"I'm going to Delhi," I would say, and with an exaggerated show of modesty, add, “by the Shatabdi”. The person I would be talking to may not exactly turn pea green with envy, but would always be impressed. A travel by Shatabdi Express between Chandigarh and New Delhi (250km in 3.5 hours) did accord some degree of “prestige”.
The ticket itself was fancy—like the air tickets of the yore, a rectangular booklet of sorts, with the cover having the name of the airlines. The Shatabdi ticket had a white and blue cover, with Shatabdi Express printed on it in italics. The inner pages would have the other details.
Cut to the present—if sources are to be believed, the Modi government, with its penchant for renaming everything from government schemes to roads to cities, is planning to rename the Shatabdi Express. It will be 'Make in India' or 'Made in India' Express as the new coaches would be 80 per cent made at the old Integral Coach Factory in Chennai, under a new 'Make in India' programme.
The Shatabdi Express trains today are a shadow of their former selves. The Shatabdi Express trains were the railway ministry's way of marking the 100th birth anniversary of India's first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru. They connected the state capitals in north India with New Delhi, and were daytime trains. The trains were fully air conditioned, had chair cars and executive chair cars—luxurious and state-of-the-art in those days. Food was part of the deal.
It was in 1988 that the Union Territory of Chandigarh, the shared capital city of Punjab and Haryana, got its first pair of Shatabdi Express trains. The train would leave a little after 6am, and arrive at platform number 1 of the national capital at 10am. A gate in this platform opened to what has always been called the 'VIP gate' or 'VIP platform'. And practically everyone who arrived by that train would exit by the VIP gate.
It costs so little to be a VIP. Just 75 rupees! Of course, it was a lot of money then (the deluxe bus of Haryana Roadways charged Rs 28 for the same route), but the prestige came from being able to get a ticket. There were just four coaches to start with. Most of the seats would have been reserved for the IAS, IPS and state cadre civil and police officers of the three governments. The experience was so good that they preferred it to driving in their cars. Driving entailed stopping at one of the dhabas on the highway, and then battling the traffic as they crossed the Karnal bypass and entering the national capital, from where it never took less than an hour to reach the sarkari zone—Lutyens' Delhi. The Shatabdi Express, on the contrary, would bring them right into Connaught Place, where a government car would be waiting for them at the VIP platform parking lot. And they would step out of the air-conditioned coach, fresh and well-fed.
Hot water in small flasks, tea bags, whitener and sugar with two Marie biscuits, formed the “bed tea” as soon as one boarded. A little later came the breakfast. Passengers would feel pampered as the breakfast came with a variety of choices—north Indian, south Indian (veg and non-veg), bread and omelette, and coffee or tea. Somewhere between the two, they would also be served juice.
Their work done, the babus from Chandigarh would board the Shatabdi Express that left around 5.30pm, and they would be home for dinner!
In fact, many traders and businessmen, who earlier had to stay in a hotel and return the next day, started using the Shatabdi daily! Soon, the government officials of Chandigarh, Punjab and Haryana were issued an order, asking them to use the Shatabdi Express and not official cars to go to Delhi for official purposes as there was a tendency for family members, too, to take a ride, shop and linger on in the capital, all at the government's expense.
Lo and behold. Chandigarh soon became the first city to get a second set of Shatabdi Express trains. This one left the city around noon, and left the national capital around 7pm. Most of the passengers on this train were women, children and the retired.
The catering contractor in the early years was Prem Taneja. Regular passengers, who got to know him, would generally call up the friendly soul with requests for tickets—remember, there was nothing like IRCTC or online booking, and the queue to buy the tickets was always long.
My husband and I became accidental beneficiaries of the train. He was based in Delhi and I in Chandigarh. The Shatabdi Express spared us the agony of a six-hour bus ride. Later, friends in the media would ask, “Jaffer Sharief tera kya lagta hai?”(How is Jaffer Sharief related to you?) The gentleman was the railway minister when the second pair of Shatabdi Express trains were introduced.
The small town that Chandigarh was, we invariably found some friends travelling to Delhi. I would entrust my little daughter with them, when she left to meet her father. Such was life then.
Now there are three pairs of Shatabdi Express trains between the two cities, and there is also its poor cousin, the Jan Shatabdi. The trains have 13 coaches, and sometimes even more. There are lots of complaints about the punctuality, the hygiene standards in the coach and the quality of food served, among others.
Yet, regular passengers may soon get nostalgic about it. Will people feel the same sense of “prestige” in taking the Make in India Express? We will know pretty soon.