Getting out of Delhi
By Tartheis
After a rough 48 hours in Delhi, including a sleepless night, Tartheis decided early to get the hell out of town. Fuck this place. Pick up and move on, he thought angrily. Fuck Delhi. He had spent most of the night planning his exodus, but couldn’t seem to buy a train ticket ahead of time, no matter how many different methods he tried. He resolved to just showing up at the station and seeing what happened. Worst case scenario, he’d have to wait a bit for the next train to Agra.
He left the hotel at 6am and followed his directions to the bus stop nearby, expecting a bus that would take him to the train station to the north, or at least in the general direction. The bus stop was decrepit, and looked like it hadn’t been used in some time. As he waited at what was little more than a pile of rubble, his hopes of a bus arriving dwindled quickly. Despite his heavy pack, and the beating sun, he resolved to walk to the commuter rail that dominated the sky in the distance. At least it would be easy to find.
Arriving at the commuter rail station, Tarth found he’d only have to pay 14 rupees to get to the Delhi Train Station. Much cheaper than a tuk tuk, he thought, smiling at the small victory. As the train approached, the station became crowded, bustling with people heading in every direction. It was overwhelming, but not so much as the sun or the salesmen-like pressure he got from the tuk tuk drivers. It was a relief to see something so similar to the public transits back in the US.
The train arrived and people squeezed in a tight as possible. Tarth found himself standing out even more, with his big clunky boots, and large, military-style backpack. He tried to ignore the stares, knowing they came merely from curiosity. Funny, a curiosity in a world of curiosities. This place was so unfamiliar and strange, and he’d always felt so bland at home, but now he was the center of attention; the loudest thing in the room.
The commute was very similar to the ones back in the states; no one was talking to anyone else. Most people wore headphones. The only difference was how much more crowded it was, not even enough room to sit and read. The close quarters made him twitch, being too used to wide open spaces. The eagerness to get off and get out of this box stuffed full of people led him to get off a stop too soon. No matter, I’ll walk the rest of the way.
The center of Delhi was pretty big, but not so far from the train station that he couldn’t walk. It would be nice to stop for a drink and some food after the journey across town anyway. As Tarth walked along the storefronts which circled around a large courtyard, mostly devoid of people, a well-dressed man approached him. He wore western-style clothing; tan dress pants, laced dress shoes, a light blue button down shirt, and a dark brown trilby fedora. He looked like any other tourist, but was clearly Indian. His English was impeccable.
“Hello my friend! How are you today? Do you need directions?”
“Yea, I’m trying to get to the train station,” he paused, remembering his other needs, “And I need to get change for some money.”
“Ah okay, my brother owns a bank nearby. I can take you to it. All these shops don’t open until 3.”
“3pm??” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, yes, they don’t open until 3. Come, I will take you to the bank. And I’ll show you the foreigners only ticket booth.”
The man seemed genuine, but Tarth’s 48 hours in Delhi had taught him to be much more...suspicious of people. It didn’t feel good to naturally distrust people, but he figured he’d follow until the man’s true intentions were more apparent.
They walked together farther along the storefronts. Tarth had noticed many were closed, but it was only 7:30am. But 3pm? That doesn’t seem right...As they turned the corner the man said,
“Ah here it is, the foreigner’s only ticket office. You will go in there and buy a ticket. Come, I’ll take you.”
Tarth stopped short, seeing the small run-down storefront with big bold yellow letters that said, “FOREIGNERS ONLY”. Immediately, but too late to save him from the last 48 hours, he remembered Chelsea’s advice in Mumbai, “When you get to the Delhi train station, just ignore all the touts and go inside, up to the second floor. There’s a booking office for foreigners.”
“Ah, no, I’m okay, thanks,” Tarth said to the man, waving him off and walking away.
“What happened? I thought you wanted a ticket?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” he said, knowing full well now that this was merely a local’s tourist trap business, overcharging unknowing travelers for tickets they can buy in person. And now he knew the man was trying to get some sort of compensation for bringing in customers. Tarth continued walking down the street. His phone was dead, so he was at the full mercy of local information. Around another street corner appeared a food cart, displaying cold bottled drinks of various bright colors. He gave up his quest for the train station momentarily.
“I’ll have 2 samosa and a fanta please.”
“100,” the shop keeper said. Tarth was in no mood to haggle and knowingly overpaid. Maybe it would buy him information.
“Do you know where the train station is?” he asked the cart proprietor.
Another well-dressed man, much like the first, had come off the street and overheard this. The shopkeeper looked at him.
“Yes, I can take you to the train station,”
Immediately suspicious, but wanting to trust him, Tarth began to follow the man, who led him straight back to the same tourist trap shop, with the same large bold yellow letters, “FOREIGNERS ONLY”.
“Here it is, the foreigners only booking office.”
Tarth’s anger flared. It was like being trapped in a hall of mirrors. Fuck Delhi! He screamed internally and pointed a finger into the man’s face.
“Fuck you!”
He began to walk away, red-faced, adrenaline pumping, hands twitching.
“Fuck me?! Fuck you! Fuck you too!” the man yelled after him.
Tarth overheard the man angrily talking to someone else as he walked away. There was the small fear that they’d come after him, attack him, or who knows. Fuck Delhi. Tarth continued walking away, listening for footsteps. They didn’t come, and the voices dwindled. In the distance, he saw a guard in uniform, holding a large gun, lazily sitting outside of a storefront, or a bank, or whatever it was. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Fuck Delhi.
“Do you know where the train station is?” he asked emotionlessly.
The guard stood. He pointed down a long street across from the bank, or whatever it was, and mumbled some words Tarth couldn’t fully make out.
“Thank you.”
He crossed the street at the intersection and began walking down the street the guard had pointed down. It became crowded quickly. And soon enough tuk tuk drivers began pulling up next to him, asking if he needed a ride.
“No. No.” He waved them off, but they stayed. How far could it be?
The crowds thickened. More touts appeared, asking if he needed a ride to the train station, or if he needed a ticket, or a prayer.
“No. No. No.” Fuck Delhi, he thought quietly, his anger waning. The large gate to the train station appeared, and the unassuming two story building behind it. The crowd grew congested as he made his way through the gate.
“You can’t go in without a ticket!” he heard from behind, as a hand grabbed his left arm.
Tarth turned in a fury, ready to pounce. His nerves were still high from the previous encounters, and from last night. The man who had grabbed him let go and disappeared into the crowd before Tarth could get a good look. It wasn’t any of the well-dressed men, he could at least discern, worrying they may have followed him. Just another tout.
Tartheis entered the train station and immediately found his way upstairs to a room plainly labelled, “International Tourist Bureau,” in black ink on plain white printer paper. He entered and immediately saw other travelers. He knew them by their backpacks and their grungy appearance, but really he knew them because they were white. He was relieved. This is what it must feel like to be a minority…
He filled the forms he needed to be put in the queue for a train ticket. The next train to Agra was in thirty minutes. What a relief. Sheepishly, he made his way over to a group of three white travelers, two guys and a girl. He hovered near them for some time, desperately wanting to talk, but being terrible at breaking the ice.
“Do you guys know where the bathroom is?” he finally asked.
They all looked up. The girl, who seemed at least a few years younger than the guys answered.
“Yea, it’s just down that hallway to the right.” Pointing out the door he’d just come in, and twisting her hand to the right as she spoke.
“Thanks, can I leave my bag here?”
“Sure!” she said cheerily.
Tarth dropped his heavy bag for the first time in several hours. The last 48 hours had made him cling to it desperately. It was all he knew and all he had here. He felt safe around other travelers (other white people really). Man, this place is fucking me up. He left the room and headed down the hall, to the right, and found the bathroom.
He pissed, washed his hands, and looked at himself in the mirror for some time. His eyes were tired. His face was angry and stern. I have no idea what I’m doing. He wiped more cold water on his face. The dust, dirt, heat, and anxiety from the unnecessarily complicated trip across the city washed away slowly. He returned to the booking office. His bag, and the three travelers were still there. He breathed a small sigh of relief, not knowing who really to trust anymore.
“Hey, can I talk to you guys about something?” Tarth asked the group.
“Sure man!” one of the guys answered. Him and his brother were identical twins. They both had long wavy brown hair, and thick full beards. Tarth guessed they were in their early or mid twenties.
“I just had a really rough few days in Delhi. I feel like everyone is trying to scam me. It sucks! I feel like I can’t trust anyone...” he explained sadly, putting his naivety on display.
They all kind of laughed and smiled.
“Haha, yea man, Delhi’s rough. It’s definitely got the most aggressive touts of all the places we’ve been so far.”
“How long have you been traveling for?”
James answered, “Kaiden and I have been traveling for about six months. Lora joined us about three months ago.”
Lora was a young slim girl, with dirty blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail.
“Cool,” Tarth said, imagining what it would be like to do that. And here I thought I was on some big adventure. What a joke…
“You should go to Nepal!” Lora said excitedly.
“Yea! The people there are way friendlier,” said Kaiden.
“Ha, that sounds nice. Delhi messed me up.”
They smiled compassionately. They’ve seen more of the world than I, and knew well what I’ve dealt with, and maybe had been through worse.
“Number 138!” A woman said from behind the counter at the far end of the room.
“That’s me, 1 minute,” Tarth said, leaving his bag to go get his ticket from the woman at the counter. He returned shortly.
“Cool, the next train to Agra is in a half hour!” he said, reading his ticket.
“Yea man,” James said, “Just get on a train, and get out of Delhi. Once you get going again you’ll feel a LOT better.” He smiled through his thick beard.
“There’s a snackbar down the hall too! Grab some snacks for the train ride and hang out for a bit,” said Kaiden.
Tarth smiled greatly. His bristles calmed and lowered.
“Yea that sounds good,” he said through a smile. Again he left the room and found the snack shop. He picked up two 1 litre bottles of water, a few packs of cookies, and a snickers bar from a refrigerator.
He returned to his new group of short-lived friends.
“Where are you guys heading next?”
“Rishikesh!” Lora said excitedly.
“Where’s that?”
“It’s to the North of Delhi. It’s the birthplace of Yoga!” she explained.
“Hmm, that sounds really cool.”
“You should go!”
Tarth smiled again. “Maybe I will! But first I’ve gotta see the Taj Mahal first.”
“Of course,” she said smiling.
Tarth checked the clock on the wall. “Hey I should go wait for my train. Can I take a picture with you guys?”
“Sure!” They grouped for a shot together on the couch in the booking office. Tarth couldn’t thank them enough for cheering him up after last night. They’d encouraged him to continue his journey instead of give up on it, and himself. He adorned his large backpack, and carried his new supplies down to the platforms.
He sat on the ground, drinking some of the water while it was cold, and eating the snickers before it melted. A train sat idly on the tracks next to him. The large white numbers painted on the side didn’t match his ticket, so he took no notice of it. The platform cleared over several minutes as Tarth ate and relaxed. The train began moving and Tarth suddenly realized he was the only one waiting on the platform. That...might be my train, he thought in panic, watching the light blue train gain momentum. He jumped up, threw on his backpack, gathered up his food quickly and ran towards the train, jumping on before it got going too fast. He immediately pulled out his ticket and showed it to someone on board, asking if he was on the right one. They pointed up the train, indicating his assigned car was further up.
Tarth made his way up the single narrow isle of the train and found his car and compartment. He had booked a sleeper train, even though it was only a three hour ride to Agra. There was a man, his wife, and their 2 daughters, a teenager, and one of grade school age. There was another man, riding alone. The compartment consisted of two benches, facing each other, with a window between them on the outer wall of the train. Above were two more benches, for sleeping.
Tarth threw his pack on one of the top benches, and clipped and locked it around the metal frame that supported the elevated bench. He sat with a thump onto the bench, and relaxed again, exhaling slowly. Holy shit, I just jumped onto a moving train.
He beamed; Happy with himself for continuing this strange journey; Happy at the friends he’d met; Happy that he’d jumped onto a moving train, even a slow moving one; And mostly happy at getting the fuck outta Delhi. He sat back and watched the city drift away, waiting for the next adventure to start.
Scene End