The Niligiri Mountain railway was built in the early 1900s, to serve the hill resorts of Coonoor and Ooty, both favoured by the British as somewhere to go that was cool in the summer, away from Madras. The line rises over 4000 feet, at a gradient of mainly 1 in 12, using the Swiss Abt rack system. It is the only rack railway in India, and the steam traction has probably survived because it is non standard equipment, and the Mettupalayam to Coonoor section is too steep for a conventional diesel. The railway is now a World Heritage site.
The conventional line, having brought passengers from Madras to Mettupalayam, ends here, and at dawn the steam narrow gauge locomotive emerges. The tender has just been filled by ladies carrying wicker baskets of coal.
The locomotive pushed the train from the rear. We had a great view from the front
But progress was not uninterrupted:
The engine required repair
The children played, while a small cluster of men admired the worked of the engineers, who removed nuts, bolts and cotter pins from the valve gear, lost them in the ballast; found them, greased and re-fixed them. Eventually we set off again. In the interval lots of Indian passengers, especially the children, wished to be photographed next to Anne.
Higher into the mountains we came to a refreshment stop, for the monkeys
Water stop at Runneymede. By now everyone was in holiday mode. The children, who had screamed EVERY time the train entered a tunnel (there were 16) ran down to to the river. Notice that many passengers have cameras.
The passengers went to explore.
Eventually we reached Coonoor and the following day Ooty. We later learned that on the day after our steam train journey the engine had de-railed, requiring the passengers to walk along the line to the nearest road. Coonoor had a magnificent park laid out about 1900. Our hotel had an Anglican church next to it. The hotel dated from colonial times. Our room did not run to heating or air conditioning, but hot water bottles were supplied, and the fireplace laid for an open fire. At Ooty, once the main sanatorium for British India, we lunched at the Savoy hotel. Anne admired the silver dish in which the after-lunch fennel seeds were served: it was 150 years old we were told.
India is in a fascinating stage of transition. Near cities tall blocks of flats are under construction, with advertised facilities such as health clubs and broadband access, yet within a few miles, many of the country folk are barefoot, and engaged in subsistence agriculture, winnowing crops by hand or by piling the stalks on the road so that any passing traffic will crush and separate out the corn. Elsewhere people were making coir: spinning rope from coconut fibre. Between these two extremes there was 'progress' with many families owning motor bikes, which - this being India - the entire family would ride on together.
The state of transition is mirrored in the attitudes expressed in the personal
columns of the press. Some families might still be seeking 'an alliance for
their daughter'. Young ladies might advertise their attractions as MBA graduate
seeking similar. One young man proclaimed himself to be a 'green card holder'.
Really confused was the person seeking a partner 'caste no barrier' who added
applicant 'must submit horoscope'.