If there is one experience I could get my daughter to re-live, it would be that of traveling by the Indian railways in the 80s and 90s. When I close my eyes and look back at my life, there are a few poignant memories of my childhood that have stood the test of time. The most pertinent among them is train travel. Our yearly summer vacation to Kerala by train.The visuals are so vivid and the smoke, dust and chaos almost palpable.
We would be all geared up to go spend 30-40 days in Kerala with my grandparents, shifting gears from the crazy city life to a more idyllic village atmosphere. The only thing keeping us from that life of leisure would be the 27 hour train journey from Hyderabad to Kochi. My parents, my brother and I would have our suitcases packed and loading our luggages in a taxi we would get to the railway station. First order of business for my brother and I would be to check our weights on the red monstrosity of a machine. Begging for change(coins) from my mom would ensue. The best part? The little prophecy or quote on the ticket that gets printed out with your weight. We would read it out to each other and go nuts.
Then came the "coolie" drama. The "Men in Red" as I like to call them. They would badger you to help out with your luggage. My dad who was an economical man and a proud one at that, would often have us each carry our own luggage. Sometimes he would indulge and let a porter do it. That's when you see the super "human" spirit in action. One scrawny man carrying the weight of the world on his head no less! Once he drops the luggage, begins the predicable banter and bargaining spree. After we successfully dismiss him, we would wait for the train to arrive.
The whistle blowing from a distance, smoke across the sky, making an entrance like only she could comes the "Sabari Express" in all her glory. Everyone scrambles to get on. Once we find our seats and stack our suitcases, the fight for the window seat begins. My brother and I would take turns sometimes, other times he gave in and let me have it. Then came the socializing phase. Getting to know your neighbor and exchanging pleasantries. My Dad was a bit train phobic. He restlessly sought to find someone he knew so he could kill time playing cards or discussing politics...anything but having to stare at the rest of us.
I, on the other hand, loved the serenity and leisure. I loved looking out the window at the world passing me by while time stood still. As twilight would descend, I would listen to music on my walkman (romantic songs of course) and imagine being lost in the wilderness outside with a handsome young man one day who would whisk me away and make me very very happy. As night fell, my Mom would open up the amazing food she packed from home and we would devour it. We would even share it with the strangers (we just met) who we now call friends. I guess that is the beauty of Indian culture and such is the magic of travel.
Then came my favorite part ,where I got to get on to the middle berth if I'm lucky or the top one (if I'm not) and read a book. I would flip page after page in the dim light while the train rocked me to sleep. When I couldn't hold back anymore, I would dog-ear the book, flip the switch off and snuggle into the freshly washed bedsheet we brought from home and sleep peacefully.
Then morning came. There'd be fresh dewdrops on the window sill and vendors yelling "Chai, chai, coffee, coffee" was like music to my ears. My Dad would buy himself a newspaper and buy us coffee and breakfast. I would slide down, duck my head as I sat on the lower berth looking out the window drinking coffee. In that moment, there was nowhere I'd rather be, no destination worth reaching and no place worth stopping.
The train would stop at various stations, rumble through the tracks, meander through hills and valleys and enthrall every passer by. There'd be people selling everything from bangles to flowers to idli/vada to lottery tickets. To me, they were all selling dreams... dreams that would eventually turn to nostalgia.
As the train made its way through the Western Ghats and into Kerala you could see the dry shrubbery, the banyan and neem trees slowly change into a lush green landscape of coconut, banana and jackfruit trees. Backwaters and spices dominated the scenery.
We would have lunch and start getting dressed to off board. The bathrooms were my only nightmare. But we won't get into that. As the train came to a screeching halt and we descended with our luggage in tow, we would bid goodbye to our fellow passengers. My parents would exchange addresses and phone numbers like we'd be friends for life. And there at the station would be our uncle or family member waiting to greet us and take us home.
We would have lunch and start getting dressed to off board. The bathrooms were my only nightmare. But we won't get into that. As the train came to a screeching halt and we descended with our luggage in tow, we would bid goodbye to our fellow passengers. My parents would exchange addresses and phone numbers like we'd be friends for life. And there at the station would be our uncle or family member waiting to greet us and take us home.
While I was excited to finally go home, a small, teeny tiny piece of my heart always got left behind on that train. And no matter how many journeys I take, no matter where life takes me, no matter how many glamorous cities or countries I visit, nothing will ever match up to the simplicity, mystique, romance and wonder of that World on Wheels !!
To life's many adventures and memories of an era gone by... so long !
