Romancing the train

Everybody has a favourite train story. We share some of ours
There are trains, and then there are train journeys. Hot and sweaty,
cool and luxurious; insanely crowded carriages, empty ones which are
just as scary... journeys in India, across India from the north to the
south; in Europe wheretrains connect with the precision of a key
turning in the lock...
There is something about trains that creates a certain magic.Much
though I like the idea of reaching a destination in hours rather than
days, the roar of a airplain engine revving for takeoff can never
quitematch the thrill of listening to the guard's shrill whistle, and
the rush that happens when with a clank of metal and the hiss of steam
the train starts out on its journey.
Perhaps it is the thrill that came with knowing one was free of
studies for the next two months of summer vacations that made train
journeys so special. We'd board thetrain that would wind its way
across five states before it reachedMadras, in Calcutta. Our journey
included strange cries of hawkers , ill lit platforms that could well
be haunted, and hanging bat like from the top berth as one read one's
book in the weak compartment light. It included making room for a huge
block of ice on a metal tray as the train sweated us into Bezwada
station, which the sun had turned into a furnace. The fan was supposed
to cool the ice and thusthe air in our cubicle, but the heat always
won, and all we would get for our efforts was a wet floor ,as the
trainchanged directions andshunted engines front to back.
Since those annual journeys, there have been many, including one from
Calcutta to Delhi, when we smuggled our Bhutanese boxer in swaddling
clothes, right till the end without discovery!
Not all journeys were pleasant. There were a series of horrid ones
from Nagpur when after our summer exams my sister and I would beg to
be allowed to travel to Madras. We would ride in the vestibule hoping
for a seat along the way, and the heat and post exam tiredness would
be killing. But a year later, there we would be at the station,
pushing our way into the sleeper, hoping for a seat. No one thought of
the flight as an alternative. It was just not any fun!
Even the trauma of travelling 28 kms to work from a mid station on the
suburban line, when I moved to Bombay did not quite cure me .
Travelling to Gwalior tomake a documentary, I took the second class
sleeper on the Punjab Mail from Bombay. Grabbing the upper berth I
fell fast asleep.
I woke up the next morning to find myself incapable of stretching my
legs. I pushed again, no movement seemed possible. Sitting up in
panic, I realised that the rather ample bodies of two people were
crushed against my legs, blocking my movement. And below, similar
crouched bodies dotted every available space. There had been an
invasion at night, at some way station, where a hoard of ticketless
travellers had got on!
Train journeys in Europe are quite different. But the first one which
I ever took overseas was in England, from Birmingham to London.I loved
looking out at the picture post card countryside , I loved the comfort
of a controlled temperature. I travelledback at night, and the moon as
it hung low over the horizon spurred me write a story, titled Night
Train to Glasgow. Adding my bit to the long list of train inspired
stories , including another Night Train tale by the well loved Ruskin
Bond.
Since then I have travelled frequently by train across Europe,
preferring it to the cramped flights, the endless security
checks.Besides, train journeys reveal a country as flights can never
do. Travelling across Provence recently by train, we saw the
countryside unfolding with the explicit colours of
Impressionistpaintings. From Paris toDijon, the landscape changed in
the course of a couple of hours, from green to a palatteof hues that
would have Van Gogh reaching for his brush. As we trundled on to
Marsellies, the sea lapped alongside, a brilliant blue-green in
contrast and the harbour a painter's interpretation of boats of many
hues and shapes moored along the coast.
At every point, we stopped at tiny towns with populations the size of
a Bombay suburb, and whether we took a local shuttle or the TGV, there
was always the same feeling of being in competent hands.
Saying which, I must add quickly that I do rate the Indian Railways
among the best in the world. Travelling by second or even third AC is
a far cry from the hot journeys of the seventies. The super fast
trains, the dining and night bedding services, make for luxury on
rails. Cateringto a country as far flung as ours, and yet making it
possible to travel from any point inthe country to another with almost
no tears, is a feat that deserves international recognition. Prince
Charles would have been as impressed as he was with the dabbawallas of
Mumbai, had he taken a train across India!
The old locomotive might be seen only in films, the changing of the
wooden sleepers tocement ones has reduced the rat a tat of wheels; but
despite thespeed and comfort, I sometimes miss the journeys when, I
wouldsit by the open window, a book on my lap, the wind in my hair,
and enjoy the ridefor itself. When the light got too dim, I would sing
songs that matched the rhythm of the train exactly.
Perhaps it is the songs the trains sing that linger in our mind, and
spin the romance of the journeys in our hearts.

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And Allah Knows the Best!

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Published by :->
M NajimudeeN Bsc- INDIA

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