Train of thought

Planes may get the job done; but there is no denying the romance of train travel

I never realized how much I missed the charm of train travel until – after years of flying around the globe – I decided to experience the delights of the Italian rail system. Dragging our strollers behind us, my husband and I plunged into the chaotic depths of the railway station at Rome, looking for signage that would direct us to our platform. We settled down in our very comfortable seats, but as the train pulled into the countryside, I found myself overwhelmed by a strong sense of nostalgia.

Suddenly, the memories of train journeys past came strong and fast, even as the landscape turned more picturesque. I remembered the excitement I had felt as a child when we embarked on our annual trip to Assam to visit my aunt at her tea garden. There was a whole ritual attached to our departure from Howrah train station. I was allowed to buy four comic books from the stall at the station, my mother would stock up on magazines, my brother and sister would choose some thrillers or romances to keep them occupied. My father would pay for all of this, settle us down in our seats, and then stand outside the window chatting, until the train left the station. The sight of him growing smaller and smaller as the train pulled away is one of the core memories of my childhood. 

The train journey itself was magical to a child of six (or maybe seven) as I was then. A city girl, the sight of green countryside held me mesmerized. And I remember calling out excitedly to my mother, “Oh look, there’s a real-life farmer!” because I thought until then that farmers only existed in the storybooks that I read. It was only a few hours into the journey, that my mom and sister would crack open the enormous tiffin carrier we had packed to sustain us on the way. The enticing smell of puris and aloo subzi would fill the air, with the subtle aroma of mango pickle providing an added piquancy. And then, when it was time to sleep, the bedrolls (remember those?) would be unfurled with great flourish, and we would settle down on our allotted berths to read ourselves to sleep.

Those train journeys, however, soon became a thing of the past as air travel became more accessible and cheaper. And once I started life as a working professional, train travel fell completely out of favour, as planes got the job done so much quicker. Over time, I got so used to the convenience of air travel, that trains simply didn’t figure in my plans anymore. And even if someone did suggest taking a train somewhere nearby – like Jaipur or Chandigarh – it was simply more convenient to take a car (after all, you could then use it for intra-city travel as well).

But as I sat back in the train that was taking us from Rome to the Amalfi coast, feasting my eyes on the scenery unfolding before me, I realized what I had lost by giving up on train travel. Planes may get you from point A to point B quicker, but while you save time, you lose on the magic of the journey itself, the sense of wonder watching a country unfurl before you. You should try it.

Playing ‘favourites’

There really is no good answer to any question that contains that word

There’s nothing that stumps me more than a question that begins: “What is your favourite...?” It doesn’t really matter what word or phrase completes the query. It could be something as innocuous as ‘colour’ or ‘restaurant’ or as deep and meaningful as ‘time of life’ or even ‘religious text’. But no matter how it ends, any question that contains the word ‘favourite’ within it strikes terror in my heart. I stumble, I stutter, I flail around searching desperately for an appropriate response – and in nine cases out of ten, I come up empty.

Because, to tell you the truth, I really don’t get this concept of a ‘favourite’ something or the other.

Take colours, for instance. How could anyone possibly choose one over the many that are on offer? And yet, there are people who don’t even have to think about it. “Red”, they reply confidently. “Purple”, say some others. “Black” is another frequent response.

Well, you know what? I love all of the above. And on occasion, I’m fond of a dusky pink, a flaming orange, or a deep indigo. But I couldn’t possibly choose one over the other, no matter how hard I tried. There are times when I love the crisp monochromes of a black and white graphic print. There are times when the deep blue of a monsoon sky overwhelms me. And there are times when a palette of beiges, like an undulating desert landscape, soothes and calms.

Choose one over the other as an absolute ‘favourite’? Sorry, I couldn’t possibly.

It’s much the same story with restaurants. I am sure that many of you have a ‘favourite’ restaurant, but I couldn’t pick one if you held a gun to my head. Sure, I have many favourite haunts, where I return time and again. I love the cafes in Khan Market where I hang out over lazy lunches with my friends. But I love the chaat joints in Bengali Market just as much. I love the earthy flavours and huge portions at Bukhara, the mod-Jap vibe of Wasabi, the buzz at Set’z, the butter and garlic flavours of Swagath.

Well, I could go on, but I guess you get the general point. When you are as promiscuous as this about eating out, how could you possibly pick one restaurant – or even two or three – as a ‘favourite’?

Or pick a ‘favourite’ cuisine, for that matter. I love parathas and pickle as much as the next Punjabi, but there are times when a nice Chinese stir-fry just hits the spot. Sometimes you need a spicy Thai curry to get your gastric juices flowing; at others, it is the wasabi flavour of Japanese food that does the trick. Choosing one over the other is just a matter of convenience and mood. And it changes every day – well, it does for me, at least.

The other ‘favourite’ question that gets asked all too frequently is: “What is your favourite holiday destination?” Huh, what? Just the one? You have got to be kidding!

How could anyone pick just one place in the whole wide world as a ‘favourite’ place to holiday in? Surely, urban breaks in London, New York or Paris are as much fun as adventure holidays in New Zealand or Australia. Beach resorts are just as relaxing as mountain getaways. And holidaying in India has its charms just as taking off abroad is a special pleasure.

After much soul-searching, I have managed to narrow my choice down to one country: Italy. I’d much rather holiday here than anywhere else. After all, where else could I go from a beach resort on the Amalfi coast to verdant vineyards in Tuscany to the mysterious beauty of Venice to a pizza-eating orgy in Naples to a shopping blitz in Milan – all in the space of a single week? But there is no way I could narrow it down any further.

Books is another area in which I am utterly unable – hell, even unwilling – to choose a ‘favourite’. No, I don’t have a favourite book, let alone a favourite author. There are many books that I like enough to re-read from time to time, but they are written by authors as diverse as Jane Austen and Dominick Dunne, as far apart as Agatha Christie and Bill Bryson.

But most annoying of all is the ‘favourite’ person question. I can just about cope with the ‘Who is the best person you have ever interviewed’ question by pulling a random name out of my head. But the “Who is your best friend” question leaves me rather puzzled.

Best friend? Seriously? What, are we in Class I again? Because, this really is the kind of question that only makes sense in primary school. I don’t know anybody who has a single best friend as they grow up to adulthood. Speaking for myself, I have several ‘best friends’ whom I have gathered over several stages of life.

There is the old school buddy, whom you catch up with occasionally, taking up seamlessly from where you left off. There are my work friends, with whom I have shared office space at one time or another, who are always great for a good down-and-dirty gossip session. There are friends with whom I can share my passion for fashion, friends who are part confessors and part therapists, and friends who are always ready for a late-night coffee (and never mind the caffeine rush).

Honestly, how could you possibly choose a ‘best friend’ among them? But then, as you can probably tell, I’m not very good at all this ‘favourite’ stuff.