The Bridge and the Train

    The train journey began at six in the morning and I had to rise early at four o'clock to make it on time. As I stepped outside, the chilly morning air greeted me and I regretted my decision to take the train. However, the traffic at the railway station was a close call, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I settled into my window seat and the train started moving. 

    The landscape changed rapidly, and soon the bustling city of Kolkata was behind us. The two iron tracks glided swiftly over the crushed stones, converging and diverging with speed and I marvelled at the smooth movement of the heavy train. The fog outside gave the world a mystical quality, and the gentle swaying of the train brought back fond memories. I felt a strong sense of nostalgia as if I had seen it all before. I had seen these vehicles waiting patiently at the railway crossings and children outside waving goodbye. I had also seen these large tracts of fields with lush green harvests and white lilies blooming in water bodies. 

    My father’s job brought him from his mofussil town to a far-off township. This place had neatly constructed quarters with playgrounds in between and large chimneys of the thermal power plant that could be seen from all around. Our family moved miles but we kept on going back and train journeys helped us maintain that link. For nine months we lived in the cosmopolitan township where people had gathered from different regions. Most of them had roots in places like ourselves and they talked about villages and farms that sounded like the place where my grandparents lived. We spent three months of summer holidays with them and undertook two long train journeys for it. 

    I remember waiting at the platform for hours with the sounds of coolies and trains passing by. When it became cold I comfortably lazed in my mother’s lap. If it was my lucky day, I also bought a toy along with some magazines that were always allowed. I never liked sharing things and fought with my sister who will get the window seat. You always wanted the view of the direction in which the train moved and those who got the window of the opposite side were doomed for the entire journey. Today train journeys are few and I cannot fight with my toddler sons to take the window seat; I felt relieved they were not there today with me.  

    As the train crossed a bridge, I hummed the lines by Dushyant Kumar: 

    Tu kisi rail si guzarti hai, 

    Main kisi pul sa thartharata hoon 

    Can the feeling of love when everything looks beautiful and butterflies flutter in the stomach ever be expressed more beautifully?  

    We crossed the Son River on our journeys, and the sight of the vast and beautiful yet menacing riverbed has stayed with me. The sound of the train on the bridge still evokes feelings of awe, fear, and excitement. There is no experience quite like a train crossing a bridge, just as there is no romance quite like life itself. 

    The pace of the train journeys was peaceful, just like the pace of life at that time. We exchanged magazines with fellow travellers, learned about their lives, and made friends. We always brought food for the journey and often shared it with these new-found strangers turned friends. I waited for railway stations when ice cream vendors came and we relished in the small pleasures of life. My father used to get off the train to fill up the water bottle, causing us all to worry about the train starting before he returned.  

    At times, the train would halt in desolate areas for hours, and we would simply look outside. At other times, when another train crossed from the opposite direction, we relished in the thrill of speed. 

    
    Back then, train journeys were a regular occurrence in our lives, but as I grew older and moved away, air travel took the place of these soothing journeys. Today, I was grateful to have taken the train. It felt like someone reminded me from a time that passed by that life is beautiful in so many ways.  We just need to keep our eyes open to look for beauty.