MURGI BABA AND FAMILY CHALE RAIL GAADI MEIN

There are joint families. Then there are disjoint families travelling together on trains. Gulliver's travels pales in comparison to the adventure i and those around me have when we board the great Indian Railways. Here are some accounts of them.
It has been a time honored tradition that train travel, whether for marriage or a funeral, has to be done with everyone on board. In the earlier days, when steam engines chugged on our rails, my family, so i have been told, used to carry provisions for cooking rice, sambhar and side dishes. This included taking a gas cylinder. Laws were bent because it was ensured that apart from Doctors and Engineers, some were destined to become Indian Railway officials.
As times changed, the "carrying supplies" part stopped. But, at major stations en-route to our destination, food was delivered. It was either a work colleague of some aunt who owed a favor, or a daughter-in-law who was to please the family. Idlis, vadas, chutney and even samosas made it to our carriage. Plus, at major stations, someone used to get down and get the platform's best. It was Vada-pav at Shirdi, Kachoris at Nagpur; our family is blessed with an appetite to crave for. No station was spared. On our return journey, hawkers waited with garlands, and more food.
Now to shift focus on what goes on INSIDE the carriage.
Someone had to be there to distribute the food. The little ones were chosen for this purpose. On some occasions, the children had to cross two bogies, which they did, diligently. The pantry car and the staff were bemused and horrified at our eating habits. They skipped our bogies in silence. No one wanted to face our volley of questions. "What have put in the rice? How old are the vegetables? From which station was the chicken picked up? " Our co-passengers stopped to offer us snacks. But we did not hesitate to stare at theirs.
Our notoriety has spread to the ticket collectors across India. The favors we ask for, even the Railway Minister would not dare to. "Clean the toilet. My daughter is health conscious." "Why is their a whitelight near the toilet? Get me yellow ones", "Call someone to turn the fan towards us", " Move the guy to the next carriage. We want the upper berth".  "Look. The guy next to me has farted. Book a case and throw him out. We know people at Vidhana Soudha and the Red Fort. We are VIPs".
Passengers had enough of us too. "Can you move?" is usually the first polite question. "Look Mister. There are 30 of us and we need to be in the same carriage. We have a seat in the next one. Move it or lose it". Their only entertainment were our tall tales of our achievements and our bitching about distant relatives.
The kids were an embarrassment. Spilling Coke all over. Sitting forcibly in-between newly weds. Vomiting the Kellogg and milkshake. Coming straight out of the potty with an unwashed bum. The loud wailing. The list is endless.
When we did reach our destination, the mad rush to get down was an Indian tradition we were committed on keeping. Such was our crowd and luggage, that even people sitting on reserved seats found themselves on the platform. Our bargaining was so loud, that even coolies avoided us. The burden of carrying the suitcases fell on the young male members of the family, including me.
I've undergone many such trips in my teens. I shall do so when i reach 70 too. But for now, solo trips are my thing. But if you are up for it, and want to experience one crazy ride, just hop-on and leave the rest to us.