Buddha Train India
Independent travel,  India,  Transport,  Travel Blog

Characters On The Buddha Train – Part 1

June 3, 2023 /

We started our recent journey around South East Asia with what was effectively a “train cruise” visiting some of the most important places in the life of Buddha. During our posts we touched on some of the characters we met on that train. Here we delve a bit deeper into those experiences in a 2-part post about life on the Buddha train….

We’d never done it before, been on an organised trip like this, so we were probably the ones sticking out like sore thumbs as we tried to gauge some sort of assessment of our fellow passengers. Who would be on a “train cruise” through India tracing the story of the life of Buddha? Would they be accustomed to organised travel in precisely the way we aren’t? What age would they be? What nationality would they be?

And so we probably carry inquisitive stares as everyone takes their seat beside the reception committee. To our right there is a balding guy, probably twenty years younger than me, headphones on, laptop open, fingers dancing over the keyboard in the way that only those absorbed by work tend to do. Work Man. A young guy with a backwards baseball cap and a pony tail. Traveller Man. Another older guy, could be a retired rock guitarist. Rockstar.

All the rest – absolutely everyone else – looks to be Indian. And wealthy Indians at that. Shiny sarees, smart shirts, slacks. An air of superiority. Arrogance, maybe. Around us the staff are fussing, carrying bags, checking paperwork, dishing out water and snacks, one stop short of kneeling down and operating a fan to keep us cool. Train wallahs, you could say.

It doesn’t take much of the 8-day journey for precedents to be set. We don’t know if it’s caste, or if it’s still Raj mentality after all these years, but the wealthy Indians are downright rude to the staff: equally the train staff are subservient and obedient. In 2023 we find it frankly obscene. These people seem one step short of throwing substandard food on the floor. Buddhists? Love, peace and respect? Really?

Our first sortie away from the train is by bus to the foot of a mountain, on top of which Buddha would meditate and probably survey the prairie, so to speak. Our guide for the whole eight days, we’ve christened him Doctor Chris, tells us the significant history. At great length. Doctor Chris is obviously supremely knowledgeable when it comes to Buddhism and the history of Buddha, which is undoubtedly good news given that he is our guide and leader for the week, but he falls down on two fronts. Firstly, his monotone delivery of broken English is impossible to listen to for more than two minutes without the mind wandering away, and secondly that he has the organisational skills of an earthworm.

With no instruction outside of a 30-minute rambling indecipherable lecture, the whole party is let loose to race up the hill with not a single instruction on where to reassemble, how long to spend here or where to meet at what time. When we say “race” up the hill, a good percentage of our party are of an advanced age and carry walking difficulties as one of their burdens, so this is not going to be a lightning visit.

We’re at the top long before the others. So is Work Man, who introduces himself as Bob from upstate New York. A good while later Doctor Chris appears, foaming at the mouth with anger that everyone has “wasted time here unnecessarily, now the day is ruined”. Well whose fault is that, Doc!?

Less than three hours in, the Doctor has lost the confidence of his flock. Mrs Eyebrows, one of the most supercilious Indians, is particularly scathing, leaving Doctor Chris in no doubt as to where the Indians lay the blame. Pretty Girl does her best to calm things down whilst Lovely Malaysian Lady stands back and looks distinctly embarrassed by the whole scene.

Back on the train, Doctor Chris sits, and eats, alone in the corner of the carriage. His first day has not gone well. Maybe he should stick to lecturing and leave guiding to those who can control a group.

Next morning, Jolly Raja the train manager has obviously asserted authority and has taken over as leader and giver out of instructions, crystal clear in two languages, and has organised Doctor Chris into issuing his monotone lectures on the train rather than out on site where we’re all itching to go exploring. All good, much improved and instructions very clear. Nobody could possibly have a query.

Over the course of the next few minutes, every single point which has been amply covered is queried by somebody In the ranks.

“So what time do we meet?”, asks one. I catch Traveller Man as he rolls his eyes across at Bob. 

“And how long at the site?”.

“How long is the bus journey?”

“What time is lunch?”

“What time will we be back at the train?”

Do these people have no ears? Eventually we disperse to our train cabins with an instruction to be ready to board the bus in twenty minutes. At about nineteen minutes we arrive at the bus, Bob is already there. Traveller Man, who we now know to be Ben from Leicester, bowls up next, followed quickly by Rockstar – real name Patrick, who like Bob hails from New York state. The Indians start to amble over as the clock ticks on. Doctor Chris looks fidgety, Jolly Raja determinedly holds on to his enigmatic smile but is clearly getting tense.

Seats are pretty much all taken, Raja’s young assistant takes a head count. We’re one short. 

“It’s Sunita, she is not yet ready”. Thirty minutes late now, still no Sunita, whoever she is. Or whoever she thinks she is. As the clock ticks to forty minutes late, one last woman is now flouncing towards the bus, not at speed, not caring one tiny bit that three dozen people are waiting and the day’s schedule is now screwed.

She stops, in full view of the rest of us, and puts down her bags. She’s decided it’s selfie time. She pouts, she poses, she strokes her hair. One selfie, two selfies….more…then, as she finally deigns to board the bus, she is clapped and cheered aboard by her fellow countrymen and women. What the f*ck is going on here….they’re clapping and cheering some narcissistic individual who is selfish enough to be forty minutes late. Seriously??

She flounces on to the bus, sits down, and regales in her own tongue what appears to be the story behind her lateness. And then there’s a fuss.

“Where is my phone?”, she cries, “don’t move the bus yet, I must find my phone”.

Well, she’s done what she wanted. Love her or despise her, she’s got what she wanted and she’s now the centre of attention.

The nickname Little Miss Selfie is born. The moulds are being cast, the characters are taking shape. Little Miss Selfie has taken centre stage.

To be continued…..

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