I was either being cursed or blessed.
An Indian lady dressed in a beautiful red sari entered my train compartment and clapped her hands. She said something in Hindi and proceeded to hit several women on the head. She then asked for money. Repeating this routine as she moved to where I was sitting, I gauged the reaction of the other women. They all seemed to be amused at my bewilderment.
After whacking everyone including myself on the head, she waited her reward. A few ladies complied. I ignored her and looked down. Then she said, “Excuse me” I looked up and said, “What?” She replied, “Money?” I said, “No”. She just laughed and smacked me on the head again.
(I later learned that she, in fact, was a he. I had my suspicions earlier as her mannerisms were clearly not that of a woman. A eunuch (or hijra in Hindi), is a man who dresses in women’s clothing. He is either a homosexual, a hermaphrodite or has been castrated. He is the unwelcome guest at birthday parties and weddings, who dances and sings for the guests. Even though he is not on the guest list, he takes home mucho dinero.
Sonalee tells me that hijras have created a lucrative business here in India, where men who are perfectly healthy dress up as women to earn money. She cautioned me that I should always give when children are concerned. Indians fear curses on children so they almost always give money to these men. Hijras know this and during traffic jams they roam between the cars targeting families with children.)
Such incident was one of the amusing things that happened while I took my first Indian suburban train. What I thought would be scary turned out to be all in my head. Buying a ticket and getting on the right train was seamless.
Following some Indian women into the ladies’s only compartment, I grabbed a handrail and watched the action. Standing in the middle of the two seating areas, I could see everything around me.
Boys and young men were selling jewelry and candies. Women were tossing bags of garbage out the doors of the train into the street or rivers we passed. A couple of disfigured beggars hopped aboard the train and pleaded for cash. An elderly woman cut fruit in two halves on the floor of the train and then tossed it out the window. Hardly anyone gave me a second glance. Then again I was too busy staring at everyone else to notice.
My ride into the city center was fine compared to what was in store for my return journey.
Being front row centre at a women’s steel cage match is how I would describe my this return trip. And I am told it’s like this everyday.
Picture all these beautiful women wearing salwars and saris looking all serene and composed. Now picture these same women clawing, scratching and pushing their way on the train. Action continues aboard the train as if the women were in a mosh pit jostling to music. Except the only music that could be heard is the screeching of what I can only imagine to be verbal assaults. A sight surely I won’t forget.
I was stationed away from the doors so my view was perfect. Women around me looked in amusement at my various facial expressions. Actually one lady asked me if I was enjoying the show. I told her I was scared for my life. These women were vicious. My emotions went from disbelief, shock to finally horror. How would I exit the train without entering the fray?
Luck was on my side though as the train emptied before my stop. Now that’s what I call a helluva a train ride………….