Loco pilot Anver Hussain A at Ernakulam North railway station in Kerala. After a halt of three minutes, he climbed back into his cabin. He was piloting a Vande Bharat Express train from Thiruvananthapuram to Kasargod.
Credit: Nithin Krishnan
One afternoon in 2022, a passenger train halted unusually long at Kottayam station in Kerala, waiting for a crossing clearance. An anxious woman approached the loco pilot, worried that her family would miss the Mangala Lakshadweep Express, their connecting train to Delhi. Sensing her urgency, loco pilot Anver Hussain A sprang into action. He advised the family of three to move to a front coach for a quicker exit and drove the train at the maximum permissible speed. They rolled into the Ernakulam South station at 1.05 pm, 10 minutes behind schedule, but just in time to catch their Delhi train on the adjacent platform. Hussain jumped down from his cabin, pointed the family in the direction of the overbridge, and suggested they board the nearest available coach. As they made a dash, they turned back to wave to him in gratitude.
Every day, some 13,000 trains ferry about three crore passengers across India. The loco pilots, who make these journeys possible, face both public praise and ire. Just this March, Hussain was hailed for saving the lives of two men on the tracks near Kochi. Despite blasting the horn repeatedly, the drunken men didn’t move. The train was going at 50 kmph, but Hussain managed to brake safely in time.
With 28 years on the job, Hussain has operated 20 types of engines, ranging from goods and mail to express, on routes spanning Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka (up to Bengaluru).
Accidental career
Hussain was 19 when he first boarded a train, travelling with his father from their hometown of Kayamkulam to Kottayam within Kerala. “Back then, I believed only people with a strong build could steer a train. I used to see burly lorry and bus drivers turning the steering wheel with great effort. Being lean then, I thought I wasn’t fit to man a train,” he recalled.
Credit: Nithin Krishnan
He became a loco pilot accidentally. After earning a BSc in mathematics and a diploma in mechanical engineering, he applied for a diesel assistant’s post in Southern Railways, thinking it involved “working outside the train”. It turned out to be an assistant loco pilot’s role; before electric trains, the position was called diesel assistant. He realised the nature of the job only during the recruitment. About a hundred had been shortlisted from thousands of applicants. Candidates needed to be physically fit and have perfect 6/6 vision without glasses, because spotting signals and obstructions is often the difference between life and death. (A diploma in any engineering stream is the minimal educational qualification to become a loco pilot.)
Hussain joined the railways in 1997 at 23 and trained for eight months in Tiruchirappalli, Tamil Nadu. His father Aliyar Kunju was initially concerned about the accident risks, especially engines running over people. Just after Hussain accepted this role, other job offers for sub-inspector, forester, and cashier came his way. But by then, he was hooked on driving trains. His first assignment was a 60 km run from Erode to Salem, a success he eagerly shared with friends and family.
Curious children
Train journeys are core memories for Indians — they cover everything from savouring pantry and platform snacks to fighting with siblings over the upper berth to watching TTs go after ticketless passengers. Beyond nostalgia, Hussain says, many passengers are fascinated by trains as machines, and by the work of loco pilots. Sometimes, when the train is at the station, parents bring their children along to meet the ‘train drivers’. “The children ask how we drive the train and apply brakes, and whether they too can become loco pilots,” he said. In the Vande Bharat trains, with loco pilot cabins at both ends, passengers gather at the adjacent coaches to watch how they work.
Earlier this year, Hussain had to halt a train near Palakkad, Kerala, after an inebriated youth placed a large log on the track. He was upset over a
fight with his girlfriend.
Hussain says boys are more curious about loco pilots than girls. “Once, when I took my wife to a dentist’s house in Alappuzha, he was excited to learn that I was a loco pilot. His five-year-old son was fascinated by ‘train drivers’. The doctor woke his son from a nap to introduce me,” Hussain said.
What they do
Their workstation features joystick-like levers, switches, and a cluster of instruments, all within reach of an adjustable revolving chair. Then there are horns. A long blast warns of curves or people on the tracks. A mix of long and short honks signals departure from the station. And two quick beeps are meant to alert the guard (now called the train manager). Modern cabins have air-conditioning, CCTV, and sometimes urinals.
Each train has a loco pilot with an assistant seated to the right. They run checks on fuel levels, headlights, wipers, horns, and brakes before departure. For electric engines, transformers and inverters are also inspected. Only after completing these checks and signing the brake power certificate do the train manager and senior section engineer give the signal to depart. The crew works eight to 10 hours continuously, then rests in ‘running rooms’ at the station for about six to eight hours. They get 24 to 36 hours off from work after completing a link trip — piloting from their base station and returning to it. Think Ernakulam-Thiruvananthapuram-Kozhikode-Ernakulam.
The job demands hawk-like focus. Hussain describes it as staring into infinity, with eyes fixed on the rails ahead. Mobile phones are banned; communication is via wireless systems. The loco pilot maintains speed, while the assistant monitors fuel and brake pressure. In Kerala, trains run mostly up to 110 kmph. Some trains in north India reach 160 kmph. Cruise control is rarely used and only on slow stretches, as acceleration must be constantly adjusted. Stations provide sheets listing speed restrictions along the route. Surprise speed checks with speed guns are common, and speed logs are reviewed after each trip. Minor slips result in warnings; major ones can lead to demotion.
Rain and mist reduce visibility and slow down the trains. Another challenge is flying termites. They swarm around headlights at night and stick to the glass, leaving a gum-like residue that is hard to clean.
After decades on the tracks, the 52-year-old knows the speed limits by heart and can identify locations by the bend of a hill or shape of a lone tree. I share his fondness for the route between Punalur, Kerala, and Sengottai, Tamil Nadu. It winds through rivers, forests, tunnels, hills, the famed Coutrallam waterfalls, and a British-era 13-arch bridge. I once rode it in the rain on the old meter gauge; the journey was slow, misty, and scenic.
Handling a goods train is comparatively difficult as the load (think petroleum products, rice, steel and coal) is heavier than a passenger train. "Braking requires more effort," he explained. On the other hand, it runs slower, so the experiencing of piloting is more relaxed.
Crossing risks
Many loco pilots have witnessed tragedy on the tracks, and Hussain is no exception. In 2003, while working as an assistant loco pilot on the Kollam-Madurai passenger train, Hussain spotted a dog on the tracks near Eravipuram in Kerala. The train was running at about 65 kmph. The loco pilot sounded the horn, but the dog didn’t move. Suddenly, a man in his 40s ran onto the tracks to rescue the dog. The emergency brake was applied, and the horn sounded again. The dog escaped by a whisker, but the man was fatally struck. Hussain immediately arranged for medical help. Locals rushed in. They told him the dog belonged to a neighbour, but the man was deeply attached to it.
There are moments of deep regret but also profound satisfaction. In 2004, near Paravur, Kerala, Hussain spotted an elderly woman standing on the tracks. She was shivering and seemed intent on ending her life. Since the train had just begun chugging, he stopped it in time. A youth took her to safety.
Nine years later, Hussain was in Thiruvananthapuram on shunting duty (moving locomotives and coaches within the railway yard). Late at night, he spotted a middle-aged woman sitting on the tracks. A train was approaching, and Hussain pulled her away just in time. She wanted to end her life as she was caught in family troubles. Her family and the police soon arrived to take her home.
Sometimes survival is sheer luck. About four years ago, near Ambalappuzha, Kerala, a youth lay flat between the rails. He was “possibly” attempting to end his life. “There was no time to brake,” Hussain recalled. He alerted the train manager in the last coach to watch out. The train passed over him without harming him.
Once Hussain himself came through unhurt. It was in 2003. He was the assistant loco pilot on the Kollam-Madurai train. His friend Santosh Varghese, who was serving his notice period, swapped duties with him. Near Tirunelveli, Tamil Nadu, the train collided with a trailer stalled at a manned level crossing. Despite the gatekeeper’s red flag, it was too late; the train engine toppled and caught fire. Varghese was trapped and died, while the loco pilot survived with injuries.
Chain-pulling and people falling from trains, whether accidentally or deliberately, are other common emergencies. In 2004, an elderly woman fell off a slow-moving train after a thief tried to snatch her gold chain near Punkunnam station in Kerala. Because the emergency chain was pulled late, the train carried on for about 2 km before coming to a stop. The authorities arrived quickly, and the woman survived, largely without injury.
Hussain says these accident spots are etched in his memory.
Witness account
In Hussain’s experience, most run-over cases at night are suicides. By contrast, daytime incidents are accidents, often the result of people standing or walking along the tracks distracted by their phones, or misjudging the train’s speed. Worryingly, a growing number of young people are venturing dangerously close to the rails to shoot reels.
Murder is occasionally suspected, and loco pilots become key witnesses. “After a man died on the tracks in Kochi in 2024, his relatives claimed it was murder. But I told the police it was suicide. I saw it clearly while piloting the train,” Hussain shared. The police told the complainants that the loco pilot’s statement ruled out foul play, and the allegation was dropped.
Loco pilots get a prime view of not just close encounters but also amusing incidents. Hussain recalled one from 2006, while piloting the Kollam-Nagercoil passenger train. As the train pulled away from Eravipuram, a man in his mid-30s came sprinting after it. He managed to leap into one of the front coaches, but his dhoti slipped, and landed on the platform. “I watched from the cabin but couldn’t stop the train,” Hussain said. Some helpful youths tossed the dhoti into a rear coach. At the next station, Mayyanad, the man got off in just a shirt and undergarment, calmly retrieved his dhoti, and carried on as other passengers watched him, barely concealing their smiles.
In 2002, while piloting through forested stretches near the Kerala-Tamil Nadu border, Hussain spotted task force members searching for the notorious poacher Veerappan. At other times, the same route revealed gentler scenes — herds of bison and deer crossing the tracks, or an elephant running alongside the train. No, he hasn’t sighted ghosts or dacoits in the dead of night. “Inside the cabin, we feel safe,” he said.
Fan following
Trains can be delayed for many reasons — from long waits at crossings to a drunken man blocking the track with a large log of wood. However, Hussain has learnt to take public frustration in his stride, knowing the job carries the expectations of thousands.
One of his proudest moments was when a German tourist snapped a photo of the Delhi-Thiruvananthapuram train he was piloting from Ernakulam. “When I asked him why, he said that while Germany has modern trains, none are as long, or carry as many people,” Hussain recalled. He, too, makes it a point to travel by local trains abroad. “Even with all their advancements, European railways can’t match ours in terms of passenger volume,” he added. For Hussain, Malayalam films like ‘Chattakkari’ (1974), shot in the steam engine era and remade in Hindi as ‘Julie’ the following year, capture railway life well and remain enjoyable.
These men in uniform (sky-blue shirts and navy-blue pants) have even developed a fan base, especially those piloting busy routes between Thiruvananthapuram and Shoranur. Liyons J, secretary of the rail users’ forum Friends on Rail, said, “Many passengers are office-goers, so we started WhatsApp groups to share updates with them. We often post about pilots known for punctuality or smooth, jerk-free rides.”
Hussain and I had been talking for over three hours, and I still had questions to go: about what he packs for his duty runs, his favourite station food, and the evolution of trains. But he glanced at his watch. “Shall we wind up? I have duty on the Thiruvananthapuram-Chennai Superfast at 5.15 pm. Even a minute’s delay from us affects 2,000 to 3,000 passengers,” he said. I smiled and closed my notebook. After all, someone out there was waiting for him to be dropped at their station, or to catch a connecting train.
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