Echoes of the Raj in historic adventure

There is a problem at Kalka railway station in India’s far north. The 0830 Kalka Mail train is due to depart but the driver, a certain Mr Mehanga Singh, has failed a breath test and we are informed by the station master that it will take an hour for a replacement to arrive.

Thankfully we are in no hurry. If we had been we would have driven the 90 kilometres to the former British hill station, Shimla, rather than take the ponderously slow but wondrous narrow gauge hill railway.

It is the third time I have travelled on this amazing route but, unlike the first two journeys when I was relegated to a hard third-class bench seat, this time I am leading a tour group and we have chartered a deluxe wagon fitted with plush armchairs, tables and even plastic flowers. In itself it’s a throwback to the days of the Raj. It’s all rather grand, though we are tinged with guilt when we look to the front of the train at an open wagon carrying 50 or so standing Indians.

The drunk driver, Mr Singh, introduces himself to me and apologises profusely, saying he had overdone the liquor the previous night at a "splendid party" and thought he might be close to the limit. He looks terrible and smells no better, but he has an infectious grin and despite causing us more than two hours delay in the end, it is impossible to feel any resentment towards him.

Three cups of sweet milky tea later we are mustered from various parts of the station and ushered into the carriages for our journey into the hills.

The picturesque hill town of Shimla.

By the 1860s the town of Shimla was firmly established as the British summer ’capital’ in India, its cooler climes suiting them better than the oppressive heat of Delhi. At that time the 96-kilometre route from Kalka, 1420 metres below Shimla, was served only by a rough track which took bullock-drawn carts days to traverse. It was obvious a railway had to be built and in 1898 construction began.

It took five years to complete and, more than a century on, it remains an engineering wonder. The railway winds its way into the Himalaya like a thread of tarnished silver, cutting through thick forests of pine, cedar and oak as it clings to the steep slopes. At times we positively race along at almost 20 kph; at others we barely achieve walking pace.

We pass through pretty little stations decked out in blue and white, most of them a century old. The train stops often and we take the opportunity to hop off and take refreshments as there is no dining car on board. Little kiosks sell the ubiquitous sweet milky tea along with out-of-date bars of mildewed chocolate and packets of potato crisps, bloated to almost bursting point in the rarified air.

At one station I wander to the front of the train to check on our unfortunate friends in the ’cheap seats’. Seats is rather overdoing it. A few of the budget travellers are perched on upturned buckets. The rest stand in a puddle of oily water. They are in tremendous spirits though and invite me to join them in the open carriage. On another day, without my responsibilities, I may well have done so but I sadly decline and wander back to my opulent suite.

The views from my armchair are out of this world. As we climb higher, the vistas open out and I gaze across vast plains - while, towering above, the Himalayan peaks are caressed by shrouds of mist, giving them an almost mystical appearance.

Shimla was the British summer escape in the 19th century.

The technical stuff regarding the Kalka-Shimla railway is staggering, even to a non-engineering type like me. The narrow gauge (two feet six inches, or 762mm if you prefer) track passes through a total of 102 tunnels and crosses 864 bridges, many of them spectacular multi-arched viaducts with precipitous drops.

Sadly (for railway buffs, at least) the original steam locos were retired from service in 1971 and today you are likely to be hauled up the mountainside by a 40-year-old diesel. That is about as far as the modernisation goes though. This part of the world has largely ignored the computer age. Charming old practices are still in place, including the use of signalling lanterns and the wonderful Neals token instrument system, which is used to safely control the passage of trains on the single-track sections.

As we enter the 1km-long Barog tunnel, the longest on the route, we hear the cheers and hoots of those in the open carriage who are clearly having the time of their lives, despite their discomfort. The tunnel is named after a British engineer who, as the story goes, got his sums wrong and realised during construction that the two ends were not going to meet. He was so shattered by his miscalculation that he put a gun to his head.

The train passes through the town of Solan, famous for its beer, and our ascent becomes even steeper. Then, after a sharp bend, we are greeted with the sight of Shimla itself, magically spread out across the mountainside.

Chinese shoe shop in Shimla.

Our journey has taken just over six hours, an hour longer than scheduled and, coupled with our delayed start, we are a total of two hours late. In other parts of the world this would not be tolerated, but in this glorious corner of northern India nobody is complaining. We have shared a unique travel experience on a fantastic train, which in those same ’other parts of the world’ would doubtless have been replaced decades ago by something more shiny and efficient.

As we disembark in the bustling station, just below the town itself, a familiar turbaned figure runs along the platform and breathlessly exclaims: "Well sir, how did you enjoy the trip? Was it enchanting for you?!" It is Mr Singh, who has been with us for the entire journey after all. Whether or not he was driving the train is something I will never know, and to be honest, it is a question to which I would rather not know the answer.

Jim Gill travelled on Travel Directors’ ’Rail Across India’ tour. The next departure is in October, 2015.