reached Kolkata where my grandparents lived. It's a city that I've never visited after that, though my father had told me a lot about his own visits there, to offer prayers for his forefathers. It's also a city that Satyajit Ray has given a magical touch to through his lens and creative imagination. It's a city I dream of visiting sometime to pay respects to Ray, to the holy Ganga River and now to Baba too. Read more!

Pushkar & Ajmer: A double pilgrimage & the elements

For the Hindus, the holy triumvirate of gods are Brahma, Vishnu and Maheshwar (Shiva) - the creator, preserver and destroyer of the world. The only temple dedicated to Brahma is at Pushkar in Rajasthan. And having recently realised that this temple of Brahma is so rare, I decided to make a trip to Pushkar last weekend (for photos, click on the slideshow to the right).

As an young girl I remember asking my grandmother why Lord Brahma was depicted as an aged saint with his eyes always shut. My grandmother's explanation was that after creating the world, the creator immersed himself in deep meditation, leaving it to others to preserve the world and even destroy and recreate it when evil became the dominant force. While a lot of mythological tales abound around the conflict between Shiva and Brahma, the dominant mythological description of Lord Brahma is one of an ancient saint in deep meditation below the deep ocean. There's a lotus stalk - which represents the beginning of life - that rises from his navel and blooms above the surface of the sea. Again, the original life is said to rise out of water rather than land.
Back to my journey - an interesting coincidence is that the railhead for Pushkar - which is situated around a lake amidst the desert of Rajsathan and is bordered by the Aravalli hills - is Ajmer, the city famous for the Dargah Shariff of Hazrat Khwaja Muinuddin Chishti. Khwaja Shahib, a Sufi saint is not only worshipped by the Muslims in India but is the epitome of peace, harmony and enjoys universal respect from people of all religions in India. Women and people from all religious faith are allowed entry into the mausoleum of the saint - which is not very common for Muslim places of worship. Ajmer & Pushkar, twin towns with religious symbolism, are both situated around lakes, akin to two oases in midst of the Rajasthan desert sands and fringed by the rugged Aravalli ranges. They are separated by a 15 km drive through hilly landscape.

Getting to Pushkar from Delhi is a pleasant six-hour experience on board a Satabdi train to Ajmer. The Satabdis are India's premium trains where passengers are pampered through the journey. The catering services include tea, snacks, colas, juices and breakfast and even dinner during the return journey, all of which come free included in the ticket. The heritage hotel where I had booked a room - Jagat Palace - had a large number of European tourists who seemed unperturbed by the desert heat even during the day. Many of my fellow guests spent the hot afternoon by the poolside reading and chatting while some were adventurous enough to go on a camel safari. Evening however brought respite in the form of a thunder squall, gusty winds and rains - which was a very pleasant surprise. The Pushkar lake is considered very holy by the Hindus and taking a dip in it is believed to wash away one's sins. There are many Ghats beside the lake where pilgrims can take a dip. One needs to watch out for priests who will descend on you and ask for cash offerings to perform prayers.
The Brahma temple is situated beside the lake and is about a kilometers walk from Jagat Palace. Pushkar is a laid back pilgrimage when compared to the hustle and bustle of places such as Haridwar and Rishikesh. And it's a big relief to visit the temple where there are no army of priests and volunteers descending on you like they do at some of the other pilgrimages in India. The extreme heat coupled with the rugged rocky and arid landscape somehow evokes a feeling of an elemental space where the world may actually have been created by Lord Brahma. It brought to mind the landscape of the Grand Canyon for me - where a formation is fittingly named after God Brahma - believed to be the creator of the world. My father, when he visited the Grand Canyon had written a letter to me from there pointing out the names of the ancient rock formations named after mythological Gods from different cultures - a fact that I remembered when I visited the Grand Canyon myself.
While Lord Brahma's temple is easily accessible and within walking distance from any of the hotels nearby - his wife Goddess Savitri is said to reside in a temple which is high above perched on a hilltop. A trek up can be quite an effort specially for those who are not physically very fit. However, once up there, even for non-believers, the view of the city of Pushkar and its lake is quite awesome. Wouldn't have missed out on that even to avoid the aches and pains that I have brought back with me!!!!
On a completely different and materialistic plane - Pushkar is a good place to pick up street fashion items. Like the rest of Rajasthan, cotton apparel is cheap and available in abundance at the stalls of Pushkar. Colourful cotton pants, shirts, tops, shirts and the chic kurtis are a big hit with the foreign and hip Indian tourists too. Besides chunky silver jewellery and semi-precious stones too are cool bargains. Foreigners, of course, love the bindis, bangles and mehendi. If you use ayurvedic medicine - Baidyanath, which is a well-known brand - has a large outlet at Pushkar. And don't miss the malpuas soaked in syrup either - which are the region's special dessert! Read more!

Blood and Wine - both flow freely near Bijapur

The ancient city of Bijapur is the home of the Gol Gumbaz, the second largest dome in the world unsupported by pillars, after St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. (Photo by Dilip Nerlikar). A seat of power in South India since the 10th century, the monarchs of the Chalukyan Dynasty gave it the name of "Vijayapura" or the "City of Victory". Later the Adi Shahi Nawabs of the 14th Century constructed the dome and many other exquisite monuments in the Indo-Saracenic style. During my visit in 1997, I found it to be a charming spot, sleeping quietly in the lap of time. Lately, though, Bijapur has been attracting attention of a more contemporary sort.

On March 24, the Deccan Herald carried a report of the 110-acre Maya vineyard on the outskirts of Bijapur. Under the supervision of an English vintner who has worked for Moet et Chandon in Champagne and prestigious Chateau estates in Bordeaux, the Maya estate is turning out world-class Sauvignon Blanc, Shiraz and Cabernet varietals. "Crafted with French expertise", and aided by the vine-friendly climate of the Krishna Valley with its long sunny days and cool nights, the wines show "superb tannin development and excellent aroma and color" and the vintages are expected to get better year by year, per the Deccan Herald.

A week earlier, the Deccan Herald and other newspapers (including the New York Times)reported that 65 km. from Bijapur across the border in Chattisgarh, in the village of Ronibodilli, 54 policemen and auxiliary police officers were murdered after a long gunfight during a night attack by Maoist Naxalites. The whole area has been seething for years as Moriyas and other Adivasis continue to fight a losing battle for habitat against the official land acquisition of their ancestral fields and forests for logging, mineral and industrial development and other manifestations of the march of progress. Violence against the Adivasis by landowners, police and other agencies has given rise to an active Maoist movement that has retaliated in kind. The Government's answer has been to form auxiliary armed police forces, a sort of official vigilante group, to counter Maoist action. The latest attack in Ronibodilli was the Maoist answer to the formation of the auxiliaries.

The incident had eerie echoes of events further North, in Jharkand, Singur and Nandigram in West Bengal and as far afield as Nepal. Will these events creep across Bijapur to the Maya vineyards ? Or will blood and wine continue to flow side by side, in the contradictory mosaic that is the face of development in India ?
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Indian realities and travel: "A spiritual plane"

I did this article after a trip to one of India's most popular spiritual destinations. In view of the recurring Indo-Pak Peace theme it is relevant, and a certain nostalgia compelled me to revisit the article.

A spiritual plane
TIMES NEWS NETWORK[ SUNDAY, MARCH 17, 2002 02:47:56 AM] The serenity of the Jammu Valley and its natural beauty captivated Ishani Duttagupta . The mind played games in trying to make the crossover between pragmatism and faith as the early morning mists cleared over the spread-eagled Jammu Valley. The dramatic Tawi gorge had fallen away and the road to Katra wound up towards the tri-peaked Trikuta hills, the legendary abode of goddess Vaishno Devi. For first-time visitors, the Valley, with promises of distant snowy mountains, can be overwhelming. It’s rugged, rocky and extreme country, without the lushness of the eastern Himalayas. I missed the Rhododendron blooms. But in early March, the pines are green with soft and sweet smelling cones. Along the 13 km trek, on a tryst with the goddess, we were often frisked by young Kashmiri police women, many of them strikingly beautiful. They are probably hardened by circumstances, but the poignancy of young women standing guard over the mother goddess' route does not fail to strike a chord. The route to the cave shrine is paved with tranquility despite the heavy security blanket. The Vaishno Devi Shrine Board provides top class facilities along the way. This is among the best maintained pilgrim routes in the country with 50 lakh people visiting annually. Visitors of all caste, creed, religion and race are welcome. Lilting strains of bhajans help assuage the fatigue of the journey. Music, soft drink and beverage companies are very visible along the way. Private players are required to lease out space from the trust which runs its own establishments as well. But the hint of terror lurks in the background and on our return we read about the shooting down of Lashkar militants in the hills behind the shrine and retaliatory bomb blasts enroute. There is only a trickle of pilgrims despite sparkling blue skies, warm days and pleasant evenings. There was the dark shadow of disturbances in Gujarat and Ayodhya, the general manager of Carlson's Country Inns and Suites told us. A majority of his guests are Gujrati business people, and occupancy is unusually low for the season.
Read the full article at
http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/articleshow/msid-4011514,prtpage-1.cms Read more!

Rough Travel in India during the sixties : Kaisar Ahmad

Family vacations in the '60s had to be constructed from a menu of choices and trade-offs. We had the rich historical and scenic tapestry of India around us and there were friends and relatives dotted all over the country who could be counted upon for hospitality. But in a country of India's size travel costs were a constraint. Air travel was expensive, particularly relative to the take home pays of those days. Car travel was one option that allowed, say, a group of friends in two cars to travel with children. Although the road system did not include modern highways, traffic was light away from the major urban centers. In the early '60s the countryside had not yet fallen prey to the lawlessness of later years. Within a four hundred mile radius of Calcutta there were a number of destinations offering attractions that included forest sanctuaries, seaside locations, the spectacular Sunderbans Delta region and lonely dams nestled in basins of picturesque hills. For accommodation, there were networks of bungalows belonging to various Government departments and it was not difficult to locate one within easy reach of these attractions. The Public Works Department, the Forestry Services, The State Electricity Boards, the Fisheries Department and other Government agencies maintained these Bungalows in remote areas for visiting officers on their rounds of routine inspection or project management. They spanned a wide variety of architectural styles. Some had large rooms, spacious grounds and were hard to reach. Others were spare, utilitarian and near or on the main roads. Some were decrepit and might have been built for an earlier generation of British Government officials doing their rounds on horseback while others (like those of the Electricty Boards) were of a more recent vintage.

The bungalows were available to the general public at inexpensive rates when not being used by the officials concerned. They were staffed with cooks and servants skilled at turning out meals at short notice. Recently I came across a nostalgia cook book published by the Taj Group of hotels which includes a section on bungalow cooking. It mentions the readiness of the cooks to respond rapidly as soon as they saw visitors approaching in the evening. A chicken would be gathered up from the many scurrying around in the compound and a delicious curry would be available as soon as the guests asked for it. In the book the recipe for taking a chicken from coop to table in a hurry is appropriately titled "Sudden Death". So although the food was basic, prepared as it was with the freshest of country ingredients and shared under starlight in the company of friends, the simple fare was an unparalleled treat after a long day's drive.

There was always the possibility, however, of an unannounced visit by Government officials which meant that we would have to hurriedly vacate - those were the rules. It was part of the game plan to carry some basic rations in the car, particularly for the children, in case we had to suddenly pack up and drive off in search of another resting place, leaving behind the aroma of dinner still being cooked. With no cell phones or other easy communications available, detailed Ordnance Survey maps were essential to guide us to the next available lodging, and days of research and contingency planning took place before each trip.

Then there was the possibility of flat tyres or more serious car trouble. If the trip was to some particularly remote location, it was advisable to travel in a minimum of two cars and carry some basic spare parts such as fan belts, spark plugs and radiator hoses. Those excursions provided a sense of adventure and was an invaluable way for us and our children to retain a sense of connection between the urban commercialised world that was our daily life and the rural expanse that even today represents the essential India.

For travel over longer distances, the Indian Railways offered another exotic option. One of the largest and busiest railway systems in the world, the Railways made it possible to reach the remotest corners of India by train, and quite inexpensively, unless one insisted on airconditioned private compartments.

To take full advantage of the scope of the railways though, required planning as careful as the car trips to remote areas. Although by the '60s all of India's railways had been united under the management of one Government Ministry, this was not always so and at the time of Independence there were forty-two different railway systems in the country. Most were run by private companies, others were operated by the many independent kingdoms ruled by Maharajahs. There were separate railways built to connect coal mines and iron ore sites to the industrial centres, others to facilitate military transport, some just for the hilly tea growing regions. Over a century or more, a system of different junctions and hubs were created to connect these diverse networks. With the exception of trunk routes between the four major cities of India, travel across the country often required frequent changes between various types of trains on rail tracks of different gauges or widths.

There was a publication called the Railway Bradshaw which was a vast encyclopaedia of schedules, stations and their various catering and accommodation facilities. After long planning exercises which sometimes took as long as the trips themselves, we would use the trains as portable hotels. A typical overnight journey would terminate at stations chosen in advance for their amenities and accesibility to tourist sites. Luggage and families would be unloaded and we would take advantage of the Retiring Rooms which provided bathroom and storage facilities. A rest and change would be followed by renting a car and driver for a tour of a temple complex or some other attraction which had brought us there. We would return to the station and depending upon our next train could either eat at the station or, if the train had a dining car, wait till we boarded. Travelling with small children of course meant carrying some basic sustenance for them - cookies, powdered milk, baby food. The larger train stations provided overnight accommodation in their retiring rooms, and sometimes we would take advantage of them if the site required more than one day's stay.

Some of those train journeys would span a day or more. Our fellow passengers in the crowded cheaper compartments would be diverse, and curious about us. Long conversations and exchanges of family lore would take place with farmers and traders. It was of no use trying to protect our privacy - the Indian travelling companion can be very persistent. Besides, it was easier to share with these strangers the circumstances in our life which we would keep bottled up in conversations with our fellow members in the private clubs of Calcutta. As the day wore on and conversation waned, we would just look out of the windows and see the panorama of the country's life pass by. Expanses of flooded paddy fields with the green shoots poking their heads above water, forests and mountains, deserts and crowds, dusty villages and ancient ruins, ugly new industrial townships - it seemed there was not enough film in the world to capture it all. It was a wise man who said that journeys are more interesting than arrivals.

If the train did not have a dining car, the Indian Railway system provided for food orders to be telegraphed ahead to another station which had catering facilities. These meals were adventures in themselves, because one never knew what regional version of a requested dish we would be faced with.

Going to the internet to compare my memories of the Indian Railways with current facts, I found a site that actualy lists railway stations and against each station name specifies a regional specialty food item available there.

For example, at Guntakal station the list invites us to try "Mango Jelly". Mysore justly lays claim to "Dosa" and Hyderabad is coupled with its nationally famous "Chicken Biryani". Perhaps less invitingly, Surendranagar apparently takes pride in serving "Tea made with Camel's milk".

There are stations mentioned on that list that I have never visited and dishes that I have never eaten. The list represents a whole magical itinerary of discovery, a gastronomic adventure that I must surely try and experience before my digestive processes are disabled by age.

http://www.irfca.org/faq/faq-trivia.html#food Read more!