The smiles of the train

"Old wars, bravely fought; but usually little more has been at stake other than the honour

 and local glory of one particular prince. The fortifications were now useless, the palace empty. One dark, dusty room had old photographs and remnants of Victorian bric-a-brac.  The small formal garden in the courtyard was in decay; and the mechanical, decorative nineteenth-century Bundi murals around the courtyard had faded to blues and yellows and greens. In the inner rooms, hidden from the sun, brighter colours survived, and some panels were exquisite. But it all awaited ruin. The monsoon damp was rotting away plaster; water dripped through green-black cracks in underground arches; and the sharp smell of bat dung was everywhere.

All vitality had been sucked up into that palace on the hill; and now vitality had gone out of Bundi." A Wounded Civilizatiton by V.S. Naipaul. 

The ride from Mount Lavinia to Galle along the west coast of Sri Lanka, on a dark second-class train, seemed to show a "wounded" window into Sri Lanka. The station itself seemed subject to long decay. Spray painted iron columns made to look silver holding up old tin sheet roofs. Thick wooden benches, dark brown and heavy, from real hardwood, maybe one 50 years old or more. The sign to the mens lavatory "gents" to the right of the waiting platform, was clearly marked, the woman's unnoticeable. Inside the woman's bathroom there were two stalls with doors, squat toilet flushed with a bucket. The other 'stalls' had no doors, just holes in the ground divided by boards next to the open door. These bathrooms didn't promote privacy in a 'modest' country. However, the girls bathroom was much cleaner than the mens, Kevin said he could wait to use it. Maybe this is because there are hardly any woman to be seen in the train station. Among the many, the woman could be counted, maybe one or two. 

Behind a peached coloured solid wall that blocks the view to the ocean, grow luscious papaya trees, full with fruit (I think they are papayas). Men sit along the wall on long benches, each on "his own island". Among the occasional chatter the sound of modern Western music can be heard, the Twilight theme song was among them. An occasional crackly announcement in Sinhala, not Tamil or English, was announced, usually indicating the arrival of a train. Black crows, cawing in the background, and the occasional tiny bird.  A few flowers were plants with small attempts to beautify the waiting platform. The train felt as if it was on the cusp of abandonment yet it was in full use. 

In the background the occasional crash of the surf could be found but its breeze was unfelt. The smell of toilet and smoke wafted in our direction from time to time, and I noticed no garbage on the platform. 

Most of the people looked very respectable and clean shaven, but they didn't seem friendly. Everyone was solitary, perhaps anticipating the long day ahead with a tired dread. 

Occasionally a really poor looking man in his sarong and bare feet would go into the bathroom to get some water, perhaps this is where he got his daily washing done. He seemed to linger between the tracks beside a building in the shade. I wonder how me made money or found food. 

The people seem tired, self-contained sitting on the benches in their business clothes and black shoes. I wonder if they feel hot in them. 

The local trains into Colombo pass us over-loaded with people. Men hang out of the doors, stand on the foot boards used to enter the train, some holding onto the bars, other just the window frames. When the trian stops at the station, they get down to take a break, shaking their hands and arms. When the train is about to leave, they get back into their positions and ride off at a fast pace. The train is not steady, they rock and bounce, and I wonder how they manage to hold on, if their hands get sweaty.  The muslim man we talked to with his wives, they may have been his wives, said "It takes a strong mind". It really must. Though it is certain no woman could do that, because she would be in such close proximity to the men, which is why it is so easy to be groped on these trains. 

These crowded trains are only 6 or 7 cars long, Kevin and I couldn't understand why they couldn't extend them during rush hour. After 8 o'clock, the trains were literally empty and those seemed longer than the other ones.  

I noticed a sign as the trains passed it said, "travelling on foot stand is a punishable offence", if the cops came out around rush hour they'd certainly have a tough time getting all those people rounded up. But really, if they miss the train maybe they lose their jobs. Its times like these that I realize just how fortunate we are in Canada. We complain about local transport, but really, its first class compared to this. 

So we sat and observed, we had missed our first train and didn't want to risk running up the stairs as it moved by, we found out too late that it was our train. Besides it was so crowded. 

As we waited a man arrived followed by three woman in burkas. All three woman sat on one bench and the man sat alone on the other. He was an older man with a shoulder length beard. When we talked to him, I noticed he had chestnut brown eyes. Hit bottom teeth were missing except for a few that protruded up, a bit like fangs. He was friendly and had a warm smile. Kevin said he seemed kind of lonely. The woman talked to each other as he looked out for them. I don't think having three wives would be easy. I guess that the price you pay for polygamy. One woman can be bossy enough, but put women together that bossiness magnifies. The men deserve it thought, and really if she is only given a burka to express herself, I think she has every right to put her foot down in some way. To be fair though, maybe these woman were not his wives, still they may have followed him but they still seemed in charge. 

The man said he was a sports teacher in a high school and lived in Galle. He was visiting his daughter in Mount Lavinia. He asked us the usual questions, but he was kindhearted and not what I expected him to be when I first saw him.

We waited an hour for the next one, we could only get second class tickets, but we luckily found a seat.  

The train rides scenery was not really scenery, but a glimpse into the life of lower classed Sri Lankans. Their homes are shanty towns, constructed from bits of material, tin, wood, plastic, and any kind of scrap. Decorations were posters pasted on doors. Some yards were well swept, the occasional 'home' was littered with garbage, but most seemed as well maintained as such homes could allow. Woman could be seen sweeping the dust paths to appear more flat. They had already hung up laundry, perhaps yesterdays laundry. The coast line was sometimes empty and sometimes blocked by the shacks that seemed to grow along the train track. The smell of smoke was strong even in the train next to the coast line. Palm grew up high above, providing some shade. The shacks seemed to line the entire ride to Galle, occasionally some middle class homes with yards and gates among tall trees were dominant, but less so than the towns that seem to have no boarders. 

Christian grave yards with no trees, cows in 'pastures that seemed like empty parking lots with grass instead of concrete.

The train ride itself was bumpy, like "horse-back riding". Sometimes it went up and down and sideways simultaneously, shaking me into a motion sickness and giving me a headache by the end of the trip. Thank heavens we had seats thought. 

A man in a light beige uniform, with some medals and a crest that said "Railways protection Force" looked at our tickets and said good morning. He had a mustasch like many middle aged Sri Lankans in official costumes seem to have.  Like the president of Sri Lanka has in all the pictures we see of him in public places.

A man kept walking back and forth eying this and that, Kevin and I kept alert and I remembered the pepper spray in my purse. I am paranoid, but its a comfort knowing its there and it eases me in certain situations. Another man, who smelt strongly of cigarets, talked to us a little too much in our personal space. I felt uncomfortable, but we made friendly conversation and he eventually moved on.  

When we arrived at Galle train station we noticed many tourists. The highlight in the station for me was the old clock that hung near the platform. It looked like an old british railway clock, the ones you see in movies glowing yellow on a dark rainy day. The clock, like many clocks here, wasn't working, but it spoke of time and age.

As we exited a really aggressive three wheel driver approached us. We told him we wanted to walk, this made him angry, but we eventually got away, escaping up the stairs to a grocery where we bought water and cookies.

To end this segment I just wanted to comment on the quote I made above. Naipaul is talking about India, but in many ways it seems like he could also be speaking for Sri Lanka. The past indeed does seem rich, maybe though, it is the colonial past that I can see aging in buildings. I don't know what the past for Sri Lankans would be, but I imagine these foreign influences played a rich part in their lives as well as a negative one.

Their ancient history seems very important to them, or so they say. An old civilization rich with invention and splendour. It seems though, that this too is history, and the faces of the people, at least those going to work in Colombo or in the shanty towns, seem empty and withdrawn. Perhaps not as bad as "nothing beyond food-- and survival- have as yet become an object of ambition", but traces of this seem to show. Or perhaps I cannot see it. Indeed, some people, like the muslim man, did seem withdrawn, but when he address us, his smile was animated. Though, behind the Sri Lanka smile, there does seem to be this unspoken tension, maybe a sadness, that the smile does its best to camouflage.