Through the front windshield of an engine, a driver has a semi-panoramic view of the landscape ahead in the daytime. In the nighttime he-or she-can see up to 150 metres ahead, on the tracks. From this vantage point an engine driver also bears witness to the relationship that ordinary people have with the railways and the tracks they run on. This relationship, from the accounts of two engine drivers working in Punjab, is a complex and not always constructive one.
Seen through the eyes of 36-year-old engine driver Paramvir from Firozepur, and young assistant driver, 27-year-old Sanjay Kumar from Uttar Pradesh, driving a railway engine is a perilous, dull and adventurous task-all these equal parts. The people they encounter can roughly be divided into five categories. But first, here is how they see the job itself: "Being an engine driver is not at all risky in normal circumstances but in abnormal circumstances anything can happen — like such a big accident took place in Amritsar," says Paramvir.
"Sometimes animals land up on the tracks and we try to save them by applying the brakes if there is time." Some drivers are so sensitive, he says, that even running over a dog on the tracks is too painful for them. They sound the engine horn, reduce their speed (if they are not going too fast) and try to frighten the dog off the tracks.
But what really affects an engine driver is not the animals but the first category of people they come across while on the job. This is the people who try to commit suicide by falling under the wheels of a passing train. These attempts are something the engine drivers are forced to witness and find the most troubling aspect of their work. In the experience of these two experienced hands, unfortunately, those trying to die deploy many a stratagem to beat even the most cautious driver.
"Some people stand a few metres away from the tracks, appearing very nonchalant, but when the train gets close to them they suddenly jump in its path," says Paramvir. These are the people who have absolutely determined that they will die in a certain way and give engine drivers no time to stop. "We can stop the train if someone is far away enough even. But the ones who jump in at the last minute just get crushed," says he.
The first time this happened to Paramvir — who joined the Railways in 2008 — he was only 26. He was stunned by the sudden death of a 65-year-old (roughly) lady who laid herself across the tracks in a trice. There was nothing he could do to stop, for he was just 15-20 metres away from her and was moving at around 90 kmph. The woman had, just seconds ago, been walking along the tracks as if nothing was amiss. Then she was dead.