An Unforgettable Train Ride

Last week, I shared how, as a young boy, I let go of my father’s hand on a crowded railway platform—a move that could have gone wrong. There's more. That was the first leg of our journey aboard the Geetanjali Express from Howrah to Bombay.

But little did we know that the adventure was far from over.

As our train neared Bombay, someone—maybe my sister, perhaps me—mentioned wanting hot snacks. The train had just pulled into Kalyan Junction, an hour from our destination. My dad, always up for a challenge, decided to go looking for some.

He returned quickly, victorious, with piping hot snacks in hand. They were delicious, and we devoured them. But they left us wanting more. Ignoring my mother’s protests, Dad ventured out again.

“Be quick,” she urged. “The train could leave any moment.”

Brimming with his trademark confidence, Dad dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand.

But after delivering the second round of snacks, he took his luck one step further and decided we also needed water bottles.

The Train Doesn’t Wait

While Dad was paying the vendor, the train gave a soft jolt and started to move.

We shouted from the window, but the AC coach drowned our voices. Dad had his back turned, oblivious to the shifting train.

Inside the compartment, panic erupted. My mother’s anxiety was contagious, spreading to my sisters and me. She alerted the other passengers, hoping someone would stop the train.

“Don’t worry,” a fellow traveller reassured her. “He might’ve gotten on from another compartment.” We clung to that hope as the train sped toward Dadar. But as we arrived at the station, our worst fears were confirmed.

Dad wasn’t on the train.

Waiting at Dadar

My uncle, Jayant Mamu, was waiting to greet us at Dadar station. When he heard what had happened, he calmed us down.

“Kalyan is a suburb of Bombay,” he explained. “Local trains run frequently between the two stations. He’ll catch the next one.”

While his logic reassured us momentarily, the reality of being separated without mobile phones felt overwhelming. There was no way to contact Dad—or for him to contact us. The vastness of the station only amplified our anxiety.

With his local knowledge, Mamu picked a spot where he thought Dad was most likely to emerge. We waited. And waited.

The Longest Hour

Time crawled. Every passing moment felt like an eternity. I imagined my dad’s journey on a crowded local train, wondering if he was safe.

In such a situation, your mind becomes a stage for every possible disaster scenario. What if he got on the wrong train? What if he couldn’t find us at Dadar? What if we missed him?

Amid all this, Mamu remained steadfast. “He’ll be here,” he assured us.

Finally, after nearly an hour, we spotted him. He was walking briskly, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Relief washed over us like a tidal wave.

Lessons from a Train Journey

That single train journey was packed with more drama than most family vacations. From a son getting lost at the start to a father missing the train at the end, it had all the elements of a Bollywood movie.

But beyond the chaos, it also taught us some valuable lessons.

Never underestimate the unpredictability of life. Things can change instantly, whether it’s a child wandering off or a train leaving the station.

Staying calm in a crisis is easier said than done, but panicking doesn’t solve problems. My mother’s initial distress aggravated our collective anxiety, but Mamu’s calm demeanour kept us grounded.

Listen to those who care about you. My mother’s warnings were valid, but Dad’s confidence got the better of him. It’s a reminder that even the most capable among us can make judgment errors.

Technology has its perks. In the pre-mobile phone era, losing contact with someone felt like losing a lifeline. Today, a simple call or text can ease anxieties in such moments.

Life is full of unexpected twists, whether you’re a child who lets go of a parent’s hand or a parent who underestimates a train’s punctuality. These moments of uncertainty and chaos often leave us with stories to laugh about later—and lessons that stick for life.

The Story That Kept Giving

Not all was lost, though. Both incidents—my earlier escapade at Howrah and Dad’s misadventure at Kalyan—gave me fantastic fodder for school essays.

My teachers accused me of exaggerating the truth. But this time, I didn’t need to embellish. The drama of real life was more than enough.