Waiting Compartment (Ladies)

Like a tree bringing water from its roots to its leaves, I have been sucked back up into north India as a most natural course of action. After spending three nights on a train, a full day in the Hyderabad train station and one in the sleeper compartment squashed in with eight Indian men, I have been spit out on the other side back in one of my favorite locations: Varanasi. Every once in awhile I would peek down from my upper berth spot to witness the cocauphany of vendors yelling "chai, chai" (some loud enough to vibrate the pages in my book) and "veg cutlet," or to hear the jingling of little girls' anklets and see ticketless sadhus (holy men) lying on the floor and snoring vigorously, but mostly I tuned out on the train and rocked with the railroad ties.

In Hyderabad I had a mere twelve hour layover before my train came, and I was more than happy to see a sign that said "Waiting Compartment (Ladies)" in the station. Despite the fact that I looked at the "How to Save Your Life from a Moving Train" poster a thousand times (the last frame of twelve showing a man superimposed on the side of a train like Spiderman, with the comical final step: "Save the Life") it was maybe the shortest twelve hours of my life, with women of all castes and creeds coming up to chat with me in a refuge from the outside male-dominated India. Of course, Indian men do whatever they please, so there were a few husbands tending to their wives and children, but thankfully not the gawking type who hold hands, unconsciously grope their balls and stare unapologetically with gaping mouths. So I was happy to be away from the heat, intensity, and male attention for at least a few hours. Women in full black burkahs would enter from the oppressive heat, sweating and lifting their masks to fan each other, their deep brown eyes a mirror of my own and reflecting irritated but radiant smiles. One group of such women bombarded me with their babies, husbands' names, "where are you going"s, and finally "what are your qualifications?" I posed happily with them, me in a t-shirt and short pants and them in full purdah, while they clicked photos with each other's cell phone cameras.

One Hindu woman came up to me and asked me how to deal with the issue of child pregnancy and HIV awareness among teenagers. She was a school teacher in a village outside of Segundabad, and she was really struggling with these issues. I told her we learned about sex in school and from our parents, and as long as it was taboo to talk about in either place, I feel like these problems will continue to persist. I told her that we were taught that sex is a responsibility, that it is a natural, scientific fact that kids want to have sex after puberty, and that education (of women, especially) is huge. She confided that she had two teenagers, one a 17 year-old girl and a 19 year-old boy with a girlfriend, so the problem was more personal. Her husband said they shouldn't talk about sex before marriage so as not to encourage it, but she (probably rightfully) had her concerns. It was refreshing to have such an open conversation with an educated woman who works with youth.

She then surprised me by hesitantly changing the topic to: "and in your country, what do people do when they are married but have sexual feelings for other people? It's wrong, isn't it?" Sensing this was also a personal question and hoping that it didn't involve her husband with someone else, I gave her a general answer about divorce in our country and how that is a common way to avoid natural changes in affection. She surprised me again, and started telling me that this trip was not only for business, but actually a clandestine getaway with her lover of two years - the first they had dared to take. Her eyes welled with tears, and she said the village would stone her if they ever found out, and that she was terrified. I was shocked, Hindu women are never usually so forward, especially with a perfect stranger. Apparently this raggamuffin in the corner could provide her with some liberal viewpoints and a disinterested perspective (though I was very interested and held her hand to comfort her), and at one point she said, "it's like you are God, I just want to tell you everything!" I tried to side-step that one as best I could, thinking, "I'm not even a therapist or social worker equipped to deal with such issues, much less God!" To complicate matters more, her lover is a Christian and she is a Hindu, bringing together the wrath of two moral systems upon their small love affair. She assured me that she loved her husband and her children, and that "her friend" felt the same about his wife and kids, but they couldn't help their feelings for each other.

I listened to her with rapt attention, mostly surprised by such a new experience in this "Waiting Compartment (Ladies)." I finally told her that I had no answers for her, that I absolutely do not believe in heaven and hell, and that society always lags a little behind the human heart and she could only find her answers there. She looked over at a couple of Indian Christian nuns on the other side of the room, and whispered "if I told them, they'd give me a big slap!" We both laughed at that, sure myself that I deserved a couple of slaps from a nun for all of my own sins against the Christian doctrine, and then it was time. Terrified and thankful, she kissed me (another surprise) and left with tears streaming down her face to catch her train. What does one do in a society that does not allow for divorce, that silences its women, and that arranges its marriages? This little god does not know, but I know that I will keep that woman in my thoughts and prayers.

I got back on the train, and sat near a bunch of giggling, beautiful young women who immediately started up a conversation with me. A large man waddled over, took his place (shooing several away), and acted as interpreter of their almost perfect English. Me: "What are you studying?" Girls: "Business, right now." Fat man: "They are studying business!" Me: (nodding at the man in false appreciation) "Where is your school?" Girls: "Hyderabad" Fat man: "Their school is in Hyderabad!" Well, my "Waiting Compartment (Ladies)" time was over, but alas, I am in India. So many lives buzz around each other here, drama to absolute sky, and I have to say I enjoyed my little stint as a false diety in the corner for twelve hours.