I recently had to travel to Surat for a family function. Since I was booking last-minute, I could only manage a non-AC ticket on the Intercity from Udhna to Bandra for the return journey. What seemed like a compromise turned into an unexpected journey back in time, bringing back vivid memories from my childhood travels.
After years of climate-controlled comfort, I found myself in a non-AC compartment again. While it was admittedly warm and the overhead fans struggled to provide adequate relief, there was something refreshingly authentic about experiencing the unfiltered sights and sounds of both the world inside the train and the landscape rushing past outside. AC compartments, for all their comfort, create a sanitised bubble with minimal interaction. This journey was different – wonderfully, chaotically alive.
Every few minutes brought a new vendor hawking their wares: “Chai, chai, garam chai!” echoed through the compartment, followed by sellers offering everything from snacks to newspapers to small toys. The constant parade of commerce was both entertaining and nostalgic. I found myself giving in to the experience, purchasing a Cadbury chocolate and an Amul kesar milk drink – not because I particularly needed them, but because they felt like essential props in this theatrical journey. Combined with the Marie biscuits I’d grabbed at the station, this makeshift meal became part of the adventure rather than a disappointment.
I spent considerable time looking outside the open window, letting the warm air rush past my face as I watched the world unfold at a more human pace. In the distance, I could see the dedicated freight corridors – those parallel tracks built to handle India’s massive goods movement. A freight train provided steady competition as we halted at multiple stations while it maintained its relentless pace without stopping. This was a marked change from earlier times when goods trains had to yield at stations, allowing faster passenger services to overtake them.
The Intercity essentially functions like an express local, stopping frequently but moving efficiently between stations. I noticed many students aboard, returning home after college days in Surat. For them, this train clearly offered the optimal balance of cost, time, and convenience. The journey covered 250 kilometers in about four hours – respectable timing, though the Vande Bharat completes the same distance in roughly two-and-a-half hours.
This ride transported me back to an era before Shatabdi and Vande Bharat transformed rail travel. I remembered always hoping for a window seat, watching the countryside unfold like a slow-motion film, and sometimes stepping off at intermediate stations just to stretch my legs and absorb the unique energy of each stop. There was a particular joy in observing fellow passengers – people boarding and alighting at various stations, each carrying their own stories and destinations.
Perhaps speed and sealed windows have inadvertently diminished some of the more human pleasures of train travel. The open window, the frequent stops, the organic interaction with vendors and fellow travellers, the unmediated connection with the passing landscape – these elements create a travel experience that’s messier but somehow more alive than our modern, efficient alternatives. Sometimes the journey itself deserves to be savoured, not just optimised.
