The Nandri Not-Express

If you're a misadventure seeker, born with disaster in your blood, traveling unreserved (second class sitting) on India Rail is something you should definitely do. Of course, you should know exactly what you're getting yourself into. And you should, preferably, take a short trip. Note: there is a ladies only carriage in this class, which you might choose depending on your sex and whether you prefer sweaty men or screaming children. That said, India Rail is a great introduction to Indian folk and offers stunning views of the country.

The unreserved sitting class is not for sitting. There seemed to be no rules on the train, although I noticed that most of the sweaty Indian men I was squeezed in with had tickets. I tried to sneak looks at their prices to see if we had paid to travel in the same class. After frantically trying to find the "right car" to ride in, I eventually hopped onto an unreserved car, before the train departed. Because I was one of the last to get on and the carriage so full, I was squeezed in right by the door near the washrooms rather than the main cabin.

I struggled on this ride. A proud, ready, veteran of living rough, I struggled with not being able to sit or even stand properly, and struggled especially with the fact I had not slept in a day. I did this for eight or so hours on four hundred and ninety seven bone jarring kilometres of wide gauge India Rail. At least it cost me next to nothing. Funny, if I had known the carriage would be so packed and that I would not even smell a conductor, I would definitely have rode without a ticket.

I began to feel very uncomfortable as the train started moving. I felt I had made a terrible mistake. Staring contests between muzungu and natives broke out in the damp, slowly circulating air. Then, to my pleasant surprise, challenges turned to funny looks, smiles and then conversations in broken English. Indian boys offered me snacks, and helped me buy food from the vendors that swooped through the carriages when the train made its scheduled stops. They even shifted themselves and offered me floor space to sit, although it was too cramped to be comfortable. There were two people hanging out each door and one person sitting in the public wash basin.
















Although you should not count on it, never underestimate local hospitality.

When I finally arrived in Madurai, it started to rain. I wanted to burst out laughing because of how dehydrated I was. I had brought and drank just two litres of water on that journey, during which the hot draught dried me out like a strip of beef jerky. A couple of (cold) iddlis from Egmore station, which I do not recommend, and a "meal" of rice casserole and fried onions on the train, which I do recommend, had plugged my digestive tract at my stomach, keeping water from absorption and making me feel bloated.

I was disappointed and relieved to arrive at Madurai. It's funny how on the train I thought I might not make it, but even after a night of fitful, restless sleep, I felt perfectly ready to take on India.