TRAVELING IN A LADIES’ COMPARTMENT
Sivaraju Subbalakshmi
I took the train from Delhi to Bezwada, my hometown. It was a second class ladies compartment. All
kinds of people were getting in and out of the compartment. Right away, watching them became my
pastime. There was no conversation with anyone but for an occasional “move, please,” or “where to?”
We were only four women in the compartment. One woman was sleeping on the upper berth. Another
woman occupied one entire corner with her children and the luggage From her clothing, I assumed she
was an Anglo-Indian. Another woman had been buying snacks and eating them without break to her
mouth, and assigning the job of throwing out the leaves, the skins, and the wrappers to those whoever
happened to look in her direction. Her clothes appeared to be that of a south Indian. She was wearing
a sari with horizontal stripes, a pair of shiny earrings; she had large lips; her hair was shabby and
curly; she was short; and, her face shone whenever she laughed. Ah, I forgot to tell you about the
woman who was lying next to me. She was tall and skinny; her skin was a kind of discolored white; she
had small eyes, long nose, and lips like a sketch of straight lines; her hair was straight and smooth—
each feature by itself looked okay, but, her face was lifeless, on the whole. We could tell she was a
Gujarati, based on the clothes she was wearing. And then, of course, me, sitting in another corner.
Each time the train stopped, somebody or other was asking “What station?” in Hindi, and somebody
else was replying accordingly. In between, whenever the fat lady leaned toward the window to buy
snacks, her massive body was smothering the child, and the child was screaming; then the mother
yelled at her in English. After a while, both settled in their own seats, making ugly faces and taking
sneaky peeks at each other without one noticing the other until more new faces popped up in the
compartment. They stopped their bickering and started watching the newcomers.
I was sitting by the window buying whatever I felt like. Unlike the fat lady, I did not have to bother
anybody. I sat there watching the trees as if they came to say goodbye to me; I craned my neck to
peek through the window. I was sad to leave them behind; their shadows seemed to be waving to me
and saying, ‘take care’.
Several stations had came and gone. People were getting in and out, a few at a time. Some of them
cursed us, each in their own language, because we stuck to our seats without budging, not even a bit.
They seemed to be hell-bent on finishing the fight and asserting their rights; instead, they remained at
the door waiting for their destination. They got off when their station arrived but only after throwing a
nasty look at us, as if they were saying, “we’ve to go, or else, we would’ve seen the end of you all. Our
bad luck!”
I was not sure when I’d fallen asleep, not sure how many stations had passed. I woke in Nagpur station;
my eyes were still shut though. Two women got in with a little girl, who looked like a baby rat, seven or
eight boxes, two rolls of bedding, four or five baskets, and a few other sundry items, and started
shoving them around. A man, who came to see them off, kept pushing my legs with the bedding until I
turned into a bundle myself.
I was annoyed by their attitude. I kicked the bedding and busted all their hard work.
Whatever they thought, they did not start an argument but moved their bedding to another side …
One of them laid the kid down and made room for the other woman to sit. Her eye landed on the space
in between. “It’d be nice if this ‘chariot’ moved a bit and made room for us”, one of them said and they
all giggled at their own sense of humor.
That “chariot” woke, gave them her invaluable opinion in her language, which was, they must not put
their luggage in her space; they’d better put them in the corner where all the other pieces were kept.
She returned to her sleep. The newcomers took her advice, moved the two boxes to the corner. In the
process however, one end of the box hit one woman, who, in turn, kicked the box with all her might.
The woman with the box fell on the “chariot”, cracking her bangles in the process. She said sorry and
got off of the “chariot”. The “chariot” cursed them in her polite language and in a high pitch.
My ears were nearly blasted off by what had followed—the guard blew the whistle, the man, who came
to send them off, panicked, turned around, slipped and fell on the platform.
The two women inside the compartment started hollering, “Oh! No, no. Are you hurt?” We must be
crazy for starting out this morning of all the days. Should’ve taken the first class compartment. Then,
we wouldn’t have all this hassle,” and so on.
“I’m fine, you be careful,” he said. The train started to move.
“We’ll wire you as soon as we got there,” the women inside shouted.
The train honked. The guard whistled. The entire hullabaloo pierced through my ears.
The second woman stood for a while, no guts to go elsewhere, I suppose. Then she lifted my sheet a
little, sat down, and pulled the sheet over her lap.
It was quiet for a while.
By the time I woke again, the Anglo-Indian woman and the other two, who had gotten in last, were
bickering loudly. I sat up, mechanically. The train stopped at some big station. I understood the real
problem finally—the Anglo-Indian lady’s hand hit the other woman’s water jug and broke it. The
squabbling started thus.
The guard came. The Anglo-Indian lady was whining. The guard said something to both of them and
left.
The squabbling subsided. Two more women got in, looked around, laid their eyes on the woman in the
middle, tapped on her shoulder, and woke her. The woman looked at them as if she wanted to fight
them, opened her mouth, looked at their sizes, changed it into a yawn, moved and made room for
them. We could see in a second that their attitudes were a notch higher but not lower than hers.
The women, who had gotten in before, were jealous since this woman lying on the seat did not make
room for them. They said to the new arrivals, admiringly, “She gave you the space only because you
are YOU. Do you know what a rumpus she’d raised with us earlier! She is acting like she owns the
compartment”.
The new arrivals kept eyeing us—the woman across from them, the one lying down, and me—and kept
grousing. The woman across from me told the one next to me how to make herself comfortable. Taking
her advice, the woman next to me stretched her legs across my body to the window, and settled down
to sleep.
I wiggled restlessly. Her legs slipped slowly from my chest to my waist and into my lap. I was ticked off. I
whacked her rudely.
She was pretending to be asleep. She jerked, woke, and said grumpily, “Why whack so hard? You can
say it gently, can‘t you?”
“You’re sleeping like a log, you don’t even know your legs are in my lap. How can I wake you gently?” I
said.
“I was asleep and my legs slipped. What’d you suggest I do?” she said.
“I suggest you keep your legs to yourself,” I said.
“Oh, you think you’re smart. You keep your mouth to yourself and talk.”
The other two jumped in and supported her.
This went on for a while. The woman on the upper berth, probably out of pity for me, started arguing
with them. She looked frail but the words from her mouth were flying with full force. The other two were
thrilled, supplied a few more choice words to her to their hearts’ content.
I noticed more people were on my side and I raised my voice too. Other travelers were getting in and
out of the compartment in between. They looked at the two women and us, and were flabbergasted.
The squabble spread into several other totally irrelevant areas. Each one said whatever came to her
mind, making fun of everything—from the clothes to the jewelry one was wearing. It went on for a while.
Then, it was time to eat. The train pulled into some station. Everybody tried to move closer to the
windows and the door. Somebody stumbled on one of the boxes and kicked it effortlessly, as if it was a
small ball. The box’s owners could not assault her. They looked at each other; one of them said to the
other, “Oh, no! It’s full of glass items. I’m worried, thinking what could’ve happened to them.”
Their looks annoyed the woman who kicked the box. She let them have it, “What do you want me to
do? Who asked you to bring so much luggage? You kept them in the way. Who can put up with that
stuff? If they’re broken, throw ‘em out.”
Her attitude made the two women scowl. They remained quiet though.
They started ordering whatever they felt like eating. I took chappati. The two women with the luggage
brought food in carriers. They said, showily, “we don’t eat all kinds of stuff you get everywhere.” They
looked at me, and said, “We can’t eat those chappatis, they’re like leather.”
The women sitting across from me also brought chappati, I believe. They said, “These chappatis taste
lot better than that stale food. Who knows how old that is.”
***
We reached Bezwada early in the morning, still swapping a few small words but no huge bickering.
I was looking for my husband through the window. I saw our servant Guravayya at a distance. He was
coming toward my compartment, rubbing his eyes. I was ready to leave but had to wait until the two
women unloaded all their luggage. Does the train wait that long? It’s in the hands of god only! I thought
I would not have the time to say goodbye to my fellow travelers later. I said, “Goodbye” to them, while
still on the train.
They said, “You get down. We’ll pass the luggage to you.”
I looked around for a way out.
They suggested, “Step on the boxes and walk out.”
Another woman suggested, “Why walk on them? Just kick them out. We’ll have more room.”
The boxes’ owner grumbled, “What do you’ve got to lose?”
I did not have much luggage. I took one box in my hands. The woman next to me handed me my
bedding, the small basket and the carry on bag.
I saw Guravayya and told him to take the luggage.
He said, “Ayya garu didn’t say anything about you coming, ma’am. He said he’d got some telegram,
some ladies are coming with luggage. Told me to bring them home. Now I can’t see ayya garu
anywhere. .. I’m looking for ayya garu.”
“Alright. Let’s go. The train’s here for quite sometime now. Maybe they’ve left.”
“Don’t I have to look for them one more time? Maybe, it’s okay since you’re here. If you tell ayya garu,
he’ll not yell at me. Let’s go,” he said.
I looked at the women in the compartment again, waved goodbye, and walked outside.
“Amma garu, our car is here. I’ll put the box here, you can sit on it,” he said.
“You bring two rickshaws. We don’t know how many of them are coming. Is the house locked?”
“No, amma garu. The cook is home, you know,” he replied.
I came home, finished the chores, took bath, and had Guravayya sweep the rooms and tidy them up. It
was past 7:00. No sight of “he”, or, “those who are supposed to be coming.”
Guravayya said he wanted to go home and left.
The kanakambaram plants wilted. I squatted to hollow around the roots.
The cook came and said, “I’ll do it, Amma!” He heard the car honking and went to open the gate.
The luggage filled one half of the front room. I heard my husband’s voice, “Are all the pieces in?”
“Abbha! One should never travel in a ladies compartment, I must say. I’ve learned my lesson. One half
of the luggage has been ruined,” one of the guests was lamenting.
My husband called the cook and asked, “Is Guravayya back yet? Where’s he?”
“He came back with amma garu and went home.”
“Amma garu is back? Where’s she?”
“By the plants in the backyard,” the cook said.
“What is this? You’re home, no letter, nothing?” my husband said to me.
“I’ve written, maybe, you didn’t see it. Even if you’d seen it, you’ll send only Guravayya to the station. I
saw him in the station and came home with him,” I said.
He turned pale, stared at me, and said, “Rani garu is angry, I suppose. Look, my friend’s wife and his
sister are here. See if they need anything. They are chewing me up since morning.”
“How would I know what they want. You take care of them yourself.”
He grabbed my hand and started walking, pulling me along with him, “You’re sweet, please, come.”
I pulled back my hand, saying, “What’s this? Monkeying around?”.
I peeked into the front room. Guess what, It was the same two women, my fellow travelers in the train.
They were sitting on the sofa with their legs up and relaxed. They put the little girl on the carpet and
gave her something to munch. She was crushing the food and splattering it all over the carpet, and on
top of it, dabbing her hands, covered with her drool, on the carpet. It was nauseating.
My husband introduced me to them.
They stared at me, probably they also were annoyed. They had that look on their faces—the same
“SHE! Do we have to put up with her here too” look.
“They’re here too,” I was thinking. The older woman collected herself and started lecturing on the
friendship between her husband and Rama Rao (my husband) in great detail. She said her husband
had sworn that he would not attend Rama Rao’s wedding if the bride had not been his sister, and it
had not happened only because the horoscopes had not matched; or else, it would have been
impossible for anybody to stop the wedding, and for that reason, she had had full rights in this house
… She went on like this for a while.
The cook brought coffee and served to them. She, sipping coffee, continued to tell how crazy Rama
Rao had been about her husband’s sister. She said to Rama Rao, “She still has the saris you’d sent to
her from Benares. She keeps them as precious.”
Rama Rao, changing the subject, said, “There’s a lot see in this town. You may want to get ready
quick. Or else, you will not have time to see all the places.”
”What’s there to see here, anyways. We’ll just go to the temple and be back,” she said, leaning back in
the sofa. He might be thinking that she would not stop if she started on her pet subject again. He left
the room saying, “I’ve to take bath.”
By the time they were ready to go, it was past 10:00. He asked me to go with them.
“I’m not feeling well, I can’t go,” I said.
“Since you’re staying home, I can leave the child here. What’d you say?” the younger woman said.
I was boiling inside for all their talk. I said, “I’m no good with kids. Take her with you.” Then, I added,
“He’s there to carry the baby, if she cries,” thereby settling the score with my husband.
They were back by 2:00 in the afternoon.. Rama Rao was used to eating early; late meals would give
him headaches.
They sat down to eat. “Amma, saapada ille (did not eat)” the cook said in Tamil.
“Call amma,” Rama Rao said.
The cook came to me and said, “Ayya garu is calling you.”
I went into the kitchen, sat in front of a leaf, away from the rest, and started eating without speaking
one word.
The older woman was hassling the younger one. “You two would not leave the temple. It was such a
struggle for me to keep the kid quiet. Had you gotten out early, we would have visited them (other
friends) too.”
Her words jabbed me at my heart. Whenever I asked my husband to go to the temple with me, he
would say, “you go.”
The younger woman said, crossly, “Ha, like you don’t take time to get ready, you’re pointing fingers at
me. Anyway, me traveling with you, why on earth did I do that?”
It was 4:00 by the time they were done arguing. “We’ll take the night train, not this one,” they said.
They sat on either side of Rama Rao and continued to blabber again.
They got ready to leave after finishing the supper at night. I kept avoiding them—saying I was not
hungry to eat, not feeling well to go to the station, ... …
The train was late, I suppose. It was very late by the time my husband returned home. I put the cot in
the yard and lay down, dozed off
He came in, brought another cot, put it next to mine, and lay down. He fell asleep soon enough. Earlier,
I was thinking of what I wanted to say to him, had he asked. Now, not only he did not wake me, he slept
without a care in the world. It made my blood boil. I wanted to jump and dig my nails into his skin. I kept
rolling on the cot as if I was rubbing off my anger on the bed. Finally, he pulled his cot closer to mine,
gently patted me and laughed. I fell asleep, not sure when.
It was quite late in the morning. I woke. He was not on the bed. I fell asleep again. I heard a horse-
drawn cart in the front yard, raised my head to see who it was.
The two women were back with all their luggage. My mind was empty, not a single thought in it. After a
while, I started thinking clearly—how come they’re back?
They both started cursing and screaming at the cart-driver because he asked for more money. He too
was firing back. With all the noise, my husband woke and looked at me, puzzled. I pointed toward the
guests. He was also confused, wondered how this could have happened—they showing up at our door
again? He lay back on the cot.
The older woman came in gasping, and told him, “See how he’s talking! No manners at all. Kick him
out.”
The younger woman managed to pacify the cart-driver and send him away. She came in, walking
daintily like a movie star. She said only she could send him away and that nobody ever listened to the
older woman. That set off the older woman into a fit of crying. Both started bickering again.
I went into the kitchen. My husband followed me, trying to say something.
The older woman came in, ranting as always, “The baby’s crying for milk. Tell the cook to bring some
milk.”
The cook brought coffee for all of us.
Then, the older woman told us what had happened earlier. They had met another man on the train. He
asked them where they were going. The two women told him that they were going to attend a wedding;
they told him the name and the surname of the groom’s father. The man said, “Oh, no. They all had
left for Tirupati yesterday. The wedding will take place on the hill. Don’t you know?” The two women
were worried, What now. Then the same man suggested that they could get off this train, and go back
to Bezwada on the next train and go to Tirupati the next day. With his help, they moved from this train
to that train and suffered quite a bit in order to get back to our house.
My husband said, “Had you taken the passenger train, you would’ve reached Tirupati by night.”
The younger woman said, “No way I can travel again. If she wants, she can go”, and lay back in the
sofa and closed her eyes.
The older woman said, “What kind of talk is that? We came here for the wedding. It’s not nice to go
back without attending the wedding. Isn’t that right, Ramu?”
My husband said, “You must go. It wouldn’t be nice if you don’t go.”
The younger woman was stubborn. She said, “Whether it is nice or not, I’m not going.”
Rama Rao said with a faint smile, “If you don’t feel like going, okay, cancel it.”
I pretended as if I had something to do in the other room, went in, returned with an invitation and asked
my husband, “You didn’t tell me about Venkatesam’s wedding.”
“Oh, I forgot. It is not too far. We can go by car,” he said.
The older woman said, “She can go,” pointing to me.
Rama Rao said, the bride was actually his relative, and so, he must attend the wedding. He said to me
to pack for the trip.
“If you’re gone, what is the point of our staying here. Let’s go,” the older woman begged the younger
one. She asked Rama Rao to put them on the passenger train first and then go to the wedding.
The younger woman turned to Rama Rao and suggested that they could leave some luggage here,
and that would allow them more time to straighten their boxes.
Rama Rao looked at his watch, “No time. Even otherwise, your luggage is not much compared to the
boxes the wedding party will have. I’ll help you with loading here, and on your way back, the wedding
party will take care of it.” He called the cook and asked him to bring a horse-drawn cart and help load
the boxes.
Rama Rao came in. I was sitting on a box, thinking what I should say if the two women asked, “May we
come again?”
“What are you thinking? Come, get up,” he took my hand and pulled.
“You go with them. After you return from the station, we can go to the wedding from here,” I said.
“Come on,” he seized my hand and pulled again.
“Wait. Let me change into another sari,” I said.
By the time everybody was ready, it was time for the train. We rushed to the station. My husband ran
to the counter, bought the tickets, and put them in the ladies’ compartment. He said there was more
room in it.
“Orey, son, Rama Rao.” We heard somebody call from behind.
Parvatamma came to us, gasping.
“Where are you going, kodalaa!” she said, addressing me.
“You get in first. There isn’t much time,” my husband held Parvatamma’s hand and helped her into the
compartment.
“Son, this is upper class, I think. Here, see this, my ticket is not for this compartment.”
“You get in. We can pay the difference and change it to this. There is no time to find another
compartment,” my husband said and took the ticket to the guard for exchange.
“Why aren’t you aboard?” Parvatamma asked me.
I told her that we were not traveling, and that we came only to send off our friends, and asked her
whether she was attending Venkatesam’s wedding.
“I am coming from there only. I went there last week. The wedding has been canceled. The bride’s
grandmother died suddenly. I think your husband knows about it too. Venkatesam said he had told
him.”
“I don’t know. I was out of town, returned just yesterday. The train is moving. Be careful,” I said.
My husband came rushing and handed her the ticket.
Parvatamma would not keep quiet. “You do know that Venkatesam’s wedding has been canceled, don’t
you?” she asked him.
My husband looked at the two women, fearing they might hear this conversation. They were busy
spreading the sheets so they would not have to get up when others got into the compartment.
My husband walked along the moving train, and said to them, “See you next time.”
“Many thanks. We’ll come again, and will not leave until we had spent a few days with you,” they said.
“Of course, you must,” said my husband and waved.
Parvatamma shouted, “Santha, see you later. Son, you must come to Bapatla to visit us.”
The train was gone. My husband and I did not speak to each other until we were outside the station.
He told the cook to go home and make supper for us, “We will be home later.”
“I’ll go home now,” I said.
He said, “Stop grouching. Get into the car.”
I sat in the car, a little away from him.
“It seems you know the wedding has been canceled.,” I said.
“I don’t know … I said that only to send them away.”
“That’s a lie. Acting like you don’t care about them. If you don’t, how come you walked along the
moving train and talked to them. If you cared about her so much, you should have married her only.
Why did you marry me?”
“To tease you,” he laughed.
“And they tease you?”
He burst into a big laugh.
***
(The Telugu original, Aadavaalla pettelo prayaanam, was published and included in the anthology,
Sivaraju Subbalakshmi kathalu. 1998).
(Translated by Nidadavolu Malathi)