Creative Writing: THe Chennai Express Train of India

The Chennai Express train route begins in south of India, and passes through the infinite plains of the Indian countryside. The mountainous terrain ahead can be seen from distance as the train approaches the hillside city of Shimla. In the expanse, a traveller may observe an intermittent figure somewhere, perhaps a woman walking with water pots layered upon her head towards a small village. The train then would begin to ascend a shallow ridge. From here one can see what appears to be a town at the bottom of the hills, in the heat-distorted distance. Beyond the railway, which runs parallel to the Ganga River, is a city of gardens and European bungalows. Magnificent compounds built to house the British East India Company representatives who live in lavish style.

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Harish Dube looked in the mirror of the first class waiting room at the Chennai railway station. His fixed a stray hair on his neatly-trimmed moustache, smoothed his Balliol tie and checked the back collar stud on his Savile Row suit, eager to make an impression on his relatives in Shimla. The mirror was obviously made in India. Long lines of glass were cut at the places where red oxide had peeled off.

He pulled out a train ticket from his front pocket. 'Mr. Harish (Harry) Dube, First class, 27 April 1930' was written along its centre. He chuckled as he remembered how his companions back in England called him Harry, unable to pronounce his Indian name. He checked for the arrival of the train. It would reach the railway station at 5pm. Harish had acquired the manners and attitudes of the upper class. He hardly ever spoke Hindustani and fancied his English, refined at no less a place than Oxford University. Harish wondered if he would be travelling alone...

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... need not matter, you must leave," retorted the other.

"I was accepted to travel in this carriage, and I insist on going on in it," said Harish, shocked at the Englishmen's behaviour towards him.

"You must leave this carriage, or else I shall have to call an official to throw you out." said the soldier.

"Yes, you may. I refuse to get out on my own accord."

The soldiers caught Harish by the arms and flung him out of the train. They picked up his briefcase and newspaper and threw them onto the platform after him.

"Ridiculous! I'll have you arrested! Guard!" he shouted with anger.

The engine gave another short whistle. Harish looked up and stared at the windows of the train going past him in a quickening tempo, catching a glimpse of the Indian lady as she spat out her betel leaf, sending a spurt of red dribble flying across platform like a dart.