Author: Alice Munro
Publisher: Vintage 2012
I traveled on the same train from Edmonton to Vancouver. This was the longest passenger train I have traveled on. It had an observation deck for every three compartments that you could freely move between. There was a small cafeteria below the observation deck. There were about 30 people in the three compartments to which I was assigned. The train was scheduled to leave Edmonton one minute after midnight on Wednesday and was scheduled to arrive in Vancouver at 8:00 AM on Friday.
(The following pictures were taken when the train stopped at Jasper on Thursday around 9:30 AM.)
The first two rows of a compartment (of the train) were reserved for families of three or more. They also got priority boarding. A mother and two daughters occupied these seats in our compartment from Edmonton to Jasper. They left the train at Jasper and were replaced by a family of five: father, mother, two sons, and a daughter.
Even during re-boarding, groups of three or more received preferential treatment. We (I traveled with a friend named Nalin) decided that we needed to form a group or family.
Unlike me, Nalin stays connected to Sri Lankan culture by watching all the tele-dramas from Sri Lanka and keeping up with political developments. When we were growing up in Sri Lanka, we addressed our neighbors, and even strangers we met, with titles like “mama” (uncle), “nanda” (aunt), “akka” (elder sister), and “nanagi” (little sister). When my mother and I visited a boutique near the Sri Maha Bodhi in Buddha-Gaya, the vendor called my mother “Loku Amme, enna, enna” (Come, come, Elder-mother!). Apparently, they picked this up from Sri Lankan pilgrims. I also remember many songs by M. S. Fernando, a popular Baila singer of the 60s and 70s, with titles like “Mage Nangi” (My little sister) and “Pol Vikunana Magi Akke” (Coconut seller elder-sister Magi).
(A Picture Taken from the Observation Deck)
In the same row on the other side of the aisle sat a woman who got on the train in Winnipeg. Behind us sat a woman who got on the train in Edmonton with us. Nalin coined the name “Kathuru Akka” (K Akka)—meaning “scissors elder sister”—for the woman in the same row, and I coined the name “Kulati Nangi” (K Nangi)—meaning “meek younger sister”—for the woman behind us. My name has a K in it, and naturally, I became K Sunil. Nalin proposed his name to be K Nalin (“Kottu Nalin”) since he prepared Kottu for dinner on the day I arrived in Edmonton.
Thus, the four of us—K Akka, K Nangi, K Sunil, and K Nalin—formed the “K family” for the purpose of receiving preferential treatment at the next stop when we had a chance to exit the train.
There was only one other stop (at Kamloops) where we got to go out, and no preferential treatment was given to anyone at that stop. Therefore, we did not get an opportunity to tell our family members about our scheme.
There were two VIA Rail attendants assigned to our three compartments. We identified them as "Danda" (meaning "the tall guy") and "Honnda akka" (meaning "good elder sister").
Once we got on the train at Edmonton, it was Danda who was in charge. One of his duties was to explain the facilities available in the three compartments, as well as the rules and regulations. He started with K Nangi. His voice was gentle, smooth, humane, sensitive, and very friendly. He spent an unnecessarily long time in his compassionate, loving voice explaining things to her, even though she was not responding in kind. This was the original reason why we called her "Kulati Nangi." Finally and reluctantly, he moved on to us. He lost all gentleness, smoothness, compassion, and love when he reached us. He asked in a grim voice, "Did you hear what I said to her?" I told him, "No."
He went through his script very quickly and, as a conditioned reflex, asked if we had any questions at the end. I said I did. "Is it OK to shave in the lavatory?" He was taken aback at first and then started to explain, "There are thirty people in these three compartments and you should not use the lavatory for too long..." but he stopped when he realized that I was just pulling his leg. He smiled for the first time, pointed his finger at me, and then moved on to the next row.
H Akka was in charge after the train left Jasper, and she did the sensible thing. She stood in front of the compartment and went through the script out loud so that everybody in the compartment could hear her, and there were no questions.
There was a sheik security guard with a curled-up mustache and a big pot belly at the Edmonton station. He opened our bags and went through every inch of them, looking for scissors and knives. One German traveler had to give up his small penknife, sealed in a security envelope, only to be collected when he departed at Vancouver. Everything was so strict.
K Akka had a pretty hat, and she found some defect on it and decided to fix it. To our great surprise, she pulled out a needle, thread, and a pair of scissors. This was not any normal pair of scissors; it was the mother of all scissors. Later, the father of the family of five pulled out a knife to open a pack of snacks for his daughter.
Conclusion: The security guards at Winnipeg and Jasper were not sheiks with curled-up mustaches and pot bellies.
Everybody we met on the train was very nice. Even Danda, who abandoned our little sister (K. Nangi) for a better-looking girl ("Lassana Nangi", meaning "pretty younger sister"), who got on the train at Jasper, is a nice guy. He was probably a college kid doing a summer job as a train attendant.
Let me just say, if Alice Munro were alive and traveling with us, there would be enough material for her to write at least four new stories.
We arrived at Vancouver Pacific Central Station just one hour off schedule.
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