The Bazaar Comes Too On A Train Journey to Assam

Passengers on the Brahmaputra Mail are entranced by an endless stream of hawkers, chai-wallahs and entertainers

By Rick Beven

Mobile bazaar ... vendors sell snacks to passengers on a train in India. Photograph: Kapoor Baldev/Sygma/Corbis

The Brahmaputra Mail from New Delhi to Dibrugarh in Upper Assam traverses most of northern India in a gentle parabola. When we got on at New Jalpaiguri in West Bengal the train was already 36 hours into its journey and was still a day from Dibrugarh.

Trolley service started immediately. Chai-wallahs strode through our carriage carrying huge kettles. Egg-wallahs followed with metal pails of boiled eggs shelled in a matter of seconds and served on squares of torn newspaper. Once under way, our train became a mobile bazaar. An endless stream of hawkers flooded through the carriage.

One reversed a battery-charged armoured car across the floor in front of a bored five-year-old. An itinerant cobbler fixed the zip on my neighbour's suitcase. A priest in a grey Nehru jacket offered us blessings for a fee.

We passed a troop train of turbaned Sikh soldiers, the regimental chefs peeling potatoes in an open wagon at the back of the train. Lunch arrived: foil plates of chicken biryani completely immune to our plastic cutlery.

A young boy holding a tin can led a blind singer through our carriage. Children swept the rubbish from under our seats before coming back to claim baksheesh. I watched them jump off at the next station to catch the down train and allow a new crew on.

There was a sudden flutter of excitement as a troupe of transgender hijras in shimmering saris and bangles passed through our carriage demanding dance money. It is considered unlucky to refuse.

I whispered the names of the stations we passed: New Cooch Behar, Bongaigaon, Bijni. Our arrival made them boil with activity. There were blue trolleys on bicycle wheels selling hot flaky puris with a gravy of potatoes and peas. Kiosks labelled "South Indian Food" sold masala dosas as large and fragile as teak leaves. Passengers got out to fill their silver tiffin boxes and casually stepped back on to the moving train.

Just before Guhawti the train clanked across a bridge over the limpid silver of the Brahmaputra river. A group of musicians in white dhotis pushed into the carriage amid a cacophony of drums and cymbals, while two girls of exquisite beauty danced a traditional Assamese dance. Our in-train entertainment had finally arrived.