Theloopylululog

A movie or a book that inspired me to travel?

Neither.

I was born to travel. Why?

I am a railwayman’s daughter! I have lived and breathed trains all my life.

To this day, I live in hope that somebody somewhere creates an alarm that brings back the soundscape of my childhood to me, the first thing in the morning. The resonance of the koo chug koo chug of a steam engine against the soaking wet Braganza ghats. Music that woke me every day to the magic and miracles of living in one of the densest rainforest filled places of India.

Exotic flora and fauna, intriguing music of nature, bizarre people and unconventional places; trains introduced me to all of them alike. Every journey; a gate to the paradise of life on earth. Every gate; an opening to meeting myself.

Life in a rainy idyllic village by a river had its perks. From trees to clouds to people, everyone of us believed in shedding the old and ringing in the new. Be it a change of clothes or personas we breathed transformation like you breathe air.

Natural. Effortless. Expecting the unexpected is woven into the tapestry of our lives. What was constant in all this rain heavy jamborie were the trains that survived their journeys always maintaining their time. Extraordinariness in the ordinary ups and downs of a misty cold nook in the middle of nowhere.

Located at the top of a mountain railway stretch, Castlerock was exposed to trains coming in from all directions for a longer stoppage. An extra steam engine was added on to trains to move through one of the steepest and toughest gradients managed by Indian Railways.

My Dad managed the station and was a human recod book of all the technical knowledge necessary to handle the dangers of a job that never ended. I was privy to a life that only someone who has lived close to a railway track knows and understands.

The art of living on the edge thus came naturally to me; close enough to unravel life’s mysteries and far enough to be aware of the perils that came with it.

I awoke to discover mornings filled with lost passports, lost chicken and lost wallets lying on my Dad’s table. Trying to pronounce the names of people from countries unheard of was a favorite passtime of a 5 year old me. Exposing me to the world outside that was much bigger than the little dome of sky I was living under, imagining it to be the end of the world. What it was… was the beginning of a forever passion to move, to be curious, to travel and come home to myself.

The 12 PM train followed by the one at 1PM brought with them the choicest of vegetables as yet unknown to my taste buds. Being a vegetarian in a village known for it’s fish had it’s joys. I was entrusted with the important job of listening to the koooo of the steam engine as it heaved itself into Castlerock from downhill. Announcing it to my Mum gave me the added joy of running along with my sister to buy whatever vegetable had come by mail that day. We never knew what was waiting for us. Imagine being met by surprise every other day. Greeted with juicy colour and cacophonous humans.

The railway blood in me took me everywhere. Meeting the history and geography of India through train travel. Enjoying the changing scenery of life as the train chugged along to different corners of the country. Being served food that became a lifelong companion. And smiling along the livelihoods of people who had no time to stop and stare in their hitherto busy lives. The train became a home away from home. Momentary but leaving us with moments that never fade.

I am no joy to people who seek company. But that’s me when I am home. I become this vibrant balloon of a woman who revels in company and conversations when I find myself within the confines of a train. I allow myself to enjoy the uncomfortable, tuning to the music of a dynamic population that houses itself in the compartments, bringing to life what lies dormant in me.

Train travel led me to haunt online and offline bookstores for books on travel. Leading me on journeys around the world hopping on to the words of writers. Finding happiness in the mountains and rains of lands and seas I will never be able to visit.

These books made me hunt down little known adventures along the way that led me down trains to places I had tried pronouncing as a 5 year old.

The day I was handed my passport with the stamp of the Kenyan seal when I went solo there, I was grateful to Mr. Christmas whose lost British passport still graces the safe of my cupboard. A tiny blue book with stamps from all over the world. An inspiration for a little girl that offered her the possibility of visiting the entire world and more someday. As far as a train could carry me in it’s softest hug.

Life sometimes hands us a birth that seems nothing to write about from afar. A village. Some trains. A river. Some rains. This is all darling. Now go figure!

The same trains and the same rains induce a chant into our hearts that take us all over the world; first via dreams then via travel.

Leaving us transformed. Grateful to the gift that Life graced us with.

A full circle. From a train to a train via a train.