I am a proud Railwayman's son, and that has given me some unforgettable experiences.
Rewind to year 1978. My brother had finished his SSLC just then. I had finished my 5th standard. Neither of us knew a word of Hindi, coming from Madurai, that citadel of Tamizh. My father was eligible for three "sets" of passes in 1st class in a year, and decided to send both of us , without anyone else accompanying us, to Pune, where my Perimma lived.
Now, that is not a simple point A to point B journey. It involved, firstly, and overnight travel from Madurai to Chennai by Pandian Express. Then a "M8 mini bus" ride from Egmore to Central. Then to find the correct platform at Central, what with it's 15 odd platform enough to put us in awe. Followed by a 24 hour journey by Steam Engine-pulled Dadar Express... we had the "luxury" of diesel engines only in some sections. Food was pack for those days by mother. No eating outside.
Pandian express was an epitome of cleanliness. I used to die to travel in the 1st class. The cabins used to be spic and span, painted so well, with pictures of the Meenakshi Amman temple and other important places. The floors, I remember, used to shine... so clean, that it sleeping on the floor seemed perfectly fine! The exterior too used to be washed everyday, after the rakes come in, at the yard.
Booking for the entire journey was a funny experience in itself. At Madurai Junction, there was one designated counter for all first class tickets. Unlike second class, which had one counter for each sector. And then there was another counter which dealt exclusively with sending messages for onward reservations. We first stood in the first class queue, and got the Madurai-Egmore sector booked. "Booking" merely meant the booking clerk writing down the details of the "pass" in his monstrous ledger, and replicating the details of train no., date on the "pass" which was essentially an A4 sized paper, green in colour, with all sorts of silly information on it. the poor booking clerk had to laboriously write down each and every information, in the sparse free space in the pass. The final berth allocation would be known only when one arrived at the platform. Being a manual system of booking, chances of missing out one's reservation in the final "list' on board, either inadvertently or wantonly, were very high.
We then moved to the second counter, where the clerk once again wrote down a few additional "notes" in the pass, as acknowledgement of the booking. He had to essentially send out a "message", using Morse Code, telegraphically, to Madras Central, as well as to Pune Junction, for our onward and return journeys. If you have noticed poles alongside railway tracks, carrying communication lines, that is what they are for.
We embarked on that journey happy - two young boys ready to conquer the world, all alone! Thanks in no small measure to my father, who had the foresight to let us experience the world first hand, and more importantly, my mother, who was brave enough to let go of both her kids to an unknown place, unaccompanied. We, sure, completed that trip in style - and, learnt a lot, in the process. Remember, no phones those days. So my perippa sent a telegram to Madurai, from Pune, informing about our safe arrival. I am sure that until then, mom would have had her heart in her mouth!!!
God has been kind enough to let me travel in many other fast trains of the world - TGV(France), ICE (Germany), SBB (Switzerland), Shinkansen (Japan), KTX (Korea), The Maglev in Shanghai etc... Even today, the sight of a train is so enticing for me- anywhere and anytime. But those good old days of steam-engine-pulled trains chugging away into the horizon, watched from a level-crossing in the villageside, were indeed a sight to behold.
