Characters On The Buddha Train – Part 2

Things are taking shape on the Buddha train. Little Miss Selfie has put herself into her self-indulgent limelight and is convinced that everyone loves her as much as she loves herself. The group as a whole is falling into two definable entities, the Punctuals and the Dawdlers, those of us who are always on time and those for whom time seems to be an abstract concept even when the entire group has a schedule to stick to. 

Bob is a great guy, Ben hugely personable and exceptionally good company, whilst Patrick is emerging as someone who could teach the Buddhists a thing or two about respectful conduct. He can’t pass a beggar or a child without giving a handout, he can’t pass a seller without buying, and exudes the feeling that if he could help everyone in need, then he would. We’ve been joined by Kuade after a late flight made him miss the first day – Kuade is the third New Yorker in the gang and the first softly spoken person from New York we’ve ever met.

The Punctual group is completed by Lovely Malaysian Lady and her three friends, and Pretty Girl, who turns out to be an Indian expat working as a tour operator in Singapore. She assures us that “tours” aren’t usually like this, and we shouldn’t be put off by the constant delays which, she says, are not the norm. As for the Dawdlers, they are late for everything, every meeting time, every return time, every bus departure time, sometimes up to an hour late. And, no matter how late they are, Little Miss Selfie is still – always – the last to appear. 

Temple visits are becoming hurried, museums get dropped from the schedule altogether, and the whole “cruise” is becoming something of a procession: breakfast, late for the bus, bus journey, rushed site visit, lunch, rushed temple, back to bus, back to train, dinner. All because the Dawdlers cannot get anywhere on time.

Tonight, though, a change from schedule: tonight we’re off the train and overnighting in a hotel instead. Some of these wealthy Indians have brought more suitcases than I’ve ever possessed, despite clear instructions at time of reservation to bring minimal luggage. And then they demand that the train crew carry their luggage everywhere, even over the shortest distance, and their word is the crew’s command, cases dutifully carried to wherever. There’s a veritable stockpile of wheelie and other cases waiting in the lobby as we head through reception and up the stairs.

We’re just settling in when a WhatsApp message lands – a message on the group which was created by Jolly Raja the train manager when wresting control from the hapless Doctor Chris. There is, apparently, a missing suitcase. One of our number is missing her belongings, and we are all asked to check whether we’ve accidentally picked up an extra bag. As if!

The drama goes on. At dinner, the Indian lady lacking her case is a little distraught at being unable to don her favourite saree, while Raja and his team are increasingly agitated at how they could have mislaid a suitcase the size of a small country. Three hours have passed now, the errant bag must surely have made its own way to somewhere else on the Buddha trail. With a tangible reason to apportion blame, the wealthy Indians, at best rude and disrespectful to the train staff, become downright abusive. Supposedly living their lives aligned to the teachings of the Buddha, the truth is that these guys wouldn’t know respect if it poked them in the eye. Even Raja has lost his Jolly.

We have a couple of spoonfuls of curry left when Little Miss Selfie walks in. She’s carrying the missing case. 

“Oh!”, she says with affected surprise, “I found it in the hall and thought you would want me to look after it for you”. Hang on. Picked up an extra bag, kept it for three hours, ignored all the WhatsApp messages when your phone is perpetually glued to your hand!? Wow, maybe this is not so much Little Miss Selfie as Little Miss Munchausen.

Next day, Jolly Raja gathers us all beneath a giant bodhi tree where Doctor Chris is going to explain the history of the magnificent temple which stands before us. Patrick wanders off, he gave up on Doctor Chris on day one and hasn’t returned to that particular fold. We’re in a semi-circle facing Doctor Chris, who is off into another monotone, unlistenable monologue. Little Miss Selfie leaves the semi-circle, sits in front of Doctor Chris, faces the group so that we are all in turn facing her – and takes a hairbrush out of her bag. There she sits as Doctor Chris talks, casting her head back as she slowly and deliberately brushes her long hair, happy in the knowledge that now everyone has to look at her. She is incorrigible.

Later, Mrs Eyebrows, probably the most elegant – and arrogant – of all the wealthies, climbs down from the bus in one town, carrying a large plastic bag. It’s full of the remnants of her tour so far: empty food boxes, plastic containers, plastic cups and packets, uneaten food and all other types of garbage. To our disbelief, this evidently wealthy and well-to-do lady, turns the bag upside down, empties all of her plastic and other garbage on to the sidewalk, and climbs back on to the bus. The gulf between these peoples’ lives and the beliefs they claim to hold dear is a veritable canyon.

The tour is nearly done, we are back on the train preparing for the long haul back to Delhi, and the train staff, who have consistently kowtowed in the face of arrogant disrespect, are asking for feedback from the guests, brave men that they are. Little Miss Selfie has a complaint.

“Not enough shopping time”, she shouts, “shopping shopping shopping”. Late every single time, screwing up the schedule for everyone else, now she says the days didn’t have time for shopping. We can hardly believe what we’re hearing.

And now, later still, it’s the last few hours of the tour, a farewell party in the dining car has been arranged, and I’m not at all embarrassed to say that we take a perverse pleasure in turning up late. The party is almost done, the speeches are over, but there is something odd in the air, something alien to this whole trip. Respect. Friendship. We catch the last few minutes of what is obviously a mutual admiration session: the passengers are praising the same train crew that they’ve been abusing for eight days, the crew in return are praising this wonderful group who are simply the best bunch of guests on any tour ever.

The following day, the WhatsApp group messages begin. Messages of love and admiration, message of praise and camaraderie, even suggestions of a reunion journey one day. It’s as if the arrogant abuse, the treatment of staff as servants, the subservient responses, just didn’t happen. We don’t know what to make of it, seriously.

Now, in the early days of June, it’s 11 weeks since we left the train for the last time. Those messages continue, messages of the teachings of Buddha, mantras for life, talking of respect, of equality, of love and care for all. 

And we still don’t know what to make of it.

Oh, and Doctor Chris messaged. He’d lost his photos of one particular temple, did anyone have any they could share? Little Miss Selfie sent 24 photographs. She was in all of them.