When you go to India bring a camera, a med kit, and be willing to share.

The richest people in our train car not sharing food. Primarily the only other white people I saw in India were Aussies. This is one of them. 

Last year from October through December I was in India. Chennai mostly on a surprisingly inconvenient quest to spend time with my friend Lavanya. This trip lasted 3-months, two air mattresses, one relationship, one very sweaty lazer tag game, one date with a racist (towards Tamil people) Caucasian Indian who claimed my face wasn’t interesting because my eyes weren’t far enough apart. Not too close together, just not far enough apart.

But I’m here to talk about trains and my experience in the foothills of the Himalayas. This story begins on the way of Kalka, India on a cute little train to Shima.

This lovely little dream was straight out of Darjeeling Limited. My ticket, such as it was, cost me $4.22 to spend the whole day cruising around the foothills of the Himalayas.

Let me paint the picture of my state at the time. I had just lost my shoes on a 48 hour train ride (sardine experience) from Chennai to Delhi. My delicious black NoBull shoes so happened to blend in perfectly with the spot under my bunk. So, being the sleep deprived traveler that I am, I left them right there and then. So I was headed up into the mountains with sandals. I was carrying my trusty Teddy Roosevelt tan backpack complete with my remote working kit, Sony A7iii camera, clothes, med kit. What I didn’t have was much because I also didn’t have service on my cell-phone at the time. This might sound dumb but if you don’t have cell service, you’re fucked. Nothing works properly. Buses aren’t on time. And because you’re far away totally unaware of how things work, you screw everything up all the time. The good news is that you learn to work around that. You become nicer. Get comfortable asking people for help. And giving help when you can.

This train trip was my first lesson in how to engage well as a traveler in a far-away-place.

Meet the toy train between Kalka and Shima, India. It was this addorable little clunker that spent its days winding through a series of mountain villages en route to the end town of Shimla.

I was jumping onto this little guy at 7:52 AM. I was going to be on this train for the next six hours and it was a beautiful day. The sun was high in there but the mist had still be settled in from the cool morning.

That day, I joined a train car of twenty people. A quiet teen with his grandmother. Two respectable 60 something watching their bags. Four Aussies carrying nothing but Western food, too many bags, and an air of superiority. Finally, there was a group a guys in their early twenties who couldn’t get enough of hanging out of the train.

This train was a lot of fun. It had open windows, rock hard seats, and back doors that could be mounted open if you wanted to hang out of the train (which I did, obviously).

So we were off. Chugging up and around I fumbled with my camera settings trying to figure out how to shoot good film without being too pompous about having a $1700 camera in a country where the monthly income is under $1000 per month. To my right were the Aussies. The respectable 60 sometings’s were across from me. The grandparents I always wished I had were sitting one row down from the Aussies.

I was alone. This was normal for me having traveled around India on buses and trains.

Being the slightly-too-self-aware guy that I am the social dynamics of wealth flashing was on my mind. Was it dickish to use this camera when most people can’t afford IPhones? Questions of this sort rolled around my heads constantly in India.

My solution: be really nice to everyone I met, tip well, and try to be useful to the people around me if I could be. We were all on a train. So my first thought was to become the resident photographer. Anyone that wanted pictures taken I would take them and then bluetooth the photos to their phone from my camera.

It was a hit. You don’t realize how quickly a social dynamic between people on a train can shift when you get to do something for someone they don’t normally get. A Sony A7iii is popular in the US, unnoteworthy almost. In India, it humanizes you if you engage with the people around you (see shots). If you don’t, you’re flashing wealth.

Anyway, it worked. The train dynamic transformed from a quiet tin can into a community of people all striking poses and sharing food. My favorite was Indian tacos that my cross-the-seat grandpa gave to me.

This was the new game that we were all playing, at least for the first 4-hours.

Then high up in the mountains two men got onto the train.

The first was nondescript, normal by my unaccustomed western eyes at the time. The other had his face ripped open. His top lip was split down the middle, there was rock seemingly stitched into every part of his face, and his was not stoked. They sat down in the train with an air of “please don’t draw attention to us” energy.

This of course didn’t work as our little community had a flowing mutual energy that occurs when everyone starts sharing food. But this man was fucked up and needed medical attention - which presumably they were on their way to get.

Head up, this next part might be a little self-congratulatory. Just bear with me for a second.

The train air changed. It went from 15 people enjoying a beautiful misty mountain day to a group of people waiting for someone to do something. I, in my nerd spiral, happened to overspend on a medical kit that took up an eight of my bag. This was helpful in the case because I had antiseptic gear, ice, and a series of other bandages.

So I jumped into action and busted it out. Two minutes in all eyes were on me, my kit was strewn across the bench seat, and the guy - who didn’t speak English - was waiting for my ‘expert’ care.

But I had the stuff and I’m not too much of a dummy to not be useful. I played mild operation with the soot lodged into his face, cleaned and bandaged parts of his face (which he wasn’t too happy about, covered it with antiseptic and gave him a breakable ice pack to cover his face. 5-10 minutes later I had blood on my arms, my shirt was covered, and his face stopped bleeding. They got off on the next stop and headed to a medical clinic.

To this end, I looked a bit like a hero - though I didn’t do much more than stop bleeding and potentially reduce the risk of infection. What struck me was what a lack of action was taken by my four Aussie companions on their vacation. One of them alluded to being in the medical profession and presumably had a medical kit with him in case of emergencies. They all seemed - to me - as if they didn’t want to get involved.

So why didn’t he take any action in a moment of obvious need? What about my experience made me want to jump in vs their lack of urgency? Was it the humanization of the train brought on my camera stunt?

I’m not sure to this day, but I learned a few things.

Firstly, you’re never going to be able to fully close the difference in wealth between people in a moment - but that doesn’t mean you don’t get to choose how you use it on your vacation. It’s very easy to buy a camera, go to a tourist spot, and take cool pictures to post on Instagram. You might get your camera stolen but to some degree it might be the cost of doing business if you’re mildly exploiting a poor country for its cost savings.

You also have the opportunity to shift that narrative and give back outsized value to the people around you. My train was 70% Indian folk, all of which who were riding in coach and had some variation of a step down from the Iphone. This meant that their cameras weren’t going to capture the natural splendor of their experience in this magical place. And, with no extra effort at all, I could give that to them for free. So I did, and it connected us together in a moments notice.

Two, bring a med kit for your travels and learn how to use it. I was very lucky to be able to help a person in need because I was prepared with the equipment. Unfortunate for him, I had to learn how to use it while he was sitting there bleeding on a train. So when you travel, learn what’s in your kit and how to use it before you need to. This is obvious advice but many times if you buy it you feel like you’re prepared. You’re not, but you have the opportunity to be. This can save your life and make another’s life a hell-of-a-lot (बहुत कुछ in Hindi) better in their moment of need.

Three, your experience of a place changes the moment your host people see you as a human and not a classification. Making the decision to take photos for the people around me changed the entire dynamic of the trip. With just the power of bluetooth, a below average photographic ability, and a med kit I was able to build quick friendships with an entire train of people. They then kept me fed for the entire train journey up the mountain and patted my back telling me how good of a person I was. Of course, this felt amazing made this journey all the more special to me.

So, I’ll close with a photo instead of a thought. Meet the boys.