I love train travel. I always have. I love the solitude of it, curling up with a book or idly looking out of the window watching trees, fields, buildings rush by.
Long journeys are even more fun. For those hours, you are disconnected from the world, its requirements, its demands, its worries. That more than anything, is what I love, the peaceful solitude.
Growing up, travel was rare. Since we lived with our grandparents, summer vacations meant all our cousins came to us, rather than us going anywhere. Which is why train journeys remained special.
My father is an avid traveller
He has journeyed across the country – Kashmir to Kanyakumari and Kutchh to Kohima. Travelling with him, when we were children, was a treat and a delight.
The moment we were seated, he’d pull out the timetable – a physical copy, if you even remember those, and we’d chart our way.
Also a foodie
He’d know exactly what was famous at which station, no matter how tiny it was. Kalajam at Urai, samose at Unnao, Nagina’s chai, petha at Aagra, poha at Ratlam and rewari from Lucknow, he’d get something at every station.
Meanwhile my mother’s aloo puri with sour mango or singhada pickle (her speciality) was not to be underestimated. It tasted even better when savoured with the rhythmic movement of the train. And when the subzi ran out, puris sprinkled with salt and dipped into hot chai the next morning, were a whole different kind of delicious.
Later, when I began travelling on my own, from Lucknow to Delhi (overnight by the Lucknow Mail), then to Bombay (dear old Pushpak Express) I continued to love it. It was my first taste of freedom. I’d hope for a top berth and curl up with a book helped along with uncountable cups of tea, revelling in the absence of my parents’ disapproving gaze.
Once the children came along, train travel became rare. But on the odd occasion that we did, it remained fun and memorable.
Until this time.
I happened to be travelling with three moms each with a toddler.
When the twins were young, each time we were in a public space, I was extra vigilant, watchful, careful that they didn’t inconvenience or offend anyone around us. I kept a constant eye on them, shushing them, warning them, keeping them engaged. I invented ‘sitting games’, guessing games and stories.
And I was always, always armed with a bagful of apologies. Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!
The mothers in my compartment, had a strange sense of entitlement, an assumption that everyone’s space, time and attention were automatically available because they were travelling with a child.
‘He just doesn’t eat without the phone,’ On speaker, of course.
‘He can’t sleep without the phone.’
‘Kids can’t help but be noisy’, with an indulgent smile.
‘Oh! she’s spilt water. Never mind. One has to adjust with children.’
Another mom, who walked over from another compartment, tried to hand me a less-than-one-year-old saying lightly, ‘My child goes to just about anyone.’ It was bewildering.
When had it become natural to assume that everyone is ready or willing to hold a stranger’s baby, I wondered, as I reached for my second Crocin of the day.
I like children. I enjoy being with them. I love their chatter, their innocent way of perceiving the world. It wasn’t the children that unsettled me. I know, more than anyone else, that they’re loud and chaotic. What I didn’t understand is how a parent could be okay with that behaviour.
The constant noise of phones – children playing video games, moms watching reels and serials and loud video calls – made the compartment feel oppressive.
When they finally disembarked a few hours before my station, it felt as though peace descended. They left the seats littered with bags of chips, food crumbs and spilt tea, despite regular sweeping during the long journey.
It was disappointing.
I am hoping this was an aberration and that all new moms are not like this.
However, for now, I’m done romanticising train travel. Not because trains have changed, but because public spaces have. Until phones stop turning compartments into noisy hubs, I’ll keep my love for trains stored away in my memory, as they once were.