Madras Mail

The railway line between Mumbai and Chennai has been operational since 1871! Much water has flowed since then, including a change in the names of the cities. In these days of instant messaging, it baffles the mind to know that a train ran each day just to carry mail. My memory goes back to the second half of the previous century. The Madras Mail started from Bombay VT at the stroke of ten at night. It ran the whole of the next day, and reached Madras in the wee hours of the third morning. Each journey was momentous, and in recollection now, it assumes a fairy-tale fondness! 

 Air-conditioned, sound-proofed compartments were non-existent. We listened to the raw sounds of the rail, the rhythmic clatter, the engine hoot and the guard's whistle. Pressing the forehead to the window, we peered into the darkness of the night as the train hurried out of Bombay. Lulled by the train's gentle rocking, sleep overpowered us. In semi-sleep, we continued to monitor the train's progress- the round of tunnels through the Western Ghats, the lonesome "chikki" peddler marking the arrival of Lonavla and the change in the engine at Pune. 

 We woke up in time for breakfast at Solapur. Peddlers competed with each other to outshout the other with "coffee-coffee" and "chai-chai". The compartment was a foodie's delight- the air redolent with the confusing crisscross scents of steaming idli and bubbling sambar, sizzling poha and wholesome upma. Through the rest of the day, the train covered the entire Deccan Plateau. The flag-posts were fixed- lunch at Raichur and early dinner at Guntakal. The sun was a constant fixture; it scorched the earth showing little mercy. A furnace raged outside the train and within. A bottle of "cool-drinks" was elixir, that only a parched throat on that train can understand; none else! From time to time, little hamlets greeted us with a wave of hands from little children. The mind wondered wistfully, what if fate had willed otherwise, and we were born in one of these homes. Sometimes, rail-crossings resulted in a sudden halt in no man's land for aeons. It would take a wake-up call of a thundering train in the opposite direction, to shake the Mail from its stupor. We cross-checked with the "Railway Timetable" handbook and grumbled that the train was running late by a couple of hours. 

 A host of stations went by, there was "Hotgi" and "Kurduwadi", "Wadi" and "Raichur", "Yerraguntla" and "Adoni". The train thundered over the Krishna River and the Tungabhadra, both a kilometer in breadth, an expanse of sand with a ribbon of water in the summer months. A basketful of juicy guavas announced the arrival of Kondapuram. As the sun went down, the landscape cooled and huge boulders and rock formations marked Guntakal Junction. It was time for dinner- crisp dosas, a generous bite into "medhu vada" and piping hot coffee! 

 A sense of impatience marked the rest of the journey. We had sat too long and now wanted to reach Madras at the earliest. But the Madras Mail showed no urgency. It reached Cudappah before sleep time with peddlers pacing the platform with trays of cool rose-milk. By 2:00 am, it neared Renigunta with the twinkling lights of the Tirumala Hills in the distance. A flurry of poly-syllabic stations whizzed past after Arakkonam. The "holdalls" and blankets had to be packed up in a hurry even as we begged to be allowed to sleep for more time. As the train negotiated the bend at Basin Bridge and pulled into Madras Central, it was still dark. We would alight to a brand new world at Madras for a full two months. Bombay was some distant planet.