In the far eastern parts of UTTAR PRADESH, almost touching the border to BIHAR, there’s a
small town named Mughalsarai. A town ignored in most Indian maps, but a significant dot in
the railway map. Every train halts there for at least 10 minutes, making it one of the important
stations on the route from Delhi to Patna, the city where I live now. It also boasts of the largest
railway yard in the country, a spectacle in itself with numerous railway tracks entwined
together. But there is something else in this small town which makes it much more important to
me. The town in its bosom treasures all of my childhood, the first 15 years of my life.
It was around 2 in the night. Everyone in my cabin was asleep. I was wide awake, my head stuck
to the AC window glass, gazing hard, trying to discern the things racing past in the dark, my
heartbeat coherent with the beats of the train. The last station to mughalsarai had passed.
Slowly things started becoming visible in the lights of the railway yard. I could see the tracks, 6
or 7, running parallel, branching into even more, entangling each other and getting lost
somewhere in the night. I felt as if I personally knew each of them, the vivid image of cycling
there with my friends flashing in my mind. The foliage had a familiar cut to it. There was
something recognizable in the chirping of the crickets. The engine honked and the train passed
under the GT road bridge. I could hear the announcements being made on the railway station.
The train reached the station, slowed down and then screeched to halt. I hung on the door and
panned around the platform. And it all came back, the memory of my street, the memory of my
school, the memory of the night I left the town forever……..
“…..I was leaving at 9 pm for Kota to prepare for IITJEE. It was the annual function night of our
school. We all had gathered there with our families. I was there, surrounded with my friends.
We talked for hours, reliving the reminiscences of old days, oblivious of the show running
upstage. Everyone was especially warm to me, me being as much a part of their life as they
were of mine. We all knew that I will leave a void in the lives of all. The show was not yet over,
but it was time, I had to go. I bid farewell to all, and after hugs and handshakes, started walking
towards home. I walked through the old school path, I walked past the school gate, taking
everything in, studding every detail like gems in my memory. With every step I took, I felt like
leaving my world past me. The show was in full fervor and the crowd was cheering ecstatically.
With every wave of cheer, came a wave of nostalgia. An urge, an ache, to run back. But I had to
go, to live away, to live alone. My train was waiting when I reached the railway station. I
occupied my seat and started gazing longingly at the platform. Something inside me told that it
will be my last time here. The train took off, and started leaving the platform behind. I stuck my
head to the window and kept looking for as long as I could, at the platform I had seen so many
times…..”
It’s been 5 years since that night, and the change was evident. Yet I could distinguish some of
the old characteristic. It was there in the air, obscured, yet not obsolete. Even at 2 pm in the
night, the platform was full of activity. I could hear the familiar hum in the chatter, which added
to my nostalgia. I looked around for someone familiar, someone I had shared my childhood
with. But the faces had changed. The train honked again, ready to leave. I got back into my
compartment, and the train started moving. I stood at the door, my neck stretched out, and
kept looking for as long as I could, at the platform I had seen so many times.
small town named Mughalsarai. A town ignored in most Indian maps, but a significant dot in
the railway map. Every train halts there for at least 10 minutes, making it one of the important
stations on the route from Delhi to Patna, the city where I live now. It also boasts of the largest
railway yard in the country, a spectacle in itself with numerous railway tracks entwined
together. But there is something else in this small town which makes it much more important to
me. The town in its bosom treasures all of my childhood, the first 15 years of my life.
It was around 2 in the night. Everyone in my cabin was asleep. I was wide awake, my head stuck
to the AC window glass, gazing hard, trying to discern the things racing past in the dark, my
heartbeat coherent with the beats of the train. The last station to mughalsarai had passed.
Slowly things started becoming visible in the lights of the railway yard. I could see the tracks, 6
or 7, running parallel, branching into even more, entangling each other and getting lost
somewhere in the night. I felt as if I personally knew each of them, the vivid image of cycling
there with my friends flashing in my mind. The foliage had a familiar cut to it. There was
something recognizable in the chirping of the crickets. The engine honked and the train passed
under the GT road bridge. I could hear the announcements being made on the railway station.
The train reached the station, slowed down and then screeched to halt. I hung on the door and
panned around the platform. And it all came back, the memory of my street, the memory of my
school, the memory of the night I left the town forever……..
“…..I was leaving at 9 pm for Kota to prepare for IITJEE. It was the annual function night of our
school. We all had gathered there with our families. I was there, surrounded with my friends.
We talked for hours, reliving the reminiscences of old days, oblivious of the show running
upstage. Everyone was especially warm to me, me being as much a part of their life as they
were of mine. We all knew that I will leave a void in the lives of all. The show was not yet over,
but it was time, I had to go. I bid farewell to all, and after hugs and handshakes, started walking
towards home. I walked through the old school path, I walked past the school gate, taking
everything in, studding every detail like gems in my memory. With every step I took, I felt like
leaving my world past me. The show was in full fervor and the crowd was cheering ecstatically.
With every wave of cheer, came a wave of nostalgia. An urge, an ache, to run back. But I had to
go, to live away, to live alone. My train was waiting when I reached the railway station. I
occupied my seat and started gazing longingly at the platform. Something inside me told that it
will be my last time here. The train took off, and started leaving the platform behind. I stuck my
head to the window and kept looking for as long as I could, at the platform I had seen so many
times…..”
It’s been 5 years since that night, and the change was evident. Yet I could distinguish some of
the old characteristic. It was there in the air, obscured, yet not obsolete. Even at 2 pm in the
night, the platform was full of activity. I could hear the familiar hum in the chatter, which added
to my nostalgia. I looked around for someone familiar, someone I had shared my childhood
with. But the faces had changed. The train honked again, ready to leave. I got back into my
compartment, and the train started moving. I stood at the door, my neck stretched out, and
kept looking for as long as I could, at the platform I had seen so many times.
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