“The colonial building at Khasa village’s train station will be brought down soon to make way for a modern structure. It’s the same station where several Bollywood movies have been shot, including Salman Khan’s Bharat, and is the last train station before the final India-Pakistan border station of Attari…” So read a recent news report, which just broke my heart. After all, I shared no ordinary bond with this little station since childhood, which always remained painted in red and light yellow, not to forget its oval roof, which gave it the most vintage touch.
With love for trains always running high, I was its regular visitor — not just when a train had to pass but also during other times. Thanks to my elders, especially an uncle who always brought me here. If I ever cried for some reason, everyone knew where to take me.
During almost every visit, I would be introduced to the stationmaster in his office where I never forgot to scan every nook. The fan held by a long pipe from the high ceiling remains in my memory. Its noise still rings in my ears, and so goes for his signal clearance calls, when trains had to arrive.
Taking cognisance of my curiosity, he often led us to the adjoining building, where train signals were upped or downed, and where tracks were made to merge or de-merge through large gears. It was the nerve centre of the station. But the best visits were when I was handed over to the engine driver to show me its inner world, making me always bid adieu to my uncle — as if I was set to go along. Thankfully, I listened to him and came out, the moment the train had to pull out. How could I forget that inside I always froze!
As our village is located just minutes away from Amritsar city, we usually travelled by our car but for my excitement, my uncle often took me to the city on train. During every ride, I felt to be the luckiest child in the world and I wished the train which threaded through the rich green fields never stopped.
The tale does not just end here, as even at home when I heard the train coming, I would climb the rooftop to catch its glimpse and kept myself glued there, till it remained stationed. Nearly three decades may have passed; those views still run clearly in my eyes. At the station too, we frequently climbed its bridge to catch sight of the trains.
No wonder, I also drew the same station in many of my drawings at school with the loud presence of me, my uncle and of course, the stationmaster. I wish I had those drawings with me today but I do have many pictures, which I clicked during my many visits to the village from the city where I now live. My uncle and his family still live in the same village house near the station and during every visit, station talks come naturally to us.
I kept my connection with it as I kept arriving by train from the city and returning in the evening, the latest trip being just a week before the lockdown.
Now whenever the station building is put to the hammer, I will surely feel the pain, wherever I may be. It may disappear very soon but it can never disappear from my heart, the picture of which I am set to place by my bedside.
rameshinder.sandhu@gmail.com