A Train Journey To Remember

Finishing my master’s degree in July 2024, I got into the India Fellow program in August 2024. After a comprehensive 21-day orientation by the fellowship, I got placed in Bhuj, Gujarat. On September 3rd, I moved to Bhuj, a city full of culture and history, but far from my home and family in West Bengal. When October came, the season of Durga Puja started to knock on the doors but at Bhuj, it was missing, and I felt homesick.

There was only one puja pandal In Bhuj, the festival didn’t feel the same as it did back home, where I would normally hear the beats of the dhaak and see the beautifully decorated pandals, roam the streets for puja pandal hopping and dance with two dhupchis in my hand, all of these were missing. Especially the distance made me miss my family even more.

November was somewhat pleasing, weather too, it brought some soothing into my life. Parents visited in Bhuj, it was more of a checkup visit of their son. Visiting the Rann of Kutch and buying local garments was also weaved into the travel itinerary with them. in the middle of November, all of my family left Bhuj.

December started with some gruesome news. Even though it was my birthday month,  the circumstances made me emotionally overwhelmed. My new endeavour came with many responsibilities, and personal challenges added to the stress. To recharge, I decided to visit my family.

The Trip

This trip also included a stop in Muzaffarpur, Bihar, not far from my hometown. I began my journey on the sunny winter afternoon of 30th December with a quiet bus ride from Bhuj to Ahmedabad. However, things became more interesting at Ahmedabad railway station.

Being Bengali myself, I felt an instant connection with them. We started talking, and I learned that they were on a group tour of 30 people, visiting holy places in Gujarat like Dwarka and Somnath. Their way of travelling was fascinating. They brought their own small gas stove, cooking utensils, and basic ingredients like rice and lentils. Wherever they stopped, they would cook their meals and eat together like a picnic on all three courses. I am vey good in making instant connections, so, me being me they kindly offered me food, but I had to decline since my train was about to leave. And they cooked a bit far from the station. 

Into The Train

At 10:25pm, I stepped onto the train, found my side-lower berth, and settled in for the long journey ahead. As the train began its slow glide out of Ahmedabad station, I gazed out of the window and the sprawling industrial skyline grabbed my attention. Towering chimneys pierced the night sky, their red flickering lights casting a glow that spoke of Gujarat’s unyielding industrial development.

It was a landscape of economic boosts. Suddenly I felt a contrast between the dying development proceedings of West Bengal and the state where i work now. This duality between the places shook my heart and stirred memories of home while grounding me in the reality of where I was now.

The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks became a soothing backdrop to my thoughts, like a lullaby gently coaxing me into rest.

When I woke up the next morning, it felt as if I had stepped into another world. The window framed a breathtaking view of Madhya Pradesh—a vast expanse of open grasslands that seemed to stretch forever, and the distant mountains Standing to a wall of protection at the horizons. The golden morning light, makes the scene almost surreal, like a painting come to life.

At one point, the train paused briefly to let another pass, offering a chance to truly feel the moment. I pulled out my stale aalu paratha, a simple meal that somehow felt elevated in the presence of such beauty. Sitting by the window, I took small bites, letting the cool breeze and the tranquil surroundings fill me with a sense of calm. For those few minutes, the world outside seemed untouched by the chaos of life.

The Italians

The December 31 gifted me a train journey story so entertaining it felt like a Bollywood plot in motion. At Khajuraho station, a lively bunch of Italian tourists boarded our train, each carrying enough luggage to start a small boutique. These were solo adventurers who had magically formed a “tourist troop” along the way, banding together to explore the wonders of India.

But their first challenge was one unique to Indian train travel, “setting up the sleeping berths”. It was as if they were solving a Rubik’s cube for the first time, flipping cushions, fiddling with the chains, and exchanging helpless glances. Amused, observing the situation, crossed my eyes with one of them I decided to be their unofficial train guide, showing them how to pull up the berths, secure the chains, and, most importantly, where to find the elusive train staff.

Despite the lack of a shared language, their gestures, exaggerated expressions, and enthusiastic nods made our interaction hilarious. One even mimed eating chapati and gave me a thumbs-up, as if to say, “India, good food, great people!” Their curiosity was infectious—they gawked at the passing scenery, attempted broken Hindi phrases, and greeted every vendor with smiles so big they could’ve melted butter. It was like watching toddlers marvel at their first fireworks.

The Man In The Denim Jacket

Just when I thought the train couldn’t get any more entertaining, enter the villain of our little saga: a man dressed in a very suspicious denim jacket. He sauntered up to the Italians with a self-assured grin, offering “help” that no one had asked for. The drama escalated when he suddenly called over an IRCTC sweeper and, in a tone dripping with false authority, ordered him to start cleaning the compartment.

The sweeper, clearly unimpressed, retorted that his shift didn’t start until morning and flatly refused. This set off our denim jacket mystery man, who puffed up his chest, shouting,

“Do you know who I am? I can buy this train! I can buy your entire lineage!”

The sweeper, visibly offended, wasn’t about to let it slide. What followed was a heated argument so loud that it roused even the heaviest sleepers from their dreams. Something about him screamed trouble, and apparently, I wasn’t alone in feeling this. Passengers exchanged wary glances like secret agents passing intel. When someone finally confronted him, the plot thickened.

Turns out, our denim jacket mystery man didn’t have a ticket. Instead of quietly exiting, he chose the path of dramatic flair, hurling insults at a hapless railway worker. By this time, half the compartment was awake and thoroughly invested in the live drama. Some whispered theories about him being a pickpocket, while others speculated he might just be eccentric. Meanwhile, the Italians were wide-eyed, clutching their backpacks like contestants in Khatron Ke Khiladi.

Enter The Ticket Checker

The ticket checker arrived like the hero of the hour, and after some tense verbal sparring, our uninvited guest decided to make a hasty exit at the next station, muttering something incomprehensible as he fled. What started as a minor fiasco quickly turned into a comedy show for the remaining passengers. It was a journey none of us would forget, especially not on New Year’s Eve when laughter became the perfect way to end the year.

The next morning, as the train travelled through Uttar Pradesh, one of the Italian passengers woke me up in a panic. He thought that they boarded the wrong train. It turned out to be a misunderstanding, and I reassured him that everything was fine. They planned to get off at PT DD Upadhyaya station and take a road trip to Varanasi but due to miscommunication with the travelling agency, they thought they boarded the wrong train. I helped them prepare for their stop. They were very thankful and even offered me breakfast as a gesture of gratitude, which I politely declined.

By the afternoon of New Year’s Day, I arrived in Muzaffarpur. The sudden change of words that my ears are grasping made my inner voice say, “Welcome to Bihar”. 

I came out and boarded the vehicle that was assigned to me. After reaching my accommodation a strange sight caught my eye. A two-floored house, amidst which the garage of that house was being used to run a small grocery store. The store owner had turned his car’s roof into a storage shelf. Seeing a Maruti Alto being used this way was both funny and clever, showing how creative people can be.

In image – clever use of a Maruti Alto in a grocery store in Muzaffarpur, Bihar

The Final Act

After Muzaffarpur, while going home at Patna station a pickpocket stole my wallet. The way he cut my bag was pure art. But that is a story for a different time. As my mother is going to read this story and I have heavenly fear of her I am drawing the end here.

In conclusion, this was my journey so far. I know that this does not sound so exciting even a little antisemitic in some way, Some will call it too generic to be true, but for me, this was really something else. Because in my life, in these last 25 years, the things that I have learnt to comprehend is that life is really all about finding joy in the most simplest things.