Sunday, July 16, 2000		Article

THE die-hard ‘chuffer buff’ in me was saddened when I learnt that the century-old steam engines of the toy train to Darjeeling had been replaced by diesel locos. Though the railways have their own compulsions; the change does signal the end of an era and a losing romance of the hill rails!

The hill railways of India are a quaint heritage of the past and provide vintage vignettes of the days of the Raj. Unfortunately, they are now threatened either with closure or face ugly modernisation. However, these railways are more than merely means of transportation. They may be slow, outmoded and uneconomical, but as they trundle on their beaten tracks, they symbolise an era of graciousness, when the journey was a joy as important as the destination.

The Darjeeling Himalayan Railway runs a blue-coloured 2-feet gauge toy train that has been accorded the World Heritage Status by UNESCO. Till recently it was hauled by antique steam locomotives built by Sharp and Stewart company of Glasgow in 1889, with flashy names like the Mountaineer, Rover or Primrose. The train to Darjeeling is at its picturesque best when it takes a U-turn at Ghoom, located at nearly 8500 ft above sea level. Gliding through tea gardens, hamlets of red-roofed tile houses, monasteries and temples, it runs along the vehicular road. At the unmanned level crossing en route, it is the train that halts for the faster vehicular traffic to pass-by, instead of the latter. No one seems to take the train quite seriously anyway. Often the engine driver has to stop the train before passing through a tunnel to shout at the youngsters perched atop the bogies to get down.

I also remember with nostalgia the annual family sojourn to Shimla (then Shimla), during my childhood days. Down the memory track, flash past reminiscences of the passage to the hills. More than just the excitement of being there, it was also the thrill of travelling by the tiny hill train. The locomotive — looking like a little ‘iron-horse’ — was a great source of wonderment. It kept billowing out smoke from the stack and seemed to have an insatiable appetite for coal. Suddenly the engine would let out sharp and shrilly "toots" and with a laboured groan, jerk the train into motion. At steep gradients, the engine huffed and puffed, and one quite sympathised with it, for its uphill task. But now, of course, powerful diesel locomotives haul the train, and the old steam engines of yore are merely relics of the past.

Another interesting and exclusive mode of rail travel to Shimla, still possible, is by the rail motor car. The tiny white and blue rail car powered by a petrol engine — initially used for inspections by the railway officers — reaches Shimla swiftly, within 4 hours.

The picturesque beauty of the hill railways of India inspired even the famous Hollywood film director, David Lean, to picturise the ‘toy train’ to Ooty, in his film: A Passage to India, based on E M Forester’s famous 1924 classic.

This tiny blue and cream train, chugging up the Nilgiri hills, hauled — till recently — by an antique, Swiss-made steam locomotive, is as pictorial as it was nearly a century ago. Now I understand, that, this too has been changed to diesel traction.

One boards the train at the railhead Mettupalyam. The first class compartment is jam-packed with an over-enthusiastic holiday crowd but a spirit of bonhomie prevails and everyone in the cramped compartment is accommodated. The advantage of being in the first class is that you have a clear frontal view of the track ahead, because the train is pushed by the locomotive and not pulled. Each coach has a projecting balcony from where the brakeman operates special handbrakes, in addition to the vacuum brakes operated by the engine driver. The two communicate with each other by an ingenious code system of whistles and flags.

Up to Kallar, the track is straight and without much gradient. Beyond Kallar, the famous rack rail system of the Nilgiri Railway begins. It consists of "two toothed steel bars laid in a double row above the running rails so that the tooth of one rail is directly opposite to the gap in the other. This ensures that the engine pinions do not work-off the racks when negotiating curves.

The Nilgiri Railway is truly a marvellous engineering feat, considering the time when it was built and the natural hardships which its engineers had to face. Although it is hard to pinpoint the exact time a railway to Ooty (now called Udagamandlam) was started, it was perhaps sometime in 1873.

In the 19-odd kilometre distance between Kallar and Conoor, the train climbs 4,363 ft. and the line crosses lofty viaducts and passes through nine tunnels, the longest being 31 ft. in length. As the train climbs along the sharp escarpment, the cool mountain air and panoramic scenery have an almost hypnotic effect. The ‘clang’ of the rails becomes a rhythmic rhapsody and the deep forests cast playful dapples of light and shadow.

From the bright sun-bathed slopes, you enter dark tunnels where the sound of the train reverberates with a loud echo. The mountain curves are so sharp in a few areas that the tiny train often appears to be chasing its own tail!

After ‘refreshing’ itself at a number of old, little railway stations, with fancy English names, the train reaches Conoor, the mid-way point to Ooty.

Conoor, located at 6,000 ft., has a magnificent building for a railway station. As the only major passenger train of the day steams in, the somnolent station awakens to a flurry of activity. Passenger disembark for a brief stroll and amble down the platform to enjoy steaming hot cups of coffee and spicy vadas. The old locomotive probably tired by the arduous journey is replaced with a new one for the remainder of the trip and after a halt of 15 minutes the train resumes its journey.

The track, from Conoor on, is without rack railway and so the train speed is faster along this stretch. With the increase in altitude, the air becomes nippy and mountains get wrapped in cold mist.

About an hour-and-a-half from Conoor, you are at Lovedale. The weather suddenly becomes inclement. The sky is overcast with dark menacing clouds and a few sharp showers can make it cold. The train takes one last sharp turn. And there she lies, the Queen of the Mountains — Ooty — spread out along the expanse of a shimmering lake.

You steam into the station. The long but memorable train ride is over. But then, you can always take it back on the return journey. And that is exactly what I did!

In our present age of super-fast trains these tiny trains, keep alive the romance of hill railways.