Howrah Railway Station, the gateway to Calcutta, is one of the busiest in India. It is unique in many respects. For one, you can drive on the asphalt right up to the spot facing your compartment and board the train. Along the maze of lines emanating from the station are numerous satellite towns.

In the ’50s, well before the electrification of the tracks, the local trains hauled by steam locomotives had longer halts but did not stop at all the stations. The commuters were well acquainted with the timings of the different trains and their halting points. If in doubt, ready information was available from the ubiquitous travelling vendors, fellow passengers or from the pocket timetable which, in those days, was available for an anna.

I landed a job in Calcutta, but finding suitable living accommodation in the city proved more difficult. Finally, I found a place at Serampore, near the Hindustan Motors factory, which was some 25 km by train. From Howrah station, I would take a bus or a tram to reach my office at Chowringhee. That posed no problem, thanks to the train service.

One evening, after seeing Pather Panchali — which had then just been released — I was late for my usual train. I boarded one which I thought would stop at Serampore. To make sure I asked the man sitting next to me whether this was the case. He was visibly tired, almost dozing off, and nodded in confirmation. Or so I thought.

Relieved, I found myself a seat just as the guard waved the green flag. As the train gathered speed, I took out my Agatha Christie whodunit and was into its last few engrossing pages. Meanwhile, the train stopped at Belur for a while and started moving again. I finished the book, enjoying the last minute suspense that marked the story.

... contd.