The tea and coffee vendors—how did they manage to sound so similar at every station? Was there a particular raga in which they sang their tea-coffee refrain? And how was it that Higginbothams seemed to have stalls at every station? Magazines might sell quickly, but I always wondered if the books ever did. Whenever I saw those bookstalls, this thought crossed my mind. Fruit vendors, idlis, dosas, and omelet's were common fare. Water was never sold; you had to fill your bottle from drinking water taps or wash your face with it. Waiting in queues for snacks, books, or water—constantly turning your head to see if the train had moved, straining your ears for any whistle sounds, and keeping a close eye on the carriage—was a routine. You’d get the job done and return to the relief of your family, who would be staring from the window.

As a child, I was always scared of standing near the exits or entrances of the train. They both seemed the same to me, and I never figured out how to close the latch on the door. It remains a mystery to this day. If you had a penchant for ballet dancing, you might have attempted it in the toilet or even tried walking in the passage while the train was at full speed.

Once you boarded the train, falling asleep peacefully was not an option. You had to stay alert, anticipating the arrival of the ticket checker. Much like waiting for a girlfriend, you had to be on the lookout for this person. With a sheaf of papers, they would scrutinize your tickets, check names and ages, make a tick, and leave you with a fleeting sense of freedom. On long-distance trains, this process could occur multiple times. Why did it take so long to verify a ticket?

Certain memories are permanently engraved in my mind: the monstrous steam engines expelling deep breaths of smoke, the driver usually sporting a scarf, and the assistant who had to keep feeding the coal—how did they manage the heat? The tearful goodbyes as relatives ran alongside the train, trying to catch a final glimpse of their loved ones. The intimidating noise of river bridges as the train crossed them, the dark tunnels—why did I always close my eyes, even though it was already dark in the tunnels? The orange basket vendors in Nagpur, Basin Bridge, and the large thermal stations, and the joy of finally reaching your destination.

Continued in 130. Chuk-Chuk Book-Book - Part 3