I looked like a normal 12 year old, eagerly waiting for the train to enter the platform. I stood near Ma and Baba, and positioned myself as strategically I could within the vision and limits that my parents dictated. But there was a combat readiness inside my mind that had to be put in action as soon as the train arrived. I knew I had a better chance than my cousins because I had asked the seat numbers from Baba last week, and since then drawn them on my notebook and confirmed the position of the berths. I was sure of securing the window seat, whether I got to aboard first or not.

Boarding a train had its own system in my family, first in line was Baba or other men in the travel group with the luggage so that they could stow them under seats with complete satisfaction. After that came the children with their mothers who would until then wait in the platform. This also ensured that the women and children avoided the marauding rush of the coolies and those species of travellers who always thought of every train they boarded as the last one ever from that particular station for all infinity. Of course, there was a de-boarding process too.

My cousins managed to board first because they could get away with being heedless to their parents, whereas I was a graduate from the doggy obedience school, where one calm and firm, 'Darao!' from my mom would paralyse me. However, knowledge is power and I learned that early on in my life. Not that it made me an exceptionally brilliant topper, it did the other best thing, made me a bookwyrm. So, while my cousins ran around like headless chickens, I straightaway made for our allotted seats and sat my eminent self by the window. No amount of tantrums could dethrone me now because it was a legit move and above all Baba and Pisha saw me attain it without contest. 

Ha! Score.

No movie can compare the moving scenes from a train window. The breeze that freshens you while you gaze at the picturesque villages with their mud huts and thatch roof houses, miles of paddy fields, varied sizes of ponds, cattle roaming and storks flying in formation, children fishing and swimming...it’s just like a story come to life from Shuktara or Anandomela. And what in this world can beat the excitement of an approaching river, the rhythmic drumming sound of the iron bridge reaches you the moment the engine enters the structure and after that there's the waiting. With bated breath you wait to sight the mighty river, the drummimg sound now has reached a crescendo and an unexplained glee marks my face as soon as the swirling waters far below greet me. Even today, a smile and excitement rushes me as I cross a river on train, just one of the purest pleasures of life.

The mighty Brahmaputra humbled me every single time, but so did the scores of small and middle-sized rivers one crosses when travelling in trains through Assam and Bengal. The other favourite thing to do was to try and spot the name of the river after crossing it; there would be the trademark yellow signboard with the name immediately after the bridge ended. Also, I loved reading the name of every tiny station or 'halt' that we crossed. It was written in triplicate, English, Hindi and Assamese and I would know when we crossed over to the state of Bengal because then it would be written in Bengali and when we touched certain parts in Bihar the third language would be Urdu.

Never a dull moment, those train journeys that always accompanied the summer vacations – seem so far away now.

As long as there was daylight, the scenery outside ruled supreme and once the lights came on I would take out my treasure trove of Tinkle Digest, some or the other Omnibus that was saved for exactly a train journey or if I was lucky enough a whole Enid Blyton series. Dinner time also meant that Ma would finally reveal some delicious luchi or porota fare with equally mouth-watering aloo dum or even better, kasha mangsho! Besides, let's not forget the train fare in segmented plates and the parade of vendors none of whom I ever said no to, as long as they were eatables. Yes, I grew up to be an omnivorous and in a small part thanks to these very train journeys. I mean jhalmuri rocks!

When I joined Delhi University, train journeys acquired a different character altogether but remain loved nonetheless. Now, it meant travelling in student concession tickets, therefore, shared seats, boisterous groups, whole nights of singing and adda and sometimes quite a nuisance to fellow travellers. I now know how they must have felt but youth knows no reason. Today, these kids are so bent over their smartphones that I feel sorry for all the merry-making they are missing with their friends.

My love for trains aged with me, from innocent to raucous to flirty to mellow.... Why, you see, during my higher studies and early years of working visits home could not be coordinated with friends and I often ended up in solo train travels. By then, I had graduated to Rajdhani Express from the humble, three nights long, meandering Brahmaputra Mail. The daydreams by the train window had lost much of its possibility and shine by then simply because the windows won’t open. In these journeys, a big fat novel and a prayer for a good-looking fellow passenger was what I boarded the trains with. So many, fluttering eyelashes, coy smiles, stolen moments of smoking by the doors late-night, exchanging numbers and addresses, everything seemed special and possible in a train journey. The coaches dancing to the tune of 'chug, chug, chug' and offering eventful memories the stage to happen, I was the happiest in trains and the joy unexplained just bubbled from inside.

One of my favourite train memories was travelling with my then-boyfriend-now-husband and that too without any chaperones. No, nothing racy just that railways had the option of 'upgrades' then and our Purva Express AC 3 tier berths were upgraded to AC 2 tier, oh the thrill of travelling in those curtained and spacious coaches. And the highlight was a reading lamp by the headside! Bliss.

                                                                                                     *****

Cut to present times, visits home have graduated to flights because 4 hours still beats a two nights long journey even in Rajdhani and when you throw a 3-year-old into the mix, the discussion is over. But thankfully the other side of the family is still 14 hours by trains and this helped me introduce my little one to the magic of trains. 

The Howrah Rajdhani Express was on time, my little one shrieked and made a dash for the window side as her father arranged the luggage under the seat. I sat across her and she promptly took her water bottle and slid it into the space provided for it. She then took her little bag of colouring books, story books, crayons, assorted toys, etc. and hung it overhead and sat down observing the platform and its sights. A little later, she would be monkeying around the berths, climbing up and down and savouring the train fare. 

When the lights go out and I cuddle a happy kid sleeping blissfully in her favourite middle berth, I know that in this train today is sleeping a girl who will grow up loving trains just as I did.