Now even that train does not pass

When we did not have the wisdom of the time, when we were in our childhood, then we used to beg madly from the elders for just one glimpse of the train.

The ears used to be always alert to hear the whistle of the train miles away, but now I think that the new generation may not even be able to imagine the train.
I would often look at the train tracks and dive into an endless sea of ​​thoughts.

I used to think, I used to ask, I was anxious to know how the makers made it, when it was made, how long it took to make it, where it ends, whether it ends somewhere or not. If we walk straight on the same track, will we reach the end of the train?
I used to wonder how the fire of Thar crosses the next deserts, how this train moves forward, tearing through the snow-covered regions. How does one face high mountains? He is not afraid of passing through deserted places, if he is faced with a call somewhere.

When I look at the now old, weak and helpless quarters of the railway, it is as if I am lost in the past.

Once upon a time, there would be some babu people living in these quarters who would lock their quarters during their duty.

Rain, heat, cold, wind, storm, in every season and every time they will perform their duty well.

When it rains, the sight surrounds the eyes of a railway employee locking his quarters, covering his body with a raincoat, holding an umbrella over his head in one hand, holding a torch in the other hand, covered with mud. Bach Bachata is rushing to reach his duty on time. But, all these concepts seem to be a thing of the past now.

The heart is saddened to think that now that train does not pass, nor does that whistle blow to please the ears, and the tracks are often seen by the unseemly, the rest of the girls are also stuck in their eyes. are

We have always thought and understood rail travel as beautiful since we were conscious. The train is moving fast, fields are seen passing through the window of the coach, some cattle are feeding their hunger in the pasture, some farmers are seen decorating their children’s bright future dreams in the fields. Somewhere rivers, streams, lakes, are flowing under railway tracks.

At that time it often felt as if we would break through the water and enter a new world, but where are these imaginations for the new generation.

Sad stations are still preserved in the window of memories as a symbol of saying goodbye to a son, a friend.

These stations are not just gloomy and desolate huts, they are in themselves whole stories of the distant past.

Even the huge neem trees at the railway stations fell prey to the hunger of a noble person. Now the baby turtles and trees are also disappointed, the tea stalls in the shade of the trees are also sad.

A radio used to play on the kiosk, but now it doesn’t even make a sound, maybe that radio has also disappeared due to the oppression of time and people.

Politics, society and films, music and television were also discussed at the same booth, but those talkers also don’t come there anymore.

Now no one even orders tea by giving a signal from the window of the train. Now there is not even a keel visible.

In the shade of trees right in front of the dilapidated building of the station, there is no longer even a stone pillar.

Now no one even comes to check the train time. Maybe because now even the train doesn’t pass.

The coincidence of writing this article happened that we traveled most of the days in Sindh along the decayed tracks and ruin-like stations of the railway system.

These are the same railway tracks on which the trains running (according to locals) were often packed with passengers.

But then the government stopped it without giving any reason, often in the 90s and some now during the epidemic days, which still could not be restored and it seems that now this train will never be restored again.

One reason that seems reasonable to us is that many people used to board these trains without buying a ticket, but it is also the job of the administration and the government to persuade people to buy tickets.

Why the government failed to implement this, why these people are being deprived of cheap and comfortable travel.

Seeing Sindh’s deserted railway stations, archaic railway quarters and dilapidated tracks, it seems as if this region is being deliberately deprived of the railway system.

All we need is Gulzar’s poems and a smooth train journey to live a pleasant life, but now even that train does not pass.