The fast-thinning 'Lankan hospitality', Deluxe comfort myth

At quarter past four the Colombo/Vavuniya intercity express steamed out of the Fort railway station 15 minutes behind schedule and there I was in seat 27 - my designated numeral for the next one and a half hours which, in reality, fell short of clock work precision. Surely U/L dubbed usually late is no sole monopoly, I thought, of SriLankan airlines alone.

Having paid the full fare to Vavuniya first class though I was to disembark half way at Kurunegala, everything fell short of my expectations. Knowing fully well the incompatibility of price and service in the Sri Lankan context, my choice of travel may have been some other alternative, yet I did not mind risking the futility of such high cost for two reasons.

Not being a stranger to wheels on rails with regional affiliation to Wayamba - a geographical contact over five generations or so, mention I must the joy, for the first time ever in being told of reaching my destination in a short spell, such as one and a half hours which later turned out to be all fiction with factual assurance resting with the Sri Lanka Railway.

Secondly, the sheer thought of an overwhelming festival crowd relieving Colombo, into their traditional homesteads drove me up the wall. This then was my only point of relief in my choice of first class travel - a compensation for all other shortcomings encountered at high cost.

I was sure of an unencroached journey for almost always many third class travellers sneek into the second and escape at lightning speed when ticket inspectors are at sight. Well, all this makes some other Ringside and lest I digress.

Seated on my right was a Scottish girl - Nicola - working in a Colombo-based NGO. She was alone I presumed and we soon got chatting. Nicola was my journeying partner, for the next "assured one and a half hours." She, much to my relief was a girl who could not talk shop and may not have been so if not for her grasp of metaphysics - the only point of digression being Prince Charles' second nuptial which in Scottish opinion was a mere "So what?" - not missing out on sympathy for that thunderbolt on royal arrogance - Princess Diana.

Nicola was on her way to Anuradhapura looking forward to being among Sri Lanka's historic ruins though her trip itself was a near ruin. Though eager to catch a glimpse of what was left of rural Sri Lanka, the blurred vision coming off her murky window pane put her through much discomfort. I thought it to be the vapour coming off the air conditioner's cold. She rubbed it ever so hard. Nothing worked.

The seemingly vapoured stuff was encapsulated within it - a pane that pained travellers.

I tried in vain to get at the so-called attendant who I was told would be at hand. No such was let alone hands even within sight. No one ever bothered to inquire into travellers' needs. Here we were supposedly star class travellers assured of star grade comfort.

The train sped without a single stop at any station when all at once from out of the blues a bunch of "Tikkas" invaded the compartment. These ticket inspectors - all of whom had very stern exteriors - lodged themselves at different points verifying ticket purchases.

When brought to their notice - I mean the murky window pane - the response was one of acknowledgement only - nevertheless blatant disregard of a foreign visitor on board put to inconvenience.

One may argue, 'Well that's not their job'. Yes, true, but a counter argument comes in "What of Sri Lankan hospitality?" All this a part, the luxury compartment itself - one look around - revealed anything but luxury.

The highly compact compartment was all stuffy with seats that permitted limited leg stretching and tables at the disposal only of some passengers. Though there was commonality of fares it wasn't so of tables which the deprived quickly using their own ingenuity resorted to. Lap tops became desk tops come tea time.

The collapsible small folded table opposite such persons was hardly enough to hold whatever plate, cup and saucer and rested at chest level when unfolded, much to traveller discomfort.

This columnist being the only one from that compartment to get off at Kurunegala, could not even see the train's entry into any geographical area. Once again, it was the opaque window glass - a terrific test on travellers' sight. The fear of being over carried compelled this writer into picking up bag and baggage out of the compartment's confines, very much ahead of destination's reach.

Adding fuel to fire was the compartment itself, which rail authorities proudly describe as the 'A/C deluxe' ran a temperature almost the same as the heat outside with the Kurunegala station clock reading 6.30 p.m. - a good 15 mns late - which was the 'Intercity Express'.