All aboard for the Western Ghats

livemint.com:

chai and coffee, churmuri, dal vada, bhajiyas and sundry other snacks hawk their wares in shrill tones, tantalising aromas wafting from their baskets. I try to block out as much as I can with Bob Dylan and Bryan Adams in my ears. As if pushed by an unseen hand, the vendors disappear.

A short shrill blast followed by a longer one pierce the air, and the train jerks forward. It rumbles out of the platform and picks up speed as it leaves the station. Mangaluru’s neighbourhoods come into view and fade, zipping by as the train gradually accelerates.

The urban sprawl soon thins out and gives way to greenery—farmlands, meadows, orchards... It is punctuated by scattered hamlets, villages and tiny towns that quickly make way for greenery again. The train settles into an even speed.

A gentle rain falls on and off, spraying a fine mist. A couple of hours later, the train arrives at Subramanya Road, almost at the edge of the Ghats. By now, the scenery has changed substantially.

The lush greenery is more wild, less manicured. It feels like we are far above the plains. The greyness from the start of the journey is heavier.

The rain is a notch higher than gentle; clearly, it has been falling consistently since there is a profusion of mossy surfaces. The stop is, however, brief and as the train pulls out, it is quickly evident there’s something different. For one, the train doesn’t pick up much speed but rather ambles.

And then, without warning, the train is plunged into pitch darkness. It is disorienting momentarily, scary even. It doesn’t help that the clutch of schoolchildren scream (for fun I later realise) their lungs out.

But it’s just a tunnel. Even though I knew about the tunnels, the first encounter is still a shock. But more