From a railway carriage
By Prateek N. Kumar MD & CEO, NeoNiche Integrated Solutions Pvt. Ltd. I woke up with a start, looked out of the window of my threetier compartment and was greeted by the familiar sights, smells and cacophony characteristic of almost any railway station in India. I asked a boy selling peanuts which station the train had halted at, and was told that it was Rourkela. My journey from Mumbai to Tatanagar had begun 24 hours earlier, and I was around two hours from my destination. I had managed to get my favourite side-lower berth, and had even got a good night’s sleep despite travelling by Sleeper Class after a gap of 12 years – and it had been 10 years since I last travelled on any train. They say if you haven’t travelled by Indian Railways, you haven’t seen India! Yes, the Incredible India experience would be incomplete without it. The British had built narrow gauge lines leading to the hill stations to escape the heat in the plains, but my journey was more to relive the memories of my college days, and hence I chose a train over a flight. I got up to brush my teeth and follow up with some hot tea and the newspaper, but began to reminiscence my college days of 14 years ago. For close to three years, I had travelled regularly on the Gitanjali Express between home in Tatanagar and Mumbai. During the vacations, I along with a large group of friends used to board the Gitanjali Express from Dadar at around 6 am, and reach Tatanagar the next day at around 9.30 am. Dadar resembled a ‘casbah’ in the Thar Desert back then, and was a lot more crowded and chaotic. Once aboard, we automatically stopped playing spectators and became participants instead. Fellow passengers would break into conversation, relate life stories and share food with one another despite meeting for the very first time. Though there was a lot of noise throughout the journey, the ruckus always had a friendly air about it. Cricket was an ever-popular topic and if you were not a cricket buff, then the best way out of a corner was to change the topic to Indian politics. A glass of hot chai was an experience not to be missed, and chai was available any time of the night or day. You could also enjoy the steaming hot beverage in disposable earthenware pots or kulhars. I remembered an old chaiwallah who operated between Tatanagar and Rourkela stations with his famous negative marketing pitch, ‘Kharab se kharab chai pijiye’. His chai, however, was quite a treat – unlike the plastic disposable cups with lukewarm, watered-down milk and limp floating teabags that I saw on this trip. I suppose this is a sign of progress! I remembered the scenic views, undulating tunnels, rivers, village life, farmers working in their rice fields and goatherds grazing sheep. Brightly painted stations would pass by in the blink of an eye as the train zipped along steadily, and finally we would arrive at Jamshedpur, a step closer to home for our vacation. I was suddenly jolted back to reality and peered out of the window as the train pulled into Chakradharpur. I needed to collect my luggage and prepare to detrain shortly, but once again the shouts of ‘chai garam chai’ began to carry me away to those good old days of yore. Feedback: prateek.kumar@neonicheintegrated.com
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