Farming has been the basic occupation of my maternal and paternal sides since ages. My dad, still attached to his native where he grew up working in the fields makes sure to go there every weekend. It has been so since years, since I was a small kid. Once in a while he took mommy, sis , me and granny along.
Trains were frequent between our village and the city. We waited at the platform for our train, watching, as all the long distance trains passed by, fast, without stopping at our small city.
Shatabdi was then a luxury for us. Dad used to show me the train whenever it passed by, describing the comfort and luxuries he heard about it. I wondered how an air conditioned train would be, with the waiters getting you food till you feel its enough!
I have travelled in much better trains and by much better means by now. I have grown up to earn for myself and feel proud of it.Whenever I happen to travel in a Shatabdi as a part of my work, I still remember my father's innocence and that dream in his eyes when he spoke to me. As I eat the food neatly packed and served, I still find myself crying, missing those days, missing home. I re-remind myself of my duty, to give my parents all the happiness which life denied them so far.
