Book Excerpt: Platform Ticket- The Untold Stories of People Who Make Train Travel Possible by Sangeetha Vallat

An exclusive excerpt from Platform Ticket- The Untold Stories of People Who Make Train Travel Possible by Sangeetha Vallat (Penguin Ebury Press, 2025).

With unsteady hands, I read the station’s name written on the paper. I did not know where it was, nor did the clerk who handed me the orders. I scanned around and saw equally baffled faces. My friends were flung far and wide. The ‘lucrative railway job’ did not seem lucrative or prestigious anymore.

I scampered to the large railway map of India hanging on a wall inside the divisional office, procured a wobbly plastic stool and stood atop. A search of the map of Karnataka showed a tiny fleck at the end of a line. Indeed, was it that? Surely, that blink-and-you-miss-it station could not be mine. That line seemed like the end of the world. There was no railway track beyond my station. It was the final terminal on a broad-gauge line. 424 km from MYS.

My batchmate Priya, a short bunny-toothed girl with glorious, silky long hair, and I were posted to adjacent stations, which were 30 km apart. Resigned to our fates, my parents and I, along with Priya and her father, boarded the train to our destination.

En route, the scenic countryside eased my mind off the reality of heading to an end-of-the-line station. As the monsoons had just ceased, the train wended over many brooks and cut through lush farmlands. I stuck my face to the grille, and the chilled morning air numbed my nose and lips. Vast swathes of countryside, fields, trees and villages dotted with huts whisked past. Many houses had green moss and plants growing on the tiled roofs. The verdant scenery appeared cosy with steam rising from the chimneys.

At Priya’s station, we witnessed smoke-belching vehicles and factories—a big town. I had great hopes for my station; it was a district headquarters, after all. Priya and her father sallied forth, and my parents and I cruised on.

Then my station loomed ahead—carpets of grassy farmland as far as the eye could see. The train halted, and the platform blazed with life; perhaps the station was secluded from the main town, I surmised. Apprehensive and excited, we descended on the throbbing platform which, like steam after a hot shower, metamorphosed in precisely eight minutes. A desolate ghost town greeted us as our train was shunted to a distant track. The scene I witnessed was straight out of an arthouse movie by Adoor Gopalakrishnan or Satyajit Ray—empty parallel tracks flanked by vacant platforms. A crow on a cracked stone bench heralded my arrival and pierced the haunting stillness. The semaphore on the side of the track stood with its red hand at 90 degrees, indicating a stop signal. My old life stopped here, and a new life was to begin. Was I home?

I gazed at the blue skies, the long winding tracks, the white-and-red semaphore, and a colossal peepul tree where the platform tapered and ended. This was my station.

A face peeked out from an opening near the shuttered stall. The board in faded lettering read Shetty’s Vegetarian Light Refreshment, inducing hunger instantly. VLR stalls and I have a history. Every summer vacation as long as I can remember, the moment the train halted at Palghat Jn, at an unearthly 04.00 hrs, I demanded pazhampori (sweet banana fritters) from the VLR—Amma’s excuses about it being stale evaded my ears. The pleasure of sinking my teeth into the oil-dripping snack is incomparable.

Achan clanged the shutter of this VLR until the face rolled it up.

‘Aenu beku?’ (What do you want?) A Pinocchio nose darted out.

I went near Achan, leaving Amma to guard the baggage even though no one was around. This was an extremely significant risk. We belong to the generation who secured their luggage with a chain and lock. While travelling, one of us would sacrifice sleep inside the train to sit guard over the luggage.

Beku in Tamil means a fool, a stupid person. For a second, I wondered if that man called us fools. He understood our confusion and gestured ‘What?’

‘Sir, food?’ I mimed the universal sign of food.

‘Chitranna solpa idhe. Banni.’ (There’s some chitranna left. Come.)

I had no clue what he said, but we followed him inside, as he raised the shutter a little. His daughter, in school uniform, smiled at us. She played the interpreter. We were introduced to chitranna (almost a staple food in the region), a tasteless plate of yellow rice with coconut chutney to accompany it. Another prominent dish in this area is chow chow bhath: one serving of uppittu (upma) and one serving of kesari bhath (sheera).

Mr Shetty, in charge of the VLR (vegetarian light refreshment stall), informed us that the station saw six trains per day, and he opened his shop only during the train timings. He served us the leftovers after a busy sale. When I told him I was the new railway clerk, his stunned surprise matched our shock.

‘You are the first lady employee in our station!’

Amma bawled her eyes out.

Excerpted with permissions from the author and publisher of Platform Ticket- The Untold Stories of People Who Make Train Travel Possible by Sangeetha Vallat (Penguin Ebury Press, 2025).

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About the Book

Most of us have travelled by train and experienced true India. Shared food and stories with our co-travellers. Or reached the platform, gasping to find the train leaving with a merry whistle. And in a queue for tickets, dug through our wallets for exact change, complaining about the slow clerk.

Have you ever thought about what goes on in the minds of the deadpan faces that peek through the grilled counter, mechanically issuing tickets to faraway places while rooted to their seats?

In Platform Ticket, Sangeetha chronicles her time as a ‘commercial clerk’ in the Indian Railways. Between sleepless graveyard shifts and heart-warming moments with travellers, Sangeetha’s life was far from dull. Her years of service, network of colleagues with varied experiences, and storytelling prowess guarantee an enjoyable behind-the-scenes look at this indispensable service in our country.

About the Author

Sangeetha Vallat, a seeker of stories, is passionate about books, travel, friends and conversations. Her short stories are a part of several anthologies and online journals. Platform Ticket is her debut book.