THE TESTS OF A SHORT JOURNEY

Catering on Shatabdi: Bangalore to Chennai

It is the story that matters not just the ending.
~ Paul Lockhart ~ (A Mathematician’s Lament: How School Cheats Us Out of Our Most Fascinating and Imaginative Art Form)

I had some work in Bangalore on Friday, the 7th of November. Hence, I had the return journey booked by the Shatabdi train leaving the next morning at 0600 hours from Bangalore City Station. I was travelling First Class AC. I had been allotted a window seat – No 8 in the E1 coach. Normally I tend to arrive quite early for such journeys – and I was at the station by about 0520 hours. I located the coach, got in and made myself comfortable. Though the compartment had not yet filled up, the train moved out of the station dot on time. While I was contemplating the various reasons for the many empty seats, in the compartment, the train came to a halt a few minutes later at the Bangalore Cantonment station. Like flies being attracted to a stick of candy left opened, people rushed in and occupied the seats that were unfilled till then. The train moved out and gradually picked up speed.

A journey, I reflected, is of no merit unless it has tested you.
~ Tahir Shah ~ (In Search of King Solomon’s Mines)

A while later the catering staff began their work. First on the menu apparently was a bottle of water to quench our non-existing thirst. That done, they took up the distribution of the daily newspaper. Very unceremoniously, the guy chucked the paper that was on top of the bundle he was carrying for distribution. When some of us requested for a paper of our preference, he brushed us aside, his body language indicating he was upset that we dared ask him a newspaper different from what he had thrown at us. We let that pass and decided to scan the newspaper that he had ‘dumped’ on us.

Next on his agenda was the serving of coffee. The first part of this exercise was the handing over of a tray on which was strewn a packet containing two biscuits, and three sachets – one of milk powder, the second of sugar and a third of instant coffee. That done, the server, if he could be called that, disappeared. That was understandable as he had to cater to the entire people in that coach, with a single colleague for company.

On his next trip he doled out a metallic flask containing tepid water. As we eagerly unscrewed the lid, one discovered that the inner cap, which would keep the contents of, the flask warm, was just not there. Apparently, the caterers had discarded the caps of all the flasks. When we enquired, the boy just skirted the issue and looked away at the uncomfortable question. This reminded me of an old anecdote.

Two friends had gone over to a restaurant to quench their thirst. Having had a good look at the menu card, they ordered two cups of hot coffee. In due course of time, two cups of sizzling hot coffee were placed before them. One of them, who liked it that hot, drained the cup in no time. His friend however dallied and took his own sweet time. After a while the first gent admonished his friend and asked him to hurry up with the coffee. That gent was in no hurry and said that he was enjoying his coffee and hence was savouring it and thus was elongating the enjoyment of drinking the excellent coffee.

The first friend berated him, saying, “Don’t you realize that the more that you delay, we’ll have to pay extra?”

He responded, “Don’t be silly. What gives you that idea?”

“Remember the menu card? It was clearly mentioned that a cup of hot coffee was priced at Rs 10.00 whereas they would charge Rs 20.00 for cold coffee. And if you take a little longer, then we’ll end up paying double for your cup of coffee!”

Having captive passengers, the Railways evidently do not seem to be concerned about the services that they are contracted to provide.

After this bit of coffee, there was a lull in the proceedings. A while later, the servers surfaced again. This time, they handed a bowl with some cornflakes thrown in. After a while he gave us a flask with some milk inside. Obviously, the milk had been heated up before we left Bangalore, but without the inner cap, the flask was open to the winds and was stone cold when it reached us. Having nothing better to do, we poured the milk into the bowl of corn flakes and slowly emptied the bowl. One of the things that I had learnt in the three decades that I had served in the Armed Forces was that insofar as food was concerned, one never complained. For all you knew, you may never be there to have it later! But many others did make faces – which any cartoonist would have been happy to copy.

The caterers then cleared the trays and in their next trip, placed another set of items before us. This time around, the fare included one idli, a vada and two slices of bread. As accompaniments, there were a sachet each of sambar and chutney and butter and jam. Of course, they also kept a stainless-steel teaspoon which we could use for cutting up the idly and vada (if we did not want to use the fingers that Nature had endowed us with). Apparently, the spoon was also to be employed to spread the butter and jam on to the slices of bread. Much later, the staff returned with a paper cup containing coffee. I had gone away to wash up when the coffee was served.

I do remember that when we were children, that the Prime Minister – who was the first of Independent India – would exhort all of us not to waste food, which was in shortage due to the long-drawn World War. Our parents also ensured that we never wasted food at home. But in the six decades after that, we do seem to have enough food for all.

The catering staff did not bother to check whether all had been served coffee, I enquired of my neighbour, whether she had tea or coffee. She gently told me that she had been given a cup of coffee while as I was not in the seat, and the chap had just shuffled off. When I further asked her whether I should walk and check for the coffee, she advised against my undertaking the venture. She said the coffee was a letdown and it was much better not to have it at all.

It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.
~ Ernest Hemingway

A short while thereafter, the train reached Chennai and we were glad that the journey was over and done with.