As soon as my father told me to make the arrangements, I reached for my phone like it was about to sprout wings and fly away .One second it was lying there peacefully, and the next it was in my hands. My half-finished tea sat beside me, steam now slower, more patient—almost like “Really? . The newspaper, now a forgotten prop, lay open like it had just witnessed a dramatic plot twist and couldn’t keep up.

I opened the IRCTC app, mentally preparing myself for heartbreak. Booking a train ticket in India, two days before departure, is basically gambling—but with less thrill and more sighing. I scrolled through the train list deep down I was praying I wouldn’t end up in Waiting List or some other emotionally damaging place.

Still, there was a strange optimism hanging in the air. Maybe it was the half-tea caffeine kicking in, or maybe it was just the delusion that things always work out when you least expect them to. Either way, I was in.

Maybe it was just my delusion working overtime, but within minutes, I found a train—one that wasn’t fully booked, one whose last station was exactly where I needed to go. It almost felt like the train had been waiting for me all this time, arms crossed, saying, “Took you long enough.”

But the twist came
No AC coaches.

None.

Now, I’m not one of those “we don’t travel without AC” types. In fact, growing up, our travel stories were written in local coaches. Imagine narrow metal benches, fans spinning lazily overhead (more for decoration than function), people standing shoulder-to-shoulder with someone else’s elbow uncomfortably close to your cheek. The air was thick with conversations, snack vendors shouting, babies crying, and a certain rawness that made it all oddly lively. That was our normal. Sleeper class felt like a luxury back then.


As my father’s business started picking up, things changed—not overnight, but gradually, like a movie where the transition is so smooth you don’t even notice when black-and-white turns to colour. With that, our travel class changed too

We didn’t even noticed that at first.

It’s a human trait, whether we admit it or not. As financial stability grows, so does the silent upgrade of lifestyle. Not because we become arrogant—but because we start chasing peace, convenience, and maybe, a little bit of comfort.

My father, though—he’s never let the upgrade changes his values. A self-made man in every sense. He has seen the full spectrum of financial struggle—scraping through months, making ends meet with pure willpower. So even when life allowed comfort, he never let go of value. Even now, he can travel in different class without blinking an eye, just to save money. Not out of stinginess, but because he knows the value of every single penny—he’s lived the days when pennies mattered. He knows what it’s like to make something out of absolutely nothing—and that stays with a person.

And I remember—back when sleeper class was truly sleeper class. Less crowd, more space, windows that opened to wheat fields and dusty towns . Clean berths, open windows, a slow breeze brushing past your hair as the train cut through villages. It used to be peaceful.
But now? It’s become a battlefield. Overcrowded, loud, unpredictable. It’s no longer about class—it’s about chaos. And maybe that’s why I hesitate.

Not because I’ve forgotten where I came from. But because sometimes, chaos feels irritating when you’ve had a taste of comfort.