Chance, le jeune et efficace monsieur en bleu fonce me trouve une couchette, malgre le nombre de personnes qui l’entourent. Que des hommes bien sur. Il ecrit le numero du wagon et celui de ma place sur le ticket et telle armee du Graal, me repere avant d’affronter le branle-bas de combat ambiant. Mais quel monde!
Les porteurs au turban rouge se fraient un chemin dans la multitude de personnes en mouvements, chargees elles aussi de bagages encombrants. Des jeunes gars en bande portant des pantalons etrangement serres au niveau du bassin, des vieux tenant debout febrilement sur des jambes squelettiques, des middles class pouponnees, des pauvr’ gens, assis la par terre, le regard perdu, moi, des bebes emmaillotes dormant du sommeil du juste et pas du tout genes par le chaos sonore regnant. Car il y a du bruit dans une grande gare indienne, meme la nuit. Il faut imaginer le bruit des milliers de pas des voyageurs , presses d’arriver ou de trouver leur place. Mais il faut aussi compter sur la famille elargie venue accueillir ou saluer d’un dernier au revoir les passagers. Et puis il faut entendre crier les gars tirant a bout de bras d’enormes charrettes ou sont entreposes des colis en tissu blanc et de toutes tailles,. Ils hurelent pour que la voie soit degagee. Je comprends bien, ca doit etre dur a frener un tel chargement. Bien sur l’on peut aussi entendre la voix off, teintee de gresillement, annoncer le prochain depart ou l’arrivee de tel train en gare.
Il est minuit passé.
J’arrive enfin au wagon, un peu sonnee par toute cette agitation mais encore concentree sur ma mission. La je crawle encore entre les bras, bustes et jambes qui remplissent le couloir, J’ai un sourire de reconnaissance pour mon sac-a-dos, le fidele depuis 13 ans. Il est aussi etroit que moi et ne se coince nulle part, il me suit telle mon ombre. Enfin je le depose sous ma couchette et prends place. Un gars est deja assis dessus. Je me dis qu’il est la en attendant, comme c’est souvent le cas. Il s’en ira plus tard, voila ce que je me dis mais un de ces ami m’’interpelle, me disant que ca n’est pas ma place. Tres vite il me demande mon ticket, le scrute et finit par me dire de m’en aller. Il a cet air dedaigneux du middle class indien qui se croit tout permis, me narguant avec son arrogance. En meme temps je n’en mene pas large, pensant qu’il possede une place confirmeee. Mais il faut bien le dire, après quelques minutes de palabres, il commence fort a m’agacer celui-la : Me suis reveillee a 6 heures du matin, ai gravit 3800 marches, j’ai deja 6 heures de train dans les jambes et me contenterais volontiers d’un peu de calme pour les 8 prochaines heures que je passerais apparement, recroque-villee car nous serons en fait trois a devoir la partager… (et qu’est ce que je fais la nuit prochaine : je prends un autre train de nuit pour Goa… Ca promet!).
Je ne m’etonne guere qu’il y ait eu des erreurs faites sur l’attribution des places, vu le nombre que l’on etait a en attendre une sur le quai. Mais apprenant que mon interlocuteur et l’homme assis ont le meme statut que moi, je ne vois pas pourquoi ce devrait etre a moi de m’en aller. Comme qui dirait, on est tous a la meme enseigne. Mais Monsieur veut jouer au plus fin et il est tres mal tombe avec moi, il faut le dire. Il cherche maintenant a savoir de quand ma reservation.. Sa petite bouche pincee reste coi car je m’y suis prise 2 semaines a l’avance. Il n’est qu’a 2 jours. Je lui reprends mon ticket des mains, le range et m’installe face a la fenetre. Le Monsieur se retire, il ne sait plus quoi dire.
Enfin arrive le controleur qui reglera le litige. Il envoie l’homme assis dans un autre wagon et celui qui jouait au tout-puissant sur une couchette au bout du couloir. Et je reste la. Belle victoire que je savoure alors que le tout-puissant me demande, en partant, si j’ai paye un backshisch au controleur! J’adore…
Je dors quelques heures tout de meme avant d’arriver a Bombay. Je m’y rends figurez-vous, afin d’aller recuperer les raquettes de beachtennis appartenant a Alex. Nous prevoyons en effet de nous retrouver pour les fetes de fin d’annee. Et quelle plus belle idée que de festoyer a la plage au coeur de l’hiver… Celle-ci est, qui plus est, ideale pour les raquettes. Plate, longue et au sol dur. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, je nous y voit deja, eclaboussant les alentours en allant chercher des revers bien lances ou sautant tel un cabri dans les airs pour attraper un loeb, enfin . Mais me voila arrivant dans la gare de banlieue des amis d’Alex. Je descends en un rien de temps, sirote quelques chais avant de les appeler. Je les suprends en plein dejeuner et suis aussitot invitee a y prendre part. Je me regale alors de succulents parothas (galette epicee et frite) a tremper dans une sauce de pickles. Du curd au lentilles, des fruits, du chai, un jus. Ces gens sont adorables. Je croise la famille au grand complet. Les parents et les 3 enfants. Chacun s’apprete a commencer sa journee. Ils vient au sommet d’une tour et jouissent d’une grande terrasse. Une brise circule toute la journee a travers l’appartement, c’est fort agreble.
Je prends meme une bienvenue douche. Je recupere les raquettes et vois que quelques magasines ont ete postes avec. Mon regard est aussi fort attire par les cochonneries du genre carambars et autres sucrerires allechantes qui se trouvent au fond du sac…
Je rejoins ensuite le sud de Bombay parla gare principale, Victoria Station. Une bombe a aussi explose la il y a 4 jours. Je repere en effet un nombre important de policiers et meme l’armee. Je ne constate cependant aucun checking particuler pour entrer ou sortir de la gare. On est loin d’Israel…
Je repere le lieu de commemoration dans un hall ou brillent la lueur des bougies en memoire.
I will leave the Gujarati state with a night train going to Mumbai. And that ride was a bit hectic. Explanations : I did book in advance a sleeper class ticket. Unfortunately my seat wasn’t confirmed and am still on the waiting list. I am supposed to go to Ahmedabad, located 5 hours away from Palitana but I learnt that the same train will go through Bhavnagar, a non far away city from Palitana. I get there and obtain a sleeper for the journey to Ahmedabad. There, I should once more find the ticket collector on the gate to beg for a sleeper. Wich I will of course do after already 6 hours of train. By luck, the young and efficient dark blue dressed man finds me a sleeper, even though there is a high number of persons surrounding him and having the same request as me. There are only men in the crowd, like often I am the only woman. The ticket collector writes down on my ticket the number of the car and of the couch. And like armed with the Holy Graal, I spot myself in that chaotic environment. But so much people ! Red turbaned porters try to make ones way through the incredible amount of moving people, loaded themselves with cluttered luggages. Young guys wearing strangely tight-crotched trousers, old people standing uncertainly on their skeletic legs, middle-class women gussied up, poor wallahs sitting on the floor with a lost look, me, babies swaddled and sleepy, not disturbed at all by the ambiant surrounding chaos. Because there are loads of noises in a big indian railway station, even at night time. You should imagine the resonances of thousands of traveler paces, hurried to arrive or to find their places. But you also have to count on their beloved ones who came to welcome or to salute them a last time. And you should ear the guys yealing to get a clear way, while draging with their arms some enormous carts where are set up piles of white stiched parcels of any kind of sizes. Well I do understand them, must be quite hard to slow down such a load. Of course you can ear the voice-over, tinted of cracklings, announcing the next departure or the arrival of a train.
It is over midnight. I finally get to the car, a bit groggy by all this agitation but still focused on my mission. Now I am crawling between the arms, torsos and legs which are fillfulling the hallway. I have a grateful smile for ma backpack, the faithful one since 15 years. It is as small as me and don’t get stuck nowhere, it follows me like my shadow. Finally I drop it down under my sleeper and sit. A guy is already on it. I guess that he is waiting there, like it is often the case. He will go later, tell I to myself but one of his friend calls out to me, saying that this is not my place. Very quickly, he asks for my ticket, searches it and ends up telling me that I have to leave. He has that typical indian, middle-class, disdainful look who thinks that he can do whatever he wants, taunting me with his arrogance. By the same time, I do not feel so self confident, as I think that this guy has a confirmed ticket. But I have to say, after a few minutes of having him arguing endlessly, I start to be pretty annoyed : Today I woke up at 6am, walked up and down 3800 stairs, took already a train for 6 hours ! I would really appreciate a bit of quiteness for the 8 following hours that I would apparently spend, huddled up, as we are gonna actually be 3 on the same sleeper !
And what the hell am I doing next night : Taking another night train for Goa... Why like this ???
By the time, I am not so suprised to see that mistakes have been done while allocating the places, according to the number we were, awaiting to get one . But now that I know that the guy and the seated one have the same status as me, why should I be the one leaving ? We are all at the same level. But Mister wants to play it with me, well ok, but I am a stronghead too. He wants now to know since when I have booked my ticket. His little pinched mouth stay still as I booked it 2 weeks ago while he did it only 2 days ago. I take back my ticket, put it in its place and seat more confortably next to the window. The man is steping back, he doesn’t know any more what to say...
Finally arrives the ticket collector who will solve the problem. He send the seated guy in another car and the omnipotent on a sleeper at the end of the hallway. And I am the one staying here. Nice victory I enjoyed while the omnipotent asks me if I did pay a backshich to the ticket collector ?! I love it !
I sleep a few hours before getting to Bombay where I am going to pick up Alex’s beachtennis rackets. We plan to meet for New Year’s Eve. And what a better idea than partying on a beach somewhere, in the middle of wintertime.
But here am I getting to the suburb station where the friends of Alex are living. I am done in no time, sip a few chais before calling them. I suprise them during their breakfast and am directly invited to join them. I enjoy then amazing parothas with home made pickles, some curd with dhal, fruits, chai and a juice. Those people are adorable. I meet the entire family, the parents with their 3 kids. Everyone is getting ready for its day. They live at the summit of a tower and got a big terrace. A brise flows everyday through the flat, it is really nice. I even take a welcome shower. I get the rackets and see that some magasines have been send with them. My look is as well dam attracted by the chocolates and others succulents buiscuits at the bottom of the bag.
I go then south Bombay to Victoria station, the main one. A bomb did explose here 4 days ago. I can see in fact an important number of policemen and even army guys. I spot nevertheless no peticular checkings to go in or out the staion. We are far away from Israel...
I see a commemorative space in a hallway where shine the lights of memory candles.
I leave my bag at the cloak room and go for a rdv. I should see Sylvia and Yahav, recently met in Diu. We spent the rest of the day together and even take part to a strike around the Taj Mahal. The population is angry after the dramatic events. It is accusing their politicans to do nothing, to not be able to protect their country even though they have been alerted by other nations and after all the others terrorist attacks India has been through this year. Many slogans are chanted, the crowd scream them loudly, many people are wearing t-shirts with the name of the deaths and an incredible amount of signs denounce.
I will only stay a few hours in Bombay according to the context. I go back to the Railway station. At the latest, I grab my bag back and get to the car. It is the first time that I feel a bit weird in this train station, trying to imagine how it looks like to be in the middle of a terrorist attack. Luckily, the train leaves without any delay and tonight I have a sleeper ! I think about my next destination, Arrambol, at north Goa. I will meet Bernard, a friend met while doing my really first long solo trip. I am excited ! It has been a little while we didn’t see each other !
Je depose mon sac au vestiaire et me rends a un rendez-vous. Je dois croiser Sylvia et Yahav, recemment recontres a Diu.
Nous passons le reste de la journee ensemble et assistons a une manifestation autour du Taj Mahal. La population est en colere suite aux dramatiques evenements. Elle accuse ses politiciens de ne pas agir, de ne pas savoir proteger leur pays, malgre les avertissemtents et les autres attentats perpetues cette annee.
De nombreux slogans sont scandes que la foule reprend, beaucoup portent des t-shirts avec les noms des defunts et un nombre incroyables de pancartes denoncent.
Mon passage dans la megapole sera de courte duree etant donne le contexte. Je pars donc le soir meme depuis Victoria Station. Je m’y rends a la der’, recupere mon sac au vestiaire et m’enfile dans mon wagon. C’est la premiere fois que je me sens bizarre dans cette gare, essayant d’imaginet ce que ca doit faire de se trouver en pleine attaque terroriste. Heureusement, le train part sans attendre, a l’heure et ce soir, j’ai une couchette.
Je songe a ma destination prochaine, Arrambol, au nord de Goa. J’y retrouve Bernard, un ami, rencontre lors de mon premier long voyage en solo.
Je me rejouis fort!
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