A Journey 

My memory of those train journeys, is the beautiful scenery. The rolling hills, the thick wooded sides, the verdant green paddy fields, the half naked children lining the tracks to wave goodbye, the colourful birds that flew by or swooped down for a drink of water as we passed rivers and streams . 

Vacations and train journeys, a memorable part of our childhood days . Come the summer holidays, and we looked forward with great excitement, to the overnight train journey, to visit grandparents. Preparations for the travel were many, from school concessional pass to packing the suitcases with clothes and other essentials. 

Not to mention the bedding that was rolled to a compact size, an elaborate hold all, filled with all that we needed, for a comfortable night on the train. Food and snacks a great part for the journey received much attention, a week long preparation, and the night meal a steamed banana leaf packaged delight, for each one of us . 

Living close to a railway station, the train whistles lent to our anticipation, as we counted down the days to our travel and when it finally dawned, there was no containing our excitement .Leaving home, ensuring everything is locked and secure during our absence, caused a brief moment of anxiety in the adults.  Transport to the station was always a cramped ride, which did not deter our eagerness. 

Closing my eyes, I can even now see the hustle and bustle of the station. People from all over, from the north, from the south, from the east,  and the midwest. The colourful clothes, and the different tongues they spoke, oh it was a melting pot of culture, with everyone rushing to get somewhere. Crowded stalls, selling hot and cold beverages, chocolates and biscuits, newspapers and books, vendors carrying baskets, calling out their wares and of course, the frequent announcements of the arrival and departure of trains, over the tannoy . 

We were soon surrounded by several red jacketed porters, offering to carry our luggage. Finally deciding on one, my father would relinquish the luggage and herd us along as he followed the trotting porter to the designated spot . My mother, bringing up the rear, seemed quite harried and warned us frequently, to stay close and clear off of the edge of the platform, and when a train thundered past or the crowd got too dense, I would grab my father’s hand, for fear of b being swept away.

On the train, after the initial scramble to find our berth and after a fight for the window seats, we settled down quickly, to enjoy the ride . The changing landscape was captivating, buildings giving way to shrubs and trees , the congestion of the city, giving way to open countryside, and the colours of a lovely sunset on the horizon, as it was evening . Not much later, the sky darkened, and night fell. Tearing ourselves away from the window, we then played board games . 

Dinner was an enjoyable meal, though it was the everyday fare, and yet,  maybe because it was packed in steamed banana leaves, or eaten on a moving train, it tasted like a gourmet meal . Sleeping to the sound of the clickity clack of the wheels, rocked by the gentle rhythm of the train, snug in our warm bedroll, is an unforgettable memory. Morning brought the usual rush of ablutions, before breakfast at the next long stop . 

After breakfast, back we went to the windows to watch the changing scenery , the rolling hills and the changing foliage, tall palm trees, luscious green paddy fields with toiling women and children who stopped to wave as the train went by, children with whom we felt a momentary connection, as we waved back and smiled . The rivers that snaked along beside the train, the occasional cormorant, and kingfisher, swooping down to catch a fish. Looking down into the swirling waters of wide rivers, while crossing on long bridges, we felt a tremor of fear at its sinister depths.

As the day advanced, it got very hot but that didn’t bother us . The bogey was crowded, with a crush of humanity as people boarded at each station. The heat was stifling and the air was thick with the stale smell of sweat . To add to the discomfort, there were beggars and vendors, boarding at each station, begging for food or selling food, and jumping off just before the train moved . Not pleasant for the adults, but the children were unruffled. Going through pitch black tunnels, was a terrifying experience and I was quick to grab my father’s hand, when it was the blackest.

Finally arriving at our destination, we were met by our uncle , who quickly whisked us home. The  lunch that awaited us, was fit for a king, setting the trend for our vacation . The simple joy of plucking fruits and vegetables from the garden, boat rides, and rowing in the canoes, the long hours spent fishing in the backwaters, bathing in the shallow waters , running alongside the river or just playing on its sandy banks, brought us untold happiness. It was like slice of heaven, a piece of which we still carry in our hearts . 

Looking back I think, life is much like a train journey. Our childhood is the preparation, for the journey we are to undertake . When we embark on the ride, there are joys and sorrows, ups and downs, seasons of trouble and suffering. When we feel hope is nothing but a mirage, let us cling to our Heavenly Father, as we clung to our earthly fathers, as children . We can focus on the simple joys, to help alleviate pain, learn to live without attachments, knowing, the travel is not permanent but a short sojourn that passes quickly, before we reach our eternal destination.