Of Diesel Engines and Steamed Idlis

The whole charm of travelling by train was preparing for it. As a child, I did a lot of train travel. Back and forth to Chennai, once a year summer trips to Bangalore and the occasional ones to Delhi and Bombay. Some people would prefer to eat before they board the train or some others would stop at a railway restaurant and eat 'properly'. But I could hardly wait for the journey to begin so that I could inaugurate the picnic.

Packets were opened usually about half an hour into the journey. Food aromas would envelope the entire compartment. And taking the cue, other passengers would also slowly unravel their culinary treasures. Despite the soggy paper plates and balancing acts, these train meals gave me a feeling of satisfaction, comfort and general sense of well-being . There was no hurry to finish the meal and get on with homework or chores. It was all about leisurely conversations, casual browsing of magazines and idle chitchat. The most important activity for that evening would be successfully getting done with the meal- managing the complexities of unpacking without spilling, eating without unduly messing, washing the utensils in the inconvenient sink and repacking!

And the food was not regular fare either! Boring idlis (steamed rice cakes) were given a makeover. Liberally doused all over with sesame oil and milagai podi, the idlis transformed into bit-sized spice bombs! Pooris (fried wheat bread) were eaten soft, wrapped around a piece of yielding but firm potato curry and dipped in a bit of pungent mango pickle. Tangy puliyogare (tamarind rice) had to be teamed with potato chips (bought from home or borrowed from a co-passenger). These were and still remain typical 'train food'.

Gazing out through the window, feeling the wind on one's face, counting the electric poles passing by, staring into the inky blue sky- food never tasted better! And no 'train meal' was complete without a cup of hot milk sold at every station. My parents would quickly transfer it from one plastic cup to another and cool the sweet, double-boiled milk till it was just right. Warmed by their love and the hot liquid inside, fanned by the cool night breeze outside, I would quietly nod off feeling at peace with everything around me.