There are a few things that can swing you back into childhood – a paper boat or rocket, the smell of new books and yes, the window seat in a train.
As I boarded a train after almost a decade, to take that journey I had promised myself, I was determined to reconnect with that joy of decades ago. We would sit cross-legged, sticking our fingers out to catch the elusive wind, wonder at the birds and animals flying past, the green paddy fields, and listen to the clackety-clack of metal meeting metal as the train rattled on... Parents would point out and identify plants, birds, flowers, the areas we rolled through and the stations where we stopped. It was an education of sorts, one which could not be had on a bus trip or flight.
On this quiet morning, when the birds were still getting about their business, I sat at my window to the world, contemplating the slideshow of still life unfold at high speed.
I could feel that familiar thrill of watching the world, uninterrupted, for hours. The romance was just beginning, but I could not stick my fingers out, as I was sitting in a Vatanukulith coach – AC coach to the uninitiated. Those in the Shayanyaan coach could still feel the breeze. That’s the sleeper coach. I realised that train stations and journeys have become a lot more complicated, and require a brand new vocabulary as we lurch towards a new India.
Not much had changed inside the train – the comfort level was bare, tea and snacks vendors would interrupt your reverie at regular intervals, tempting you with oily wares. The restroom (can you call it that?) stank of unadulterated urea. The stations, though, were cleaner and more comfortable than I remembered them.
My co-passengers were a couple with a young child, barely four years old, who perched on the berth above and called down to her parents every few minutes. She was promptly given a mobile to keep her occupied, as the parents returned to their own screens.
As the train trundled on, I saw the world in many perspectives – the architecture and structures of the passing villages and towns, the climate, soil and crops, giving a hint of what the economy could be like. There was also the demography, expressed in the spires of faith piercing through the settlements – glistening gopurams, lofty minarets and crosses – symbols of diversity. Primarily, I was looking out with adult eyes, seeing things I never noticed as a child.
What caught my attention, though, was the couple’s complete disinterest in the passing environs as they barely looked up or out of the windows. The bored child clambered up and slithered down, and peered out once in a way. Not just this kid, those in the other compartments, too, were glued to mobiles – a train journey without much childish excitement.
It was a generation thing, I guess, but I felt sorry for them–they were missing out on a world of many hues rushing by.
Gulnaar Mirza
Associate Editor
gulnaar@newindianexpress.com