Freaks of the Overnight Express

The funny thing about trains is that they drive them like cars in rush hour traffic. Every five minutes the entire quarter mile of rolling steel would come to a stop, rest for fifteen minutes and then off to the next stop. One time I guess the conductor forgot something at a stop so we had to go back. More proof to the point that nothing in India is done quickly of efficiently.
We -Tori, Tauti, Luther, Evan, and me- met two nice older guys on our trip to Goa. There are only certain times and places where you can talk to Indians and know that they're genuine, not trying to get at your money --the train, oddly enough, is one of these places.
That's not to say there aren't hawkers and beggars at in the aisles and at every station, but they're different than regular riff raff. They don't get in your face, or try to be your friend. Food venders wander from car to car making duck-like noises: "deweydewey deweydewey." The tea salesman says, "Hot chaichai! Hot chaichai!" Their goal is to pique people’s curiosity; turn heads their way. If you ignore them they move on.
The serious characters, the people who make me love the train, are the beggars. In India an able-bodied man never begs. You don't have guys walking up to you saying, "spare change?" It just doesn't happen. What you do have are victims of India's public health system, and genetic variants. My introduction to this was by a man with horse legs, like a half centaur; they were miniature, frail, and stiff. They bent at the hip just like a horse though, making him walk on all fours. He had wooden shoes for his hands and when he stuck out his hands for money they were gray with calluses. Everybody gave him some money.
The next man had shriveled, child like limbs and a man's torso. He moved by scrunching along the ground like an inchworm. He had a clean shaved chin and a bushy moustache, which made me wonder.
Childlike body parts on adults are common, probably from malnourishment. When boarding the train I saw what appeared to be a little kid wandering around the platform. He was wearing a little backpack and had pants that were rolled up at the bottom for when he grew and his little shirt was tucked in. I was alarmed to see him wandering the platform alone, so when I caught up to him I was about to say something, but I looked down and saw a chiseled man-face, complete with moustache. He looked at me like "what?" and I skidded into the train.
There isn't much the Indian health ministry can or will do for the money less people. One of their programs a few years back tried sterilization as a solution, but that didn't last too long. There are simply too many people and not enough money, or rather; the money is being spent elsewhere. Defense: starting and maintaining a nuclear missile program with help from the US of A. Or in wasted ventures like damning 1,000 acres of farmland to make 600 acres downstream farmable. One gets the impression from looking at government spending figures that officials don't ride the train much.
When I said able-bodied men don't beg, I forgot about one class, though they aren't exactly men. Hirjas are transgender Indians; men -often castrated- who dress like women. Most are homosexual men who have no other way to express their sexuality in a culture that lets men hold hands and slap-fight in public, but sees homosexuality like Midwestern housewives see cockroaches. Other Hirjas were kidnapped and forced to have their genitals mutilated, then forced into prostitution. Either way they hang out uninvited at weddings and births and give their good blessings in exchange for money. Between gigs you can see them hustling on the train. Their method of begging is more like demanding. They walk up to a man and clap their hands in the guy's face and wait for money with one hand out and the other resting on her hip, foot tapping impatiently. If a guy doesn't give her money the Hirja will throw a fit and sometimes lift up her dress. She only bothered the Indian men in our car, not the women and not the whitey men, which was disappointing because I wanted the Hirja to lift her dress. I was curious.
As night came around all the characters left the train and the lights shut off. I lied in my top bunk and tried to sleep but bugs kept crawling into my nose, ears, and mouth. I also got bit about a million times by mosquitoes. When I'm sleeping I absorb water through the air and usually have to pee five times a night, this is true everywhere. The bathrooms on the train were nothing more than holes in the floor with a hose dangling from the wall. No soap or anything to wash your hands.
I wasn't the only pee fiend. Evan crawled out of bed a few times and wandered to the end of the train. Towards the end of the ride I switched bunks while he was in the bathroom then when he was walking back I made my hand into a claw and grabbed his head saying "whitey". He freaked out, gasped, then scrambled to his top bunk like faster than a squirrel. He later told me he didn't sleep after that. Trains are fun.