The year was 1998. It was my first time ever in a long distance, overnight train.
Such was the excitement; there was a scramble for window seats.
An old woman obliges, and I squeeze myself between her and the cold metal of the train.
Together we look out of the window which was heavily barred with horizontal metal pipes.
The train stood still, and a gentle drizzle made its way to us.
Neither of us minded getting our glasses foggy and blurry.
I was looking at the train adjacent to us, when I heard three distant honks and I suddenly felt us move.
It was actually the adjacent train that was departing but it left a strange sensation of our train moving.
I would learn physics a few years later and understand why.
I again hear three honks; this time they were sharp and rather clear.
There was a sudden tug, and we were off.
As the train picked up speed, the wind and the rain whipped up my hair; my mickey mouse hairclip was left hanging by two strands of my thick curly hair.
Gazing out the window, it seemed the fields and the trees, and the people were the ones who moved, not us.
As the cold air whipped my already numb face and made my eyes water, my mind kept chanting this absurd thing; well, it was absurd for a six-year-old.
“While we are still… Everything else moves…”
The year was 2014. Not my first time on a plane.
I squeezed myself in the middle seat with no room for my elbows, and for the umpteenth time I missed the good ol’ trains.
Other than the soft whirring of the engines and the safety announcements, it was quiet on all fronts.
Once we reached cruising height, a man dressed in a sharp suit gently pulled out his sleek MacBook from the overhead compartment; all I could hear later was the urgent clackety-clack from his direction.
The airhostess reached my aisle, and I asked for a sandwich. No more a student, I could now afford the overpriced food at 35,000 feet.
But still, I mused about the times when snacks were passed around in train journeys, and you couldn’t escape the over familiarness of kind aunties and uncles. The clouds in my mind shifted and I remembered Seema aunty, her snacks and endless rounds of rummy.
The year was 2009. I was travelling to New Delhi for undergrad uni. The Rajdhaani Express didn’t serve any meals then and you were expected to carry your own food.
Seema aunty from the family of four sitting in the same compartment had already introduced her family to me and she now knew everything there was to know about my life; I bet if she wanted to, she would’ve been able to write my kundali.
After having been stuffed with snacks from the Sharma family, they noticed my lean sandwich at dinner time and offered me a full plate of roti sabzi. Some of my careless tears fell on the roti but we all ignored it. Early next morning, the family had already left and left me a dabba full of snacks, a note with a phone number on it. For years to come, Seema aunty would call me to check on me.
The year was 2019. By now my company had been reimbursing my business flights. I sorely missed trains, Seema aunty and losing to her at rummy.
I craved the intimacy of train travel so much that I cancelled my flight and booked an overnight train instead. The Duranto Express halted at barely three stops before making its way to the destination.
When I entered my bogey, I saw there was no scope for opening the windows as they were sealed shut. Sighing, I settle myself into the side berth window seat. I look around the compartment, and everyone is buried in their smartphones, and no snacks are being shared.
Just as I was starting to feel like an idiot for booking the train, a young girl comes and shyly asks if she can share my window seat. I nod and scoot over. She quietly settles herself between me and the window.
Our train blasts three quick horns and starts to move.
The little girl points – look – we are still but everything else is moving.
Yes, it is I say, my eyes full.
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