I grew up in the suburbs of Mumbai, Mulund. My early life—like for most middle class people—revolved around studies. When we were not in school, we were at home—studying. My apartment faced a vacant ground; a marshy land, where buffaloes grazed, children played and mothers socialised with one eye on their kids. Most of us lived in two-storied buildings. There was plenty of light. The skies were always in sight. And, my walk from school included a clear view of the undulating Mulund hills. It was a pretty place.
My family rarely made long trips outside the city. When we did, we went to my parents’ native place in Kerala during our summer vacations. We couldn’t afford air travel, so we travelled by train; Sleeper 2nd Class. Getting train tickets were a chore! My father had to take time out from work and stand in long, serpentine, booking queues at distant railway stations. Even then, you had to be lucky because there was one train to Kerala and the tickets could run out. If the trains ran on schedule, it took between 2-4 days to get from Victoria Terminus (now Chattrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus CSMT) to Quilon (now Kollam). During my first couple of family trips to Quilon, there were no direct trains. I can’t remember where we got off to board the next train. But between trains there was always some chaos. Travelling with multiple suitcases, holdalls, food bags and water bottles with three children was quite an arduous feat for my parents.
Oblivious of their hardships, I soaked in the adventure with memorable sights, sounds and experiences with co-passengers.