The thing about toy trains!

Our first trip together was to the Queen of Hills, Darjeeling. Apart from the usual sightseeing planned by the travel agent, we often walked down on our own to enjoy the locale. A walk on the winding alleys of Jhalphar road down to the Mall road used to be very engaging. I would always get lost in seeing the small tin and cement made houses, ladies doing chores, monks shopping around for household, those snappy Bangla-cum-English advertisements and ubiquitous Nathumal (a premium tea selling brand) billboards. And then, on one such day we reached the Ghoom station. There I saw something that will always remain a refreshing shot in my mind. The great Darjeeling Himalayan train was resting for a while. Back then, I was unaware of the heritage status of this train, but still I got attracted towards this small toy-like train; it was unlike any locomative I had seen so far. The ambiance set by the busy chowk and snow-clad Kanchanjunga hills complemented fully. The sleek train-track meandered through the circular slopes as bravely as a rickshaw pulls itself in a busy Chandni Chowk lane. It was near 5 o'clock in the evening. People flocked on the station to wind up their day with this journey. The hustle-bustle on the station invoked some feeling in me and I insisted to my husband to buy train tickets for us. While he moved to the ticket reception, I kept adoring the navy-blue coaches, where everyone was trying to make some space to fit in. I prayed to grab a window-seat from where I planned to watch the trimmed tea gardens. Will the train move slow or fast? Would there be any river in the way? And, will the train stop in a tea garden? Not sure. And, soon my husband waved to call me. I moved towards him, fearing that I would miss the train. By the time, we ended our talk, the train had already began moving. And, my window seat was already occupied because we never boarded in. My husband, who got me from Delhi (North India) to Darjeeling (East India) by an airline, arranged living in a four-star hotel, found the ticket little expensive. Each ticket costed 250 rupees!

Since then, he owed me a ride in a toy train. In the next year, we went to Simla-Chail. We tried hard to get a ticket from Shimla to Kalka in yet another celebrated toy train. But, in the peak of a tourist season, we proved a failure again. Instead, we traveled by a bus from which I saw the toy train off-and-on chuk-chukking along the green trees, over the small streams, and under the shady tunnels. I felt like a loser, like a second-grade hero of a Hindi film, who misses the heroin for all silly reasons.

I had given all my hopes to board into a toy train. I often saw the coverage of the Darjeeling Toy Train in the Discovery channel. I could do nothing more than seeing that program again and again.

Since then, I had been to Himachal couple of more times. I never missed to ask the locals about a toy train. "Is there any toy train connecting this place?" For my husband this remained a great regret... an ultimate dream in his to-do list. Last year, in December 2007, when we went to Kangra valley in Himachal, while discussing the itinerary with the driver, my husband just happened to ask him if there is any local train around... ahem... a t-o-y train. The driver went in a somber mode. I had already turned my face to the other side of car window. And, then he said, "Yes, I think you can board into Kangra Queen. I will buy you a ticket from station A and pick you further at station B." My heart jumped with joy! Is it real? Hope we get into this one. Amen! The driver made us sit into the 6 coach train from a sleepy little station called Haripur Guler and then picked us ahead, after an hour-long ride, at the Jwalamukhi Road station. The moment I stepped into the train, the memories of encroaching a window seat became all alive. We both got window seats facing each other, sharing our winner-like smiles in camera and in eyes. The train chugged along the Dhauladhar range, over thin bridges, on springy rivulets, across small villages which probably had this train as the sole connection with the rest of the world. We got down at the Jwalaji station, so happy that our co-passengers initially stared us and then walked out. We both had finally rided a toy train.
My husband passed me the tickets for throwing them in a bin. I intended to keep them in my Himachal memorabilia. And, then suddenly I saw the cost inscribed on a ticket, it read... 4 rupees! I looked at him, congratulated him on the awesome bargain that he made over three years. He simply told me, "the cost of tickets... 8 rupess, and the joy of riding the toy train... PRICELESS!