Tales From The Malabar Express

Train Journeys were an integral part of my college life. Those night trains from Thiruvananthapuram Central, especially the Malabar express and Mangalore express were like my second home. Chasing a running train with a heavy bundle on my back, finding a berth in a dark ladies compartment even before the lights came in, kind-hearted porters offering help, creeps lurking in the shadows, and hot cups of late-night chai at Shoranur Junction — my journeys have often felt like scenes lifted straight from a film.

I wouldn’t dare to indulge in any such adventures now for the fear of a broken leg or a sprained back. For those wondering why I didn't secure a ticket in advance, let me explain that college strikes often occurred without warning and did not come announced. There were strikes of all sorts, shutdowns due to chickenpox and some unexpected holidays. I don't know if such a thing as a water strike still exists in our college anymore. In those days there was so much scarcity of water that the residents of the men’s hostel had to go on a strike. Their ‘powerful’ slogans clearly depicted the perils of a hostel inmate. The topic of the water strike was kind of a chicken-egg thing. Whether the water scarcity or the idea of a water strike came first, has always  been a subject of much conjecture .

As soon as an unexpected holiday is announced, hordes of homesick inmates who have been craving for their mom’s food and the sight of their homeland would go gung-ho and start packing their stuff to catch their trains. My roommate who was also my fellow traveller would start acting jittery walking back and forth with her trolley bag yelling out to me to hurry up. She is like that twin so fraternal that it's hard to find any concurrence in our ways. Unfazed by the nervous lady, I let my calm and composed self out of the room to catch the bus to the railway station.

Dinner was usually at restaurants near the railway station. The loyal malabari that I am, always preferred non-veg food. My malabari friends and I couldn't bother to think about a different option when chicken/fish was available. We always wondered how all of the others survived the whole night without ‘real’ food. I mean, who eats dosas for dinner? 10 years down the lane, I often heat up my dosa pan to make splendid dosas for dinner! Age and marriage change people a lot. That’s a whole other topic to ponder.

As our study holidays always magically coincided with our summer break, we had to carry a heavy weight of books while travelling. After the first year, I stopped this practice of carrying the load back home after realising that it didn't do any good for me, or the other passengers, or my family in any significant way. Once, at the station, a batchmate offered to help me after watching my plight to carry my luggage on the never-ending flight of steps. His genuine act of kindness didn't sit well with the senior boys, who were also watching this. They made him carry their big baggages suggesting there should be no gender bias for voluntarily helping anyone.

On these journeys back home, I have made friends, met my friends from other colleges, shared berths, food, and memories of a lifetime. We would chat through the night munching on lays, listening to music, gazing at the moon. Those were simple days with ‘not so smart’ phones or social media. Sometimes fellow travellers started conversations, some even sharing the stories of their college days. 

These are just a few fair glimpses of my rapport with the Indian Railways. There is a certain rocking rhythm to the Indian trains. Swaying gently to its beat the entire night, we arrive at our destinations with the first light of dawn. After a cup of morning tea, we bid goodbye to each other hoping to meet for our next journey to college aboard the same train.