I was returning from my trip to Tirupati, eager to secure a Tatkal ticket for the comfort of an AC berth. But as anyone familiar with the process will attest, it’s easier to win the lottery than to get a Tatkal booking in India’s railways. The whole ordeal feels like a biblical commandment: “Let there be light, but not too bright.” So, I resigned myself to a berth in the sleeper class of the RameshwaramVaranasi Express, an experience that would turn out to be far more illuminating than I anticipated. Boarding the train in Chennai, I was grateful for the small blessing of a window seat my only refuge in the scorching, humid weather of southern India.
As the train chugged through lush green fields, a Banarasi gentleman joined the compartment at Ongole station. Like any train ride, the first hour was marked by silence, with each passenger engrossed in his or her own world. But it didn’t take long for this ice to break. “Where are you going, Baba?” asked the man, tugging at my shirt. “Allahabad,” I replied. “You mean Prayagraj,” he corrected with a smile, and just like that, the journey’s real conversations began.
His name was Rakesh, a mill worker from Ongole returning home to Banaras. Soon, the compartment came alive with chatter, as most passengers from Banaras formed a makeshift club, speaking in Bhojpuri and passing the time with games of Ludo. Amidst all this, a railway helper selling water bottles entered, and a small confrontation over the price of a “Rail Neer” ensued. The listed price on the bottle was Rs 15, but the seller charged Rs 20.
As I intervened, offering to pay online, Rakesh watched intently. This seemingly mundane moment of haggling over a bottle of water sparked his curiosity about digital transactions. “How did you do that?” he asked, eyes wide with interest. And so began our lesson. With his phone in hand, I guided Rakesh through setting up a payment app. In just a few transactions, he was confidently sending and receiving money – no longer at the mercy of cash-only dealings. The pride on his face was unmistakable. The following day, as the sun set and the compartment lights flickered on, Rakesh marvelled at my ability to order food online. He had grown weary of the sub-par railway meals and was eager to learn how to do the same.
I helped him place his first order, and when his meal arrived, his joy was palpable. Rakesh wasn’t just learning about digital conveniences; he was embracing a new kind of empowerment. But this journey wasn’t without its challenges. The state of the train’s bathrooms was, to put it mildly, appalling. Human waste clogged the toilets, and there were no dustbins or basic cleaning supplies. Disgusted, Rakesh and I decided to take action.
I showed him how to file a complaint through the railway helpline, and to our amazement, at the next station, a team of cleaners arrived, apologizing profusely and fixing the problem. For Rakesh, this was a revelation. “This phone is like a Brahmastra,” he declared, empowered by the knowledge that his voice could bring change. As I prepared to disembark at my destination, I couldn’t help but reflect on the journey. What began as a frustrating scramble for a Tatkal ticket had transformed into an eye-opening experience. I had witnessed first-hand how small interactions—whether over a water bottle or a digital transaction could ripple into something greater.
For Rakesh, and countless others like him, technology wasn’t just a convenience; it was a tool of empowerment. In India, the railway is more than just a mode of transport, it’s a microcosm of life where strangers become companions, and shared experiences forge unexpected bonds. As I bid farewell to Rakesh, shaking his hand and saying, “Ram Ram,” I realized that this journey wasn’t just about covering physical distance. It was about bridging the gap between the past and the future, between tradition and technology.
As I walked away from the train, I couldn’t help but smile. India’s railways may not always run on time, the Tatkal system may remain a lottery, and the bathrooms might still need more attention. But in that long, winding journey from Chennai to Prayagraj, I saw a glimpse of what the future holds—a future where even a mill worker from Ongole can become a master of the digital age, one transaction at a time.
(The writer is a Fellow, Rambhau Mhalgi Prabodhini, Mumbai.)