Life on the rail is filled with its own romance and for centuries, writers such as Agatha Christie, Ernest Hemmingway and many others have captured their readers’ imaginations with vivid accounts of rail journeys. But that was a long time ago, when rail journeys were a novelty and making sure that trains ran properly and on time was hard work.

Even though mass transit is now automated around the world, Pakistan is one of the last places on earth where the railways are still analog. Indeed, most of the telegraph equipment dates back to the days of the British Raj. Oversized ancient telephones are still used to communicate from cabin to cabin and switch operators – who guide trains on their journeys up and down the country – are still relayed instructions manually. At every railroad crossing, points have to be switched by hand and even the slightest slip up could result in catastrophe.

The men and women of the Pakistan Railways toil hard to keep the system running like a well-oiled machine. Tasks such as driving an engine or manning the cabins are hard work that may not be well-rewarded. But thanks to dedicated workers such as Inayat Rehman, Sultan Ahmed and Fazl Dad, Pakistan’s decrepit rail system keeps on chugging.

Inayat Rehman, 41, a railway gatepost officer at rail crossing 55-B in Dhoke Chiragh Din, gives a passing train the all-clear. A 10-year rail crossing veteran says the work is tough and the hours long. Inayat receives his instructions from the station master at Rawalpindi junction before a train sets off, and he has to change tracks according to the route of the train. The levers that control the tracks are located on the roof of his 10x10 foot cabin next to the crossing, where he spends his days and nights.

Sultan Ahmed, 55, sits in the engine of the Mehar Express as it makes its way towards Rawalpindi station. He has been driving trains for 37 years now. “It’s a tough job, taking hundreds of passengers from city to city, day after day. One must be alert and vigilant at all times, especially at night,” he says without taking his eyes off the track. Even though he misses most religious festivals and national holidays, he says the department does not pay for his food and living expenses, which he has to bear out of pocket.

Fazl Dad, 58, is the cabin man at the Rawalpindi junction and does one of the most important jobs at the station. By lowering one of the dozens of colour-coded levers in his cabin, he controls the direction of trains heading out of the station. A 31-year veteran on the cabin, Fazl says that even the tiniest mistake or oversight could lead to a terrible accident. “If I don’t change the track in time, two trains coming from opposite directions could collide head on,” he says. Most of the equipment in the cabin, such as this old telephone he uses to communicate with crossings further down the line, are also relics of the British Raj.

Inayat Rehman locks the gate of rail crossing 55-B with a special key. The technology used for these gates dates back to the days of the British Raj and the key has a dual purpose. It not only locks and unlocks the gates, but is also used to lower the signal, allowing a train to pass. This redundancy was designed as a safety feature, which still survives to this day. But this is no easy task. Inayat says it becomes difficult for him to lock the gates and lower the signal during rush hour, because people usually want to rush through and do not wait for the train to pass.

The railroad switch outside Fazl Dad’s cabin links the levers inside with the tracks. This allows him to guide trains onto the main ‘through lines’ that stop at various platforms, and allows him to switch the direction of trains that are passing through.

A view of the tracks at Rawalpindi railway station. This complicated mesh of metal and wooden sleepers features a frog, or common crossing, at the point the two rails meet. Also visible are guard rails, which are extra rails that prevent a bogey from de-railing while switching from one track to the next. — Photos by the writer

Published in Dawn, March 29th, 2015

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