Long-distance train travel is imbued with romanticism. Soft light. Cozy in your own space in motion. Long, pensive stares out the window, looking at the rows of trees, track-side houses, and fellow trains that are going, going, gone. Or a lover to rest your gaze on, as you wait for your meal in the dining car. Trains have gifted us with travel, necessities, and inspiration. Writers find their words on board trains, Stimulated by the movement (albeit slow) and the final stop to complete their sentences. Amtrak even took it upon themselves to start a residency program. Let’s not forget all the lovers that met on trains. How else would Jesse and Celine meet? Or Anna and Count Vronsky?

Expectant of a train ride in Mumbai, I assumed I’d join them - full of longing and inspiration. Instead, I felt deep discomfort… and I’m glad I was.

I hopped on first class. Think leather upholstered chairs. Hot towels. Air conditioning. Now scratch all that and replace it with open windows allowed the smells of the outside world in. Seats squeezing in more than it can bear. A fan you have to switch on. Did I mention there was no door?

The train itself was covered with a thick layer of dust (as do most surfaces in Mumbai) and on it went, gaining momentum and releasing itself to the outside. The earth was dry, pale turmeric yellow and trees were sparse. It passed by Ram Mandir, Jogeswari, and all the other stops on the Western Railway. There were men and women of all ages waiting for the trains, some carrying babies in colorful cloths tied around their mothers, some on their smartphones. Some queuing at the stall for aloo bhuija to snack on during their commute.

What struck me most was the view two-thirds of the journey. After passing by what I thought was a river, promptly embracing my tourist identity and taking photos of the scenic journey, stopping after a local friend said, “Why are you taking photos of the open sewer?”; there was a strong stench. It revealed itself slowly through rubbish at first dispersed on the ground, and over time pilling up into mounds and mounds. I saw children running around amongst them. I then saw the backs of tin-houses, colorful, still (this is India, after all), packed tightly next to one another. I saw mothers brewing chai and men conversing not far from them (I wonder what conversations they have?).

I saw clothes: faded nightgowns, shirts of toddlers, socks, t-shirts, and polos with political party logos (the general election was less than a year ago) lined up on the train tracks to dry on the ground underneath the sun.

The irony of it all was I, sitting of what Western Railway calls “first-class”, was on the way to Victoria Terminus - one of the iconic buildings the British empire constructed during their colonialization, and would continue to the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel, a literal palace (to me) overlooking the Gateway of India.

I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this.

One of, if not the most textbook example of social stratification is the caste system in India. Around more than two millenniums, the caste system layers people by Brahmins (priests and scholars), Kshatriyas (nobles and warriors), Vaishyas (business owners), and Shudras (laborers or servants). The lowest of them all is the Dalits - the Untouchables. They do the jobs considered ‘unholy’ (but what would all these people be without them?) and are ostracised from society.

The Western-educated mind sees this as backward, unjust, yet it is they who wrote the caste system into the law. "British colonial rulers made caste India’s defining social feature when they used censuses to simplify the system, primarily to create a single society with a common law that could be easily governed.”

The system bestowed many privileges on the upper castes while sanctioning repression of the lower castes by privileged groups. Often criticized for being unjust and regressive, it remained virtually unchanged for centuries, trapping people into fixed social orders from which it was impossible to escape.

In 1955, discrimination based on caste was outlawed. Despite that: the forms of untouchability have changed, but untouchability is not gone. The rest severe income disparity between caste groups, because no matter how you scratch the system off the law, remnants of inequality (education, healthcare, wealth, opportunity) continue to perpetuate, reminiscent of the impact of slavery in America still felt today. According to the National Crime Records Bureau: there are 40,000+ cases of rape of the Dalits. By the end of this day, five Dalit women would be raped.

Rohith Vemula was an Indian Ph.D. scholar at the University of Hyderabad. From July 2015, the university stopped paying Rohith his monthly stipend of Rs 25,000, with friends alleging that he was targeted for raising issues under the banner of Ambedkar Students’ Association. Frustrated at discrimination against the Dalit in this institution, he hung himself in his dorm room, leaving a suicide note:

"The value of a man was reduced to his immediate identity and nearest possibility. To a vote. To a number. To a thing. Never was a man treated as a mind.”

I am ridden with guilt. Of failing to recognize my privilege most times and failing to put it to good use. But I, too, am filled with hope. If the writer of India’s constitution was a Dalit, there is an opportunity for that kid by the train tracks too. I’m not saying that we’ll get there soon, it’ll take decades, if not centuries, to rid of the inequalities the past stratification sought to build. It is, after all, a stubborn form of inequality with those at the bottom holding on to the myth of pure meritocracy, when those at the top have been born with the privilege they will pass on to their sons and daughters. But we should all use our privilege to at least hasten the process. I don’t have the answer to how, but I know recognizing my privilege and gaining perspective’s a way to start. I get off the train feeling both burdened, yet lighter.

I think one of the best ways to reduce inequality is access to education. Consider supporting your local charities and sponsor children to go to school. Sponsor children in India here (please always do your own research to find the best charity for you).

Words and photographs by Nadia Pritta Wibisono

Mumbai, 2020.

Mumbai on the Move: Looking Out to A Modern Day Caste System from a "First Class" Train

Expectant of a train ride in Mumbai, I assumed I’d join them - full of longing and inspiration. Instead, I felt deep discomfort… and I’m glad I was.

I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this.

"The value of a man was reduced to his immediate identity and nearest possibility. To a vote. To a number. To a thing. Never was a man treated as a mind.”