It all began in the cosy confines of our hotel in Birgunj, a small border town buzzing with the energy of travellers and traders. Tania and I had spent days exploring its vibrant markets and savouring its unique blend of Nepali and Indian culture. With our hearts full and bags packed, we checked out that morning, eager to catch our 4:55 PM train from Raxaul to Howrah. The plan was simple: board the train, settle into our berths, and wake up in the bustling metropolis of Kolkata, ready for our connecting train to Ranchi.

The drive to Raxaul station was smooth, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the fields. We arrived with time to spare, feeling the smug satisfaction of travellers who’ve nailed their schedule. But the universe, it seems, had other plans. As we stepped onto the platform, a crackling announcement delivered the first blow: our train was delayed by an hour and 35 minutes due to the incoming train’s tardiness.

Tania and I exchanged a glance—half resignation, half amusement. Delays are part of the Indian Railways experience, after all. So, we found a bench, sipped on some chai from a nearby vendor, and settled in to wait. The platform buzzed with life: families huddled over tiffin boxes, vendors hawked snacks, and stray dogs wove through the crowd, hopeful for scraps. It was chaotic, but there was a strange comfort in being part of this living, breathing tapestry of travellers.

A Train in Distress

At around 6:15 PM, the train finally chugged into Raxaul station, looking like it had seen better days. The coaches were coated in a layer of grime, a testament to the long haul from Howrah. Our mixed 2AC and 3AC berths were in desperate need of attention. The floors were littered with crumbs, and the berths bore the smudges of previous passengers. Tania, ever the diplomat, took charge, politely but firmly requesting the cleaning staff to spruce things up. After some back-and-forth—and a few raised voices—the coach was tidied, and we boarded, grateful to finally be on our way.

But our relief was short-lived. As we settled in, Tania made a grim discovery: the toilets had no water. Not a trickle. In a train meant to carry hundreds of passengers for hours, this was more than an inconvenience—it was a hygiene crisis. Frustrated but determined, I pulled out my phone and fired off a tweet to @RailwaySeva, detailing the sorry state of our coach. To my surprise, the response was swift. The Railway Seva team escalated the issue and advised me to call their helpline, 139, for a quicker resolution.

The gentleman on the other end of the line was a beacon of professionalism in an otherwise chaotic day. He listened patiently, assured me that the water issue would be addressed at the next major station, Darbhanga, and promised to follow up. True to his word, he called back after we left Darbhanga. I trudged to the toilet, hopeful, only to find the taps still bone-dry. Undeterred, he called again around 11 PM, informing me that water was now available, albeit at low pressure due to a maintenance issue that couldn’t be fully resolved until Howrah.

At 3 AM, as I lay half-asleep in my berth, my phone buzzed again. It was the same representative, cheerfully reporting that the water issue had been fixed at Barauni station. Bleary-eyed, I stumbled to the toilet and, to my relief, confirmed that the taps were indeed working. I mumbled my thanks into the phone, marvelling at the dedication of this unseen railway employee who had followed through with such persistence.

The Race Against Time

Despite the water saga’s resolution, the train continued to haemorrhage time. Station after station, we fell further behind schedule. By the time we rolled into Howrah station at 2:15 PM—six hours late—the platform was a blur of activity. Tania and I had a tight connection to catch: the Vande Bharat Express to Ranchi, scheduled to depart at 3:45 PM, as printed on our tickets. The clock was ticking, and we were cutting it close.

With adrenaline pumping, we decided to make a quick pit stop at a nearby restaurant to grab lunch and freshen up. It was a calculated risk, but we figured we had just enough time. The meal was a hurried affair—spoonfuls of dal and bites of roti swallowed between anxious glances at our watches. We rushed back to the station, only to be met with a gut-punch of a revelation: the Vande Bharat Express had been rescheduled to depart at 2:35 PM. We had missed it by nearly an hour.

Stunned, we approached the rail enquiry counter, hoping for an explanation. How could a train leave earlier than the time printed on our tickets? The attendant’s response was maddeningly vague: a press release had been issued, and the change had been “in the news.” But who checks press releases in the middle of a hectic journey? Indian Railways sends SMS alerts for seat confirmations—why not for schedule changes? The lack of communication was infuriating. We had lost not just time but the cost of our tickets, with no recourse in sight.

A New Plan and a Moment of Reflection

With our carefully crafted itinerary in tatters, I pulled out my phone and booked the next available bus to Ranchi from Esplanade, Kolkata. As we made our way to the Esplanade metro station, the weight of the day settled over us. We found a spot near the bus stop and sank onto a bench, our bags at our feet, the hum of the city swirling around us.

As we waited, I couldn’t help but reflect on the rollercoaster we’d just endured. There was frustration, yes—the delays, the dirty coach, the missed train, the lack of communication. But there was also admiration for the railway staff who had gone above and beyond to address our complaints, even if the solutions came late. And through it all, there was Tania—my rock, my partner in this chaotic adventure. Her calm demeanour and quick thinking had kept us grounded, turning moments of exasperation into shared laughter.

Sitting there, watching the lights of Kolkata flicker to life, I realised that travel is rarely about the destination alone. It’s about the stories you collect along the way—the triumphs, the setbacks, and the unexpected kindnesses. Our journey from Birgunj to Ranchi had been far from perfect, but it was ours. And as we boarded the bus, bound at last for home, I felt a quiet gratitude for the chaos, the lessons, and the woman by my side who made it all worthwhile.