The runaway cabin

The dream was to be a goods train guard. Life had other plans

When I was in eighth standard, one of my teachers asked us what we would like to be when we grew up. The usual doctor, police officer, engineer, and soldier were stated. I stood up and, to the utter shock of my teacher, declared that my dream was to become a goods train guard. The class erupted in boos and laughter. After silencing the boys, who thought my choice was funny, the teacher was curious to know why I chose to become a goods train guard.

“What you will ultimately end up as is a different matter, but as a young boy, you should aim high,” he said. I hesitantly replied, “Sir, I want to become a goods train guard because I like the goods train guard’s cabin so much.” One Viswanath, who was not particularly fond of me, stood up and said, “Sir, I know why. He is slow, just like goods trains. He holds the last rank in the class and so likes the last wagon that is the guard’s cabin.” The entire class burst into laughter yet again.

Our house was near a railway track, and trains were a part of our lives. I looked at every train that passed by not more than a furlong away from our window. Though I liked all trains, it was the goods train that stole my heart. It is slow, graceful, unhurried, and humble. Its cosy guard’s cabin held a charm of its own. Far from the train’s noisy engines, the cabin has a serene air about it. Most children in those days yearned to travel in the driver’s cabin. But I longed to be allowed to travel in the guard’s cabin.

I fantasised about travelling in the guard’s cabin of a goods train when it rained outside, through the countryside, looking at fields, trees, hills rolling in the distance, and undulating, lush green meadows dotted with grazing cows. Unlike drivers, who have to be alert and vigilant, guards can afford to close their eyes and dream. They have their own desk and chair anchored to the floor of the cabin.

Above all, the balcony-like open space of the cabin with safety steel hand railings, from which guards wave their green flag as they pass stations, is really wonderful.

I longed to sit in the guard cabin and watch the star-spangled night sky with a silver sickle of a moon through clean and clear air while the goods train was taking a nap at some signal in the countryside.

When I grew up, I did get a cabin, but unfortunately, it was a stifling bank cashier cabin. Even now, I feel a twinge of pain in my heart whenever I see the guard’s cabin of a passing goods train through the window of an express train. But the faces of these good train guards were not as happy as they would have been had I been in their shoes.