There’s something about train journeys that invites chaos, and this one was no exception. My colleague and I were supposed to catch the 9:15 pm train from Ambala to Jammu, a simple plan that turned into a hilarious disaster.
The trouble began when a farmer’s protest delayed our trip to the station. By the time we arrived, it was 9 pm, and the bustling chaos of platform number 3 greeted us like a bad omen. Trains were delayed, announcements crackled incomprehensibly, and the platform swarmed with frantic passengers.
Desperate for clarity, I approached a man who seemed like he had a clue. “The train to Jammu?” I asked breathlessly. He squinted at me, then nodded confidently. “It’ll be here in 30 minutes,” he said.
Relieved, my colleague and I decided to grab some tea and samosas. While munching on our snacks, we noticed a train stationed at the platform. It seemed unremarkable, just another train amid the madness. It slowly began to move, and as the last coach passed us, we both froze.
There it was, as clear as day: “Jammu Tawi Express.”
Our train. The very train we were supposed to be on.
Panic hit us like a storm. “That’s our train!” I yelled, more to the universe than to anyone in particular. We scrambled to find the man who had given us the timings. When I confronted him, his expression was one of innocent surprise. “Oh, yes,” he said, scratching his head, “there is another train to Jammu in 30 minutes.”
Another train. He hadn’t thought to mention that the current train was the one we were supposed to board.
Defeated but determined, we waited for the next train, which arrived as promised. However, our woes didn’t end there. Without tickets for this journey, we had to pay the ticket collector almost double the price for seats in a packed non-AC second-class compartment. Our original tickets were for the comfort of an AC coach, but now we found ourselves crammed into a sweaty, noisy coach filled with a mix of people from all walks of life.
At first, the sheer absurdity of it all had us fuming. But as the train rattled along, the humor of the situation began to sink in. What else could we do but laugh? We recounted our comedy of errors to fellow passengers, who chuckled and shared their own travel misadventures.
The laughter turned our frustration into a sense of connection. That night, amid the rickety seats, the mingling aromas of snacks and sweat, and the symphony of snores and chatter, we found a kind of joy. Our botched journey became a story we’d tell for years, a memory born of missed trains, misleading strangers, and a second-class coach filled with laughter.
****
This story was originally featured in the Indian national newspaper, The Times of India.
