Unveiling Contrasts Part II
Unveiling Contrasts Part II
An experience in a train ride.
Iwas intrigued by the contrast of my bus ride in Sri Lanka, and I wanted to experience a suburban train. The train tracks evoked memories of my childhood trips.
So, I found myself at the ticket counters in Colombo station, the central station in the capital. I felt like I had travelled back in time as I saw the wooden counters that looked like they belonged to another era, maybe half a century ago when I lived in Sri Lanka. Each counter had a row of iron rods as a fence for the queue. Behind the small window with grills, a man was issuing tickets. He would take the money in cash and give paper cardboard tickets after pressing them with a hand-operated machine that made a loud thumping noise.
The station was crowded with people from different walks of life, but I noticed a trio: an old woman, a younger woman who looked like her daughter, and a teenage boy who seemed to be the older woman’s grandson. They had bags of rags and a pile of clothes. They seemed lost and scared in the station as if they had never been to Colombo Fort station. I empathised with them as I also struggled to navigate the unfamiliar ticketing system and the barred gates. I wanted to help them, but I could only observe them discreetly.
I was lost and confused, with no signs to guide me. The announcements were in Sinhala only, and the announcer used a flat monotone voice. I couldn’t understand anything he said. I needed to find out where to go for my train, so I asked a rail worker guarding a gate. He directed me to platform four. As I climbed the overhead bridge that connected the platforms, the steps were a sad sight, dirty and needing repair.
I saw the trio again, wandering on the bridge’s walkway, looking lost and confused. The boy, his mother and grandmother held their bags and scanned the station. I felt sorry for them, even though I was a stranger in this strange place. I decided to reach out to them. “Excuse me, do you need any help?” I asked them kindly. They turned to me with surprise and gratitude. The grandmother smiled and nodded. “Yes, please. We are trying to get to Ambalangoda, but we don’t know which platform to go to,”. “Ambalangoda, in the southern line. I’m heading in that direction. You can follow me to platform four”. “Thank you so much. You are very generous,” the grandmother said. The boy looked at me with curiosity and respect. We walked down the steps and reached platform four. They followed me closely, thankful for my guidance. I got on the train in that mass of a large crowd.
The train compartments were unlike anything I am used to. The train’s doors were open while the train was moving. Some young men hung on the steps; some sat on them as the train sped by. The passenger seats were neglected. The whole train felt like it needed a makeover. The stations I passed were from another era and not cared for.
It was a unique experience. I may have high standards for public buses and trains. Millions of Sri Lankans make do with what is offered to them.
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