Here’s a bold statement: the best way to truly understand India is not through its monuments or cities, but by traveling its railways. It’s a journey that etches itself into your bones—the rhythmic clatter of the tracks, the kaleidoscope of landscapes, and the tapestry of human stories that unfold along the way. But here’s where it gets controversial: while many flock to India’s heritage routes or scenic trains, I argue that the real magic lies in the ordinary, everyday journeys. And this is the part most people miss—the raw, unfiltered India you experience when you simply use the railways to get from one place to another.
India’s first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, once described the country as a palimpsest—a manuscript where layers of history never fully erase the past. That’s exactly what train travel feels like. Each journey inscribes something new onto your mind: the faces of fellow travelers, the cacophony of languages, the scorching heat or monsoon rains, and the ever-changing scenery outside your window. Take, for instance, my 1998 journey from Mumbai to Dehradun—a grueling 1,000-mile trek in a three-tier sleeper during the sweltering summer of nuclear testing. The train was delayed, the heat was unbearable, and the journey stretched past 50 hours. Yet, looking back, I remember it with a strange fondness. The metallic burn of the window grilles, the sizzle of water on my face, and the melting rubber soles of my shoes—these details became part of a larger story, one that culminated in a trek from the Arabian Sea to a Himalayan glacier.
This experience, I wonder, might have seeped into the pages of my novel Railsong, where a heat-weary protagonist finds solace in the kindness of strangers. Physically drained but emotionally sustained, she steps off the train in Bombay (now Mumbai) and stands beneath the gargoyles of the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus, knowing she’s emerged transformed. But here’s a thought-provoking question: Can a train journey truly change you? I believe it can.
Mahatma Gandhi, initially skeptical of railways, later embraced them as a way to understand his country. And that’s the beauty of it—train travel in India isn’t just about getting somewhere; it’s about the people you meet, the food you share, and the lessons you learn along the way. Take sleeper compartments, for example. Sharing a space with strangers can be intimidating, but it’s also incredibly revealing. On one overnight trip from Mumbai to Delhi, I traveled with three policemen—one nursing an injured toe, another buried in his newspaper, and the third glued to his phone. As the hours passed, their stories unfurled: tales of manhunts, medals, and near-misses. It was a reminder that every passenger carries a world within them.
Food, too, is a central character in India’s railway narrative. While dining cars are a thing of the past and regulations have limited platform fare, eating remains a sacred ritual. Depending on your route and the season, you can step off the train and buy farm-fresh lychees, custard apples, or mangoes from vendors known for their quality. On the Mumbai-Pune route, Karjat’s famous vada pav—a deep-fried potato ball in a soft bun with chutneys—awaits. In Lonavala, you’ll find chikki, a nutty, energy-packed sweet, and decadent chocolate walnut fudge. And in Telangana and Karnataka, a peppy breakfast of ograni—puffed rice with spices—offers a taste of local flavor. Packing your own food and sharing it with fellow travelers? That’s just the cherry on top.
But let’s not sugarcoat it—Indian train travel comes with its challenges. Delays are common, and the reasons are often dramatic. Once, a station footbridge collapsed under the weight of Kumbh Mela pilgrims, causing a stampede that killed over 40 people. Another time, a derailment sent us on an unexpected detour through Bihar and Bengal. And then there was the night our train hit three cows and a stalled Jeep—a stark reminder of the unpredictability of life on the rails. On a monsoonal morning in Assam, I witnessed a mangled autorickshaw and the bodies of three men laid beside the tracks. Grim, yes, but also a stark reflection of India’s complexities.
Despite these challenges, train travel in India remains pleasurable, affordable, and sustainable. My family and I prefer it over flights—even my young daughters, who find planes claustrophobic, enjoy the freedom of the rails. Our journeys often take us from Delhi to Assam, a 24- to 35-hour odyssey through the Gangetic plains, tea gardens, and bamboo-shaded landscapes. It’s a journey that connects the intimate and the epic, the local and the national, into a seamless whole.
So, here’s my challenge to you: Skip the touristy routes and embrace the ordinary. Take a passenger train—the kind that stops at every tiny station, where farmers carry their produce and vendors sell local delicacies. It’s in these unassuming journeys that India reveals itself most fully. But I’ll leave you with this controversial thought: Is train travel the ultimate way to experience India, or is it just one layer of its palimpsest? What do you think? Share your thoughts in the comments—I’d love to hear your take.
