A lot of people have written, at length, on how the name Double Decker is just a façade to mask what is quite plainly a train that will promise you no more than an uncomfortable ride. So when such a service was introduced between Kacheguda and Tirupati I had written it off as just another train introduced by ministerial whim. I knew not, of course, at the time, that this very train would later cause me to experience happiness in its purest form, if ever there was such a thing.
India is full of unpretentious locations by the trackside that often pass by as blurs whilst on the trains to more important destinations and of late I have been keeping my eyes wide open for such spots. After all where’s the thrill in visiting a popular picnic spot with dozens of gawking tourists to contend with.
Needless to say, on an earlier journey to Kurnool, on the same double decker, I was attracted by a bridge over the River Krishna not too far shy of Gadwal. Attracted enough to dream up a bordering on mad plan to drive all 190km up to the bridge, just to photograph the Tirupati bound Double Decker passing over.
So, one Saturday morning, whilst everyone else is going about their dull and monotonous routines, I am barreling down the highway on a Honda CBR, with my partner in crime, VK, on the way to the bridge.
I guess every rail fan has one thing about the railway that forms a connection down memory lane to their younger days when they first realized that the passing of a train is more than just a few tonnes of metal moving from A to B. And my connection is the River Krishna. A few hundred kilometers further north, at the Krishna station itself, as a child, I would watch the trains go by with that typical five year old’s excitement. Cut to 2014. Whenever I see a train, I still become that same five year old all over again.
I arrive on the banks of the river and size up the challenge. The world often looks very rosy from the confines of an AC coach of a train. Not so, once you really get off your backside and out amidst the elements. My mind has been imagining what the perfect shot would look like. It is soon evident that, in order to get that shot, I would have to wade into the river itself.
No matter, as my childhood experience from doing just that, kicks in and I am soon comfortably positioned for the dream photograph. VK chooses to remain on the banks but between the two of us we have all angles covered. Now it is just a matter of waiting. The irony of it all is striking. We as rail fans, spend hours in waiting for the passing of a train and at the end of it, all the drama finishes in all but a few seconds.
Alone in the river, having found a rock to take support from and prevent most of my body from getting wet, I begin to take stock of how quiet the whole place is. So quiet that I can hear my own breathing. So quiet that after a while it is scary. So quiet that the silence is deafening. All I do every day is blunder around, feeling my way through the humdrum of the city. Here, there’s not a soul around for miles. For a while my brain finds it difficult to take it all in. The profundity of being in close proximity to such silence is something that is hard to be put into words.
My ponderings are interrupted by the sound of a horn in the distance. I snap to attention. I am about to be witness to a train rumbling over the Krishna, of all rivers. There is a flurry of déjà vu. The coldest of shivers shoots down my spine. It is a Saturday, and I could be in a movie theater or some posh restaurant. Yet I find myself right in the middle of a river at the most obscure of locations, waiting for a train to pass. It is moments like this that I live for.
The horn gets louder. As does the chugging from the loco. I clutch my camera all the tighter. The last few seconds of waiting are more agonizing than the first hour. I feel my body go cold with excitement. My breaths become heavier. I glance at my camera screen one last time to ensure the settings are correct and take aim.
The Kacheguda-Tirupati Double Decker bursts onto the scene. With another blast of the horn, the train is on the bridge. As it passes, I notice how the blue of the locomotive pales in comparison to the bright red and yellow of the coaches behind it. The humming of the generator cars competes with the chugging of the loco. My finger holding the camera shutter is sweating, itching for me to press it further. But I force myself to hold on for a few extra seconds. The tension is electric. The train is now straight in front of me in the middle of the bridge. I can even see the people inside, silhouetted.
Click.
Even before the image comes up on my screen, I know I have shot an absolute cracker of a photograph. All the muscles in my body can now relax as I watch the last of the coaches disappear from view.
VK turns to look at me and gives me the thumbs up. I acknowledge. No words need be exchanged.
The apartment on wheels, as it were, had never been more beautiful.
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Perhaps it would be appropriate to mention that while I have experienced all this, on the other side of world, my dear friend, AKY, who actually wrote this mind blowing report only based on the text messages I've sent.
Freezing the moment of lifetime, getting it portrayed by your favorite writer, I think I am one lucky soul.
HD: https://www.flickr.com/photos/85992756@N05/14614493953/
