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Aboard the `Deccan Odyssey'

It's India's newest and most luxurious train. JEROO and GUSTASP IRANI experience its delights.

A five-star experience on wheels, along with culture and fun.

WERE we dreaming? Where were the endless tidal waves of people pushing their way in with "evil intent" and resounding war cries? There were no travellers of rotund girth determined to edge us out of our seats nor bawling yet-to-be-toilet-trained brats, with doting mamas in tow, who generally create messy puddles on the none-too-clean floor of an Indian train. We missed the vendors who sing, croak and bellow like an out of tune orchestra to hawk their wares, adding to the general air of blaring chaos and cacophony.

Enter the "Deccan Odyssey", India's newest and most luxurious train and Maharashtra's answer to the more famous Palace on Wheels. After a seven-day sojourn on the Odyssey, train travel in India will never be the same again for us. The sleek blue, 21-coach over half a kilometre long train, streaked with gold and sporting its royal looking insignia, pulled into Mumbai's Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST) even as curious onlookers at the station peered into what must have seemed to them (as it did to us) a wonderland on tracks. Armed with boarding passes we gingerly stepped into the train which still had an out-of-cellophane air, and into the lounge for check in; our luggage was borne by staff smartly garbed in period Peshwa style and elaborate boat-shaped headgear that ended in two sharp points at the edges.

We walked down seemingly endless wood panelled corridors to our coupe (dubbed "Ratnagiri" — all the bogies have been evocatively named after the various regions of Maharashtra) which was done up in subtle shades of beige and gold. Our coupe came with gauzy tissue curtains fluttering against the large picture windows, a comfy double bed draped with a matching bedspread, a closet, dressing table and a granite and marble en suite bathroom which comes with toiletries, soft towels, bedroom slippers and even a bathrobe.

GUSTASP and JEROO IRANI

Plush restaurants, where meals are gourmet affairs.

Two plush restaurants, a spa, beauty parlour, conference room and a gym completed the picture — of a five star hotel on wheels which was three years in the making. This Rs. 32-crore joint venture of the Maharashtra Tourism Development Corporation and the Indian Railways with on-board hospitality handled by the Taj Group of Hotels showcases parts of Maharashtra in a highlights-packed itinerary that serves up generous dollops of luxury, culture, history and fun. The train started in Mumbai and tooted down the Konkan coast, taking in the Ganapatipule and Tarkarli beaches, Goa, Pune, Ajanta, Ellora and Nashik.

As the train pulled out of gritty Mumbai, the slums and the litter outside contrasted brutally with the luxury within, which comes at an all-inclusive price of $350 per head (excluding items of a personal nature such as liquor and use of the on-board spa and beauty saloon). We sat in the plush seating area provided at the end of each coach, leaning back on plump silken cushions as portraits of royalty of yore looked down on us, the new Mughals.

Here we had many companionable interludes with our fellow passengers as we watched a little TV late at night.

... and luxury even while resting.

In a day's time, we had slipped into the rhythm of travelling at night on this fully air-conditioned train, and falling asleep with its gentle rocking motion. (At times, the train would be parked in a yard or at a station at night.) In the day we would disembark at quaint stations like Bhoke or Sindhudurg where the local populace welcomed us as though we were conquering heroes. Our paths would be strewn with rose petals, our foreheads smeared with tilaks, garlands thrown around our necks even as drums would rent the air and young women would exhibit the fancy footwork of the local Lavani or Jakhadi dance. At Sawantwadi we even met the gracious maharani from the oldest ruling family in the Konkan, the Sawant Bhonsle's of Sawantwadi, whose portrait in the palace museum, clicked before her marriage, revealed a young beautiful woman of impeccable grace and beauty.

Our interaction with the locals was minimal and generally took place when we disembarked at some of the small charming stations. They looked at us with a rustic innocence; and with wide-eyed awe for the Konkan belt is still relatively unsullied and does not see as many wayfarers as does Goa further south. We admired the unvarnished beauty of the village belles through our viewfinders; even the gnarled old ones had a certain magnificence that comes with age and wisdom. We would then climb into buses waiting to transport us to unblemished beaches, brooding forts and palaces.

In the evening, post our sightseeing jaunts and a hot shower, we would relax in the plush bar and watch an exhausted sun haemorrhage into the sea or between the cleavage of misty hills. Some of our co-passengers would head for the spa where the expert masseuse, depending on whether he or she wanted a Swedish or aromatherapy massage, would knead their knotted muscles. Said one spa addict: "The rocking motion of the train adds to one's sense of relaxation."

Meals were gourmet affairs. One could dine in the plush Peshwa I or Peshwa II restaurants done in shades of beige, rust and turquoise where large picture windows let the outdoors indoors. The restaurants were laid with gleaming napery and cutlery (the latter is heavy at the base so that it does not slide off the table) and memorable meals were served by the smiling wait staff whose headgear often wobbled with the movement of the train. As we dined, we watched some glorious landscapes unfold outside our window.

Prawn cocktails, silken soups, seared filets of fish with cajun spices, fish caldin, coq au vin and Indian fare cheeky with chillies, concocted by the chef and his 10 assistants who rustled it all up in the two gleaming kitchens that swayed as they stirred their subtle dals, fried the fresh catch of the day or mantled them in spicy curries, and carved slivers of roast chicken and drizzled them with balsamic vinegar. Desserts were so sinful that they teased our taste buds with their lingering flavour.

Satiated, we would return to our cabins, slip under cool clean sheets and fall asleep to the gentle rhythm of the train. A sharp knock in the morning and steaming hot tea would wake us up to another glorious day — the sun emerging from behind mist wreathed hills. Post breakfast, and we would leave to check out the sights — some of Maharashtra's most magnificent forts which at one time resonated with war whoops. Some of them straddle mighty peaks and others float in the sea like ghostly galleons. The names are wreathed in mystery and magic — Jaigad, Sindhudurg, Ratnadurg; white sand beaches virtually unmarred by man's footprints; museums rich with the treasures of the past, baroque Goan cathedrals humming with the devotion of the faithful; the recently restored Ajanta Caves with their almost fresh-as-dawn frescoes and the magnificent rock-hewn temple at Ellora; and finally we sniffed, swirled and sipped Indian wines at the Sula winery in Nashik.

As the train pulled into Mumbai on the last day, we felt rested and rejuvenated unlike other journeys on Indian trains when one feels like one has just emerged after a gruelling bout in a boxing ring. Little wonder, for the "Deccan Odyssey" serves up Maharashtra on a silver platter — the known, unknown and the unsung. As a writer once said of another country in another time: "It's lovely beyond the singing of it."

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