Blog 8 Dwarka to Mumbai

Nine hours on a night bus!





One hour sitting around the corner at the Local Bus stand, having been disgorged onto the pavement in semi darkness with another 6 hour bus trip ahead of me, was possibly not my best start to a day.



The kind lady cleaning the office sent the boy out for some chai for me as I sat huddled amongst the multitude of packages and boxes stacked around the place. The air was cool and I pulled my Udaipur Chashmere shawl tighter around my shoulders.


By 7am the shawl had been put back in the bag and the sun hat was firmly on my head as sunshine poured from the sky heating the local bus to temperatures beyond the call of duty. While we whistled along the highway hot air was blown in through the open door to cascade through the bus and out of the open windows.

When the bus stopped, and being a 'local' bus this was to become quite often, the hot air was replaced by a fiery hot stillness that threatened to overwhelm. Breathing became laboured, I concentrated on slow deep breaths willing the bus into motion once more.


We passed through some amazing countryside. Gone were the hills and the greenery of Rajastan, here there was a flatness to rival the English plains. Bridges spanned wide slow moving waterways.



Flower filled central reservations could be spied out of the front window as we passed through built up areas and towns.





We stopped for lunch(?) at a road-side restaurant and heat overwhelmed me! The kind lady sitting beside me told me to lie down in the shade and fed me chickpeas spiced to kill! I consumed a bottle of water in seconds and declined her kind offer of another mouthful!


As we neared the coast huge wind-farms, like those in Ramaswarm, stretched across the horizon. Power lines ran from near the base of each one, joining at intervals in a mass of wiring.

Dwarka was spotted in the distance and my heart rose. Here was the culmination of my trip. The place where Krsna had established his kingdom, a place with one of the most impressive temples around. I sat, the anticipation building as each kilometre disappeared.

Like my dream of the Yamuna, what I had envisioned of Dwarka and the reality of the place differed slightly. A totally Indian town awaited me, within seconds I was surrounded by not only children with their hands outstretched but mothers and babies, mange ridden dogs, even Sadu's crowded around, all pleading for food. This was an India I had forgotten about.



The three hotels on the main road were very basic, the one nice one was out of my price range so I headed into the streets to see if there was accommodation elsewhere. I am no longer worried about getting lost and wandered down side street after side street looking for a room.


Every sign was in the detailed waves and curls of the local language, I couldn't tell which was a house name or which was a room available. I asked a passing man who turned out to be the local post man. He walked me to a guest-house he knew and then explained to the owner what I needed.


Both men stood in anticipation as I looked at the room. By now I was so hot and tired that anything would have done and I quickly agreed to the 200RPS without even attempting to reduce the price! All I wanted to do was to lie down but my companions had different ideas. The postman wanted to talk, the owner wanted to listen and it was with great difficulty that I got them to leave.


When I opened the door a few minutes later I discovered the owner camped on my doorway. Eager to serve he tried to communicate but I have No Hindi and he had no English. Having someone camped in your door is a little unnerving. I wanted the fresh air the open door provided but having him watch my every move with the obvious fascination of having a White Female in his Guest-house made resting impossible.





So I went for a walk! I walked to the lighthouse but it was closed. I walked to the beach but it was rocky and windy.




I walked to the temple but it too was closed and a large sign stated NO PHOTOS ALLOWED. All cameras and phones had to be deposited at the holding room! I walked back through the twisting streets to the ghats where I bathed my feet in the cool litter strewn water.





I found another temple where photography was allowed





and took some photos.






I waved to the workman as they called out to me for “One photo”.






I walked back to the coast.





What had I envisioned? In my head Krsna's Kingdom had conjured up visions of splendour and beauty, swaying palms, long sandy beaches.







The reality in my tired state was almost too much to take. I walked back into town, bought some fruit and headed back to the bus stop. There was a night bus at 9pm. I booked a ticket!



At my room my man still sat waiting for me, I presume I was the only guest. I tried to explain that I was leaving but it was lost in translation. “Tonight” I said again, “Bus”, He nodded happily, a huge smile spreading across his face. He shook my hand energetically, “Two Night” he called happily and then he rushed down the stairs to tell whoever it was he wanted to tell.





I closed the door and tried to rest.




By 7pm he wasn't back. I packed my bag and headed into town hoping that he would not be too confused by my absence. As I walked through the now familiar streets I saw a different side to Dwarka, families sat in open air restaurants that had appeared from no-where. Children now called hello to me as I walked. The air was cool, the town relaxed. If I hadn't already booked my bus and packed my bag, I might have stayed to talk and learn, but I was tired, too tired to try, too tired to listen so I closed myself into my own little world and sat quietly until the bus arrived.



I woke in Ahmedabad with no memory of the trip. Either the roads were good or I had been too exhausted to notice the bumps and thumps as we had driven through the night. I was dropped into a city beginning to awaken. People huddled over fires beside the road trying to get warm, others wrapped in thin blankets lay on the pavements.

50RPS got me to the Train station, an hour later I was racing down the platform with 160 other women trying to get into the Ladies Carriage. The door to the carriage was luckily stuck or I would never had stood a chance but as they pulled and pushed around the obstinate doorway I was caught up in the mob and thrown in as the wave rushed through the opened door. In total darkness I was pushed and turned until by default I fell into a seat. Someone found the lights and the chaos that until then had been heard but not seen became apparent. Bags and bodies filled every space, voices shouted, babies cried, children called out to their mothers as the crush intensified.

Miraculously within 5 minutes all was sorted. Bags were rearranged, bodies inched left and right, children were passed up onto the luggage rack along with teenagers and a few old ladies!



Slowly the train pulled away from the station. It was 8 hours to Mumbai. 8 hours of crushing heat and noise! The ladies tried to talk to me in Hindi, dismayed at my non-understanding. I did manage to explain that I had travelled from Mathura to Dwarka and this brought nods of approval.



At the next stop the crush was renewed as no-one got off but 50 or so got on. Bags were once more rearranged, bodies shifted a little more, raised voices could be heard as people protested that they could move over no more and then calmness as we powered to the next station.



Travelling in the ladies compartment is an experience EVERY female should indulge themselves in. Not a moment passed with out some activity to occupy us. The usual call of “Chai! chai” was missing but fruit baskets were passed back and forth as the ladies examined and chose the fruit they wanted. Shopping became compulsive as jewellery, hair slides, socks, shawls and so much more was distributed around the carriage.



There was also no hard sell happened here, these were the ladies of India, well used to bartering and negotiation, knowledgeable in the true price of commodities. Things that would have cost me 100RPS on the street were sold here for 20RPS at the most. I handed over 100RPS for 3 succulent tangerines and received 90RPS back!




Food was bought at every stop as men appeared at the windows summoned by a hand wave from the train. After the first few stops I began to get into the rhythm of stop, crush, food, shopping, relax!

My ladies, despite the inability to communicate were eager to please and I was offered all sorts of delicacies as we raced across the countryside. At the next stop I too ordered pakora's and was delighted to find them not at all spicy. A bottle of chilled water was purchased as the temperature and my body heat grew. I took a few mouthfuls Indian style to my companions approval and then wrapped my wrists around the chilling water cooling my body slightly as hot blood met cold water.


About 3 hours into our journey a boy of 11 was awoken in the luggage compartment above my head. He climbed down as we all moved a little more left and right. Dhruv spoke perfect English and soon the questions that everyone had been dying to ask had an opening. My name, or an approximated version of it, was already known to the carriage, Dhruv now corrected their pronunciation and filled in the details of where I was from and what I was doing in India. Educated through the medium of English and well versed in British history, Dhruv and I chatted happily for the next hour.

Could I please write? he asked in such correct English. He would love to converse further with me. He would be able to practice reading and writing in English if I wrote! We exchanged addresses, with me receiving TWO addresses from him as he was moving after Christmas. His hand writing was neat and meticulous as he dotted 'i's and perfectly crossed 't's with a 90 degree angle in my note book.

History and geography were his favourite subjects. “Do you know Hitler?” he asked out of the blue. I simply replied that Hitler had caused a great war as I didn't think he meant did I know him personally. This led to a long conversation about the war. I asked about India's involvement and was rewarded with a full History lesson.


“Had I seen the Gate of India?” followed a 5 minute silence as we stared out of the widow at the passing fields. I confessed that I hadn't and was given a full and detailed history about is construction and king Georges visit! “Who is the King of Wales?” he asked. I did my best to explain the British Monarchy, the fact that we had a Prince of Wales but a Queen of England with an independent Scotland left me as confused as I think he was!

More food arrived in the form of a fruit sliced into quarters and sprinkled with masala. I was offered a slice and found it to be delicious. The lady said it was Guava, totally different from the ripened sweet fruit that had covered the garden in Moorea. These were white fleshed and hard like an unripe pear. So this was how they were eaten, under ripe and savoury!

Next came a yellow dish served in newspaper. I took the offered mouthful and found this to be even nicer. Suddenly I had a portion of my own in my lap and smiling faces all round as the ladies paid for my treat!

It was getting close to Dhruv's village. Desperately he searched for something to give me. His mother searched her bag and produced the pen he had offered me when enquiring about my address and interests. This he now passed to me. “As a souvenir of our friendship,” he proclaimed! I searched around in my bag for something to reciprocate and discovered a tube of Polo's (two missing) that I had bought in London. “This is all I have from the UK!” I said slightly embarrassed, “but I will send you some welsh coins when I get back to Wales!” His face already aglow with the 'Polo's from the UK' lit up even more and he rapidly spoke with his mother.

With their stop approaching Dhruv and his mother made their way to the doorway, Dhruv waving every time I looked in their direction.





One by one my ladies left me until there were just two of us left in the carriage.





Mumbai passed by the window, high rise and noisy. At the train station I asked about a train to Goa. “Wrong station,” I was told, “take taxi to Victoria!”

Two very helpful guys ushered me into their taxi and proceeded to beep their way through the hectic streets. I enquired about the train, “No Train madam, only bus” I insisted that there was a train at 11pm but they were adamant that the booking office was closed and I wouldn't be able to get a ticket for the train! As it was a Sunday they sort of had a point, the tourist booking office closed at 2pm and I wasn't sure I could book a ticket at the main counter so I let them drive me around the corner to the Night Bus Stand.

Here I got the same story but with an amendment. Not only was there no train I could catch but all the sleeper berths had gone. A reclining chair was all they had to offer in an A/C bus for 1200RPS!!!

I was not about to pay someone to put me into a freezing cold bus for 14 hours so I walked away, my entourage in close pursuit. From a doorway 3 shops down emerged a European holding what looked like a train ticket, I rushed after him, my guys still following. In English I enquired about the train and was told that the guy behind us had just issued him a train ticket without any hassle! I thanked him and walked purposefully to the door. “Train to Goa please, How much?” My entourage said something quickly to the guy and slightly confused he said “1400RPS”. “See,” said my taxi drivers, “ Bus is cheaper, you come back to bus with us!”

By now I had had enough. “Forget it” I said shaking my head, “I'll get the train tomorrow from the station” Suddenly the price dropped to 1000RPS. I booked the ticket to the dismay of the taxi drivers. With the ticket in my hand I went to pay for the taxi but a huge argument erupted between the drivers and the ticket guy. For 3 minutes I stood as the meter ticked over waiting for them to finish, in the end I walked back into the shop and asked what was wrong! They went quiet, the taxi driver walked away with me and despite the fact that the meter said 117RPS he charged me 499RPS. I argued the difference. “This not RPS” he insisted pulling out the same tariff I had seen in Delhi. Facts were thrown around, numbers pointed to, the tariff pointed at, a crowd gathered. I paid the money and walked away glad to be rid of my 'Helpful' Taxi men.

I found a café and killed an hour or two reading. I checked out the train station finding ticket booths open everywhere!

I went back to collect my berth number from the ticket guy and in the now calm office I asked him about what had happened earlier. My Helpful Taxi Drivers had been insisting on their commission even though I had walked in there myself. They had also told him what price to quote me and had been angry when he reduced it. The German guy I had spoken to earlier had paid 700RPS for his ticket, with out anyone’s commission included. I thanked him for his honesty, collected my berth number and said goodbye.

The evening passed slowly. I had nothing to do and was too afraid of getting into another taxi to go sight-seeing so I sat around and listened to the sounds of the city.



It was with relief that I boarded the train. Eric, the German guy was in the same carriage as me and the rest of the train automatically presumed we were together, which in a way was a blessing as I was left totally alone. We chatted for a while but as the train pulled out of the station I pulled my 20RPS rented sheet close around me and headed off into oblivion.

I had just travelled from Upaidur to Rajkot, Rajkot to Dwarka, Dwarka to Ahamedbad, Ahamedbad to Mumbai and was now on my way to Goa with only a few hours rest between each leg!

Exhaustion over took me once again and I remember nothing about the night!