19th February - Happy Shivaji Jayanti Y'all

There have not been any ludicrous early starts on this trip but today we have a 7.55 a.m train. Doesn't sound too bad but first we have to get out to Bandra Terminus, 30 minutes ride by local from CST, followed by a kilometre or so walk from Bandra Suburban station. The alarm is set for 5.40 but something wakes us at 5.15 so we get up and get on. The night desk manager appears delighted to have the chance to unleash the housekeeping team on a room this early. We feel a bit sorry for our neighbours.

Mumbai on a dark early morning is a bit unsettling for namby pamby westerners who are not used to people sleeping on pavements or small furry things scurrying about everywhere. Some of the furry things are not too small either. At CST we stand in the local concourse watching the screens for a Bandra train. Large  numbers of uniformed Sea Cadets are arriving on different trains and heading out of the station to some sort of event. A man in a rather grubby kurta walks in circles around us.'A bit like a circling shark' says R, attempting to lighten the mood. Our train pulls into Platform 2 and we walk along the platform to the first class section. Normally we would not attempt to take serious luggage on a suburban train but outbound trains are mainly empty at this time. Just before the train leaves the Shark enters our compartment and sits in a corner behind us. Should we be worried?

The local takes the Harbour Branch out of CST, running alongside Mumbai's vast area of dockyards as daylight floods in from the east. The Shark gets off the train at Sewri, leaving us in splendid isolation. There is a further change of direction as we turn inland, heading north west to join the Western railway just south of Bandra. The railway is lined with small shacks and shanties, not the infamous Dharavi slum area but not far off it. At Bandra we climb the steps up to the footbridge and turn east. There are numerous auto drivers anxious to do business. One even wants to take us on a sightseeing tour of Bandra despite the fact that we are carrying our packs. Looking at the traffic jam outside the station we will probably be quicker walking. The map app takes us up onto a flyover that is carrying very little traffic but which takes us straight to where we need to be.

Bandra Terminus is not one of the grand, imposing edifices of the Victorian era. It is more British Rail Depressing 80s in style, with a corresponding level of amenities. We buy biscuits from the solitary catering barrow. He only has one kind but luckily we like them.Our train is in the platform and boarding. Coach A2 is quickly located and we join the crowd. For reasons that are not clear we have been allocated lower berths 1 and 9, in separate but adjacent bays. The first bay seems to be rather overpopulated already but when we announce that we are ticket holders for berth 1 people move and we get our two big packs under the seat. We put the other stuff under berth 9 and return to the first bay.

One of the occupants of berth 3 ​is a chap in his thirties who has very good English. He tells us to sit down together on berth 1 and negotiates for the rightful owner of the seat occupied by R to remove himself to 9, which he seems happy to do. The other occupant of 3 is an older man, who turns out to be the younger man's wife's aunt's husband. Do keep up. The aunt and husband are returning to Shimla after a visit to Mumbai. D recovers the rest of our luggage. Our benefactor tells us that the train eventually goes to Katra, a famous pilgrimage town, and that it will be full of groups of pilgrims, scattered around the coaches. Swapping of seats to be together is very much part of the experience. 

A chai walla happens by and we signal for two cups. The young man buys one and upbraids the vendor for not supplying the small packets of biscuits that are apparently part of the specification for an IR cup of tea. The biscuits are hastily produced , a packet of two Marie's for each of us. In numerous train trips over seven years this basic consumer right had passed us by. Between us we can only remember one occasion when biscuits were supplied with chai on a regular train. As departure time approaches the aunt appears and there is a small orgy of leave-taking featuring the niece and various unidentified female relatives. The younger man wishes us a safe journey and we thank him for his help. Bang on time the train glides out and then stops a few hundred metres on.

Once we get going both Auntie and her husband are quite chatty with pretty good English. She and R compare ailments. She tells us that she is 72 and hubby is 84. They both look well for their age although he now has to use a stick. We lose count of how many bags Auntie has. There is one for sandwiches,  another with green beans and a pale green vegetable, a bit like a smooth gherkin, that we have not seen before.  She also has a huge handbag and some kind of small duffel bag, each of which contains a mobile phone which ring from time to time, although Auntie appears not to hear these. In her hand she carries a smartphone which is apparently new to her. She has managed to switch on the torch and cannot switch it off again. D is able to sort this out for her.

The train soon clears the outer Mumbai suburbs and speeds across flat countryside that looks like it floods during the monsoon. In some places there are salt flats, whilst on the drier land, sugar cane seems to be the main crop. Vodafone send D a text to welcome him to Gujarat. At one point the TTE sits down with us to eat his breakfast. The train keeps pretty much to time until after we leave Surat, the original base of the East India Company. There are track works in progress and there is a lot of slow running. It does give D the opportunity to get a picture of the station nameboard at Kim, partly making up for the disappointment of missing Ib. A couple of stops after Kim we go through Kosamba, the junction for one of the surviving Narrow Gauge lines. Sadly we were through the restrictions and back up near full speed as we passed, making a picture of two parked locos rather difficult.

We take our leave of Auntie and husband at Vadodara Junction. It used to be Baroda as in the second B of BB&CI Railway,  and everybody still seems to call it that. We take an auto as we leave the station as we are not certain how to get to our hotel, the Valiant. The address is 7th floor, BBC Tower. The auto wallah asks 50 rupees and promptly takes us about 300 yards but at least we found it. The security guard helps us get our luggage and ourselves into the tiny lift and sends us upwards. We check in and are shown to a 'suite room' on the eighth floor. This is a normal room with a sofa at one end and a pair of net curtains that can be drawn to divide the room. We also have a balcony but no kettle or fridge. For a few minutes there is a procession of staff bringing towels, loo roll, soap, our passports and more towels. It is not the worst hotel that we have had in India but not the best either. The plumbing has certainly seen better days.

We sort ourselves out and go out in search of a light lunch. It feels even hotter than Mumbai, there is no shade and an almost total absence of people. We find a cafe along the street and order black tea and uttapams. Samosas is orf. The uttapams are really good but we forget to specify no sugar with the tea which is more like black syrup when it comes. When we emerge the street is still quiet but suddenly a wedding party emerges out of a doorway and some music is cranked up to massive volume through a really cruddy sound system. It is painful and we leg it round the corner PDQ. We are keeping an eye open for possible dinner venues and notice a couple of places. A search for shade takes us down a side street into a market area, mainly veg, but a few other stalls as well. There are lots of the pale green smooth gherkin things but we still don't suddenly know what they are. Suddenly everybody wants to say hello and have their photo taken. It is the sort of response we have had before in places that do not see too many tourists. The shade runs out and we turn back towards the hotel with a late siesta in mind.

Our slumbers are disturbed by the thumping beat of heavily amplified music. At first we assume that the wedding has moved into a new phase but the sound quality is much better. From our eighth floor window we can see some sort of procession heading very slowly, but energetically, our way. We get a great view from the balcony as it appears from behind a building.  First there is an agricultural tractor towing a large generator which is connected with heavy duty cables to a flatbed truck that has great banks of speakers and a mixing desk. Behind this is the first echelon of dancers, all young men who look to have been chosen for their stamina. They are really giving it laldy. The next lot of dancers are a bit less energised and then, after another gap, there are the massed ranks of women swaying and dancing. Interspersed amongst them are people carrying and waving orange flags and a significant number of the participants are dressed in orange. At the very back is a man dressed up in robes and headgear, seated on a throne on a hand pulled cart. A very impressive display altogether,  but what is it in aid of?  We quickly discount the possibility that it is a protest against the Bombay Prohibition Act 1949 and it seems to be too much fun to be political. A quick web search leads is to conclude that it is a celebration of Shivaji Jayanti, the birth date of 17th century Maharastrian hero Chhatrapati Shivaji. We were caught up in this once before in Jalgaon, where we were made to pose for photos with men in orange finery.

What excitement and now it is time for supper. We consult LP and decide on a restaurant in a hotel across town. The auto ride costs 150 so this better be worth it. The restaurant has been downgraded to a cafe, mineral water is served without glasses and the indian menu is off. We can have Chinese.  We pay for our water and leave. An auto back to the station costs 60 rupees and leaves us a short walk. Our excursion was not a total waste as it gave us a good idea of where things are in Baroda. Another recommended eatery is called Kansaar, on the street behind our hotel. We find this without difficulty.  There is no menu as the only option is Gujarati thali. We are served chaat in a small bowl as an appetiser then the bowls on our thali trays are filled with various veggie dishes, some of which we recognise and some that we don't.  There are poppadoms,  chapattis,  biscuit like things that are quite sweet and a small roti covered in what appears to be refined brown sugar. The waiter goes to pains to point out the dessert items and stresses that we should leave them to the end of the meal. The sugar coated roti is not one of these items. Waiters continually do the rounds topping up individual dishes. Well into the meal some light, fluffy rice arrives but we are almost ful by now. This feast costs us Rs 250 each (£3).

Baroda is noticeably more lively at 9 p.m. than it is at 3 p.m. and we need to dig out the earplugs. The celebrations have turned into firework displays which we can't really see but can certainly hear.