When a train arrives on a big station in India, things are not the same as they are in the railway

premises anywhere else in the world. Arrival of a train.

Where there are trains, there are railway stations and platforms. In developed places, there are high-speed trains, swanky and posh...and so are the stations and platforms. The commuters are disciplined and to litter the platform is blasphemy. But in an old world country, still in the throes of development and teeming with a billion and more people of various hues and tones of mind and body, the railways are different and lack all that spic and span. Things are not squeaky and clinically dirt free, spotless and sparkling, but the Indian Railways is an endearing being that still carries the human touch, which existed everywhere in the world way back by 70 or 80 years. Railways here are lovable nostalgically and emotionally and most of all, economically. At the edge of the huge waiting hall of a big terminus, you will see gates with collapsible grill. On the other side of the gates are the termination points (which are also the starting points for the outgoing trains), and long platforms curving along the tracks extending out of the terminus building. A train is about to arrive. It is running Right Time (in the railway jargon... not running late). The crowd, anxiously gathered on the platform to receive their folk, keeps swelling as the arrival time closes in. That brass band on the platform is there for the grand reception of a marriage party of some Very Important Persons newly married son and daughter-in-law, travelling on this train. The red-and-ochre liveried band of musicians with polished brass instruments was in position, somewhere near the middle of the long platform number one. Suppose you are on this very train, a tall and sturdy young woman with a rucksack on your back and all alone. But you know your way around and you have travelled alone earlier too. However, you know that in next to no time you will not be alone. Your man is waiting for you in the waiting hall of the big terminus. The brass band on the platform would come to life as soon as the train comes to a standstill and the VIPs son steps out on the platform, followed by his bride and a coterie of attendants and hangers on. The band was making some last minute adjustments. The trombone grumbled a couple of times as the sousaphone burped. Rat-a-tat, pattered the snare drums in a short rap. Everything was ready.

You have been travelling for twenty-nine hours now and looked as travel weary as any other passenger. But the glow in your eyes and the style of your bearing held their ground. Now and then you had been washing your arms, face and looking in the mirrors above the washbasins, making sure your hair was tidy. The mile long train, focus of all attention and with all eyes on the platform fixed on it, rolled in along the length of platform number one. Carrying over a thousand people, it came clanking steadily over fish-bolts and rail-joints. It had been running for twenty-nine hours and now, gradually slowing down the turn of its wheels was coming to its final halt. Everyone sought to come out at the same time and coolies in red shirts looking to be hired, rushed to get in. Pushing and shoving your way through the door and on to the platform at last, you look around in a daze. At once, you go for the exit gate without wasting a moment in stretching of legs and arms, which is mandatory after very long journeys. People keep coming out of the train and rush towards the one outlet that was kept opened. The others are closed shut at such times, to facilitate ticket checking. The platform is brimming with people, some tottering with their belongings on their heads, some dragging their children along behind them. There were coolies hollering to make way for their pushcarts loaded with suitcases and bags of all sizes. And there you were, jostling your way through the bedlam, trying your best to reach the exit as quickly as the prevailing conditions would allow. You know your man is waiting for you in the waiting hall as arranged before he left for Singapore. A stream of people keep pouring incessantly out of the train, like ants pouring out of holes in an uprooted tree trunk. Out on the platform, their faces turn mechanically towards the exit gate, and instinctively their feet too. So, with aggressive long strides you keep moving for the exit gate with increased speed. Shoving and pushing through the crowd, skirting around handcarts on the way, you stride out steadily and with each passing moment, and are making good progress. He unexpectedly came into your view, when you went around an awfully slow moving pushcart that was stacked high with books, magazines and newspapers. Your man was looking for you on the platform! He could not wait in the hall! He was impatient, man! It made you feel on top of the world!

And as you make your way towards him, he started walking to the exit to wait for you there. You increase speed by as many Miles per Hour as the existing state of affairs would let you. The tempo of the brass band rose above the noise all around and the crescendo floated up to you, giving company. Your man was walking fast and you wanted to catch up with him. Your long strides had taken you close enough to call out to him. You shouted his name, and the next moment you stumbled over a handcart whose axle had broken and was hurriedly abandoned there. As you fell, you fell straight into the arms of your man. Indian Railways, bring people together and sometimes straight into one anothers arms. Whereas, many a times separation at a railway station is absolute and permanent. Yet, Indian Railways believes in joining up the nation with responsibility, accuracy and speed.

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