A Train Journey and Playing Cards

A Train Journey and Playing CardsAbout nine years ago, I boarded a train from Bengaluru to my village to sort out some paperwork. Getting a confirmed ticket back then was like winning a lottery, and mine was on the RAC (Reservation Against Cancellation) list, meaning I’d share a seat. For Western seniors, imagine hopping on a cross-country train in the 70s, hoping for a cozy spot and good company. That 40-hour journey turned into an unforgettable adventure, filled with laughter, cards, and new friends—a story that still warms my heart.A Crowded Train and a Quiet StartThe train pulled out of Bengaluru station with plenty of empty seats, and I silently prayed for one to stay free for the long ride. But by Yashwantpur, the next stop, the compartment was packed. I squeezed into a corner of my RAC seat, settling in with my fellow passengers. Back then, WhatsApp didn’t exist, but we had 250 free SMS a day to chat with friends. By evening, my phone battery died from texting, leaving me to strike up conversations with the strangers around me—much like chatting with folks on a long bus ride in the West.A man next to me asked, “Where are you headed?” I replied, “Pratapgarh.” He smiled, “Nice! We’re getting off earlier, at Amethi.” Two friends sitting nearby chimed in, “We’ll beat you both—we’re off at Allahabad!” We laughed, exchanged names, and soon were talking about our jobs and lives. By nightfall, we felt like old pals, bonded by the rhythm of the train.Dinner and a Card Game SurpriseAround 8 p.m., I opened my tiffin for dinner, and others followed, unpacking their homemade meals. We shared bites, like a potluck on a moving train. Then, one of the Allahabad friends pulled out a deck of cards and said, “Shall we play?” His buddy grinned, “What, by yourself?” They debated games, ruling out Teen Patti as “no fun.” They asked the Amethi man, “Do you play cards?” He shook his head, “No way, that’s gambling!” I couldn’t help but chuckle.Seeing my smile, the first friend turned to me, “You play?” I said, “A little. I’m not great at Teen Patti, but I love 29.” Their eyes lit up—29 was their favorite too! For seniors, it’s like finding someone who loves bridge or rummy on a long trip. Our excitement fizzled when we realized 29 needs four players, and the Amethi man was our only hope. We looked at him, and he squirmed, sensing our plea. “I don’t know how to play,” he protested. We promised to teach him, assuring him, “No money involved, just fun!” After some coaxing, he agreed to one match.The Joy of 29We split into teams: the two friends versus me and the Amethi man. Teaching him the rules of 29—a trick-taking card game—was a task, but we muddled through, and our team won the first match! He beamed, hooked. I suggested, “One more?” The others were ready, and we convinced him for another round. This time, he played a few moves on his own, but his novice choices cost us the game. Before we could suggest a rematch, he declared, “One more!” We stared in shock, then burst into cheers. The man who swore off cards was now eager!We played a few more matches, the Amethi man getting sharper each time. Hours passed, and we noticed the compartment had gone quiet—everyone else was asleep, lights off. Not wanting to disturb others, we tucked away the cards and climbed into our berths. Exhausted from laughing and chatting, we slept soundly, the train’s gentle sway rocking us like a lullaby.Breakfast and BondsMorning came, and we woke one by one, except the Amethi man, still snoring past 9 a.m. When he finally stirred, he saw us awake and said, “You all beat me to it!” Rubbing his eyes, he grabbed his water bottle and asked, “Had breakfast yet?” We hadn’t, so he suggested, “I’ll freshen up, then we’ll eat and play cards. I’m dealing today!” We were floored—our reluctant player was now a card enthusiast! “You’ve made my day,” I laughed. “We’ll play all day!”After he freshened up, we shared breakfast—more homemade goodies—and played 29 for hours. It was like a family game night in the West, full of banter and fun. By 9:30 p.m., after 15 or 16 matches, we played one final round, ending our “tournament” at 10:30 p.m. Over dinner, we learned the Allahabad friends would get off at 6 a.m. As night fell, we chatted more and drifted to sleep.A Bittersweet GoodbyeMorning arrived, and the Allahabad friends’ seats were empty—they’d left at dawn without exchanging numbers, a missed chance that stung. Just the Amethi man and I remained, reminiscing about our card games and sharing family stories. As Pratapgarh, my stop, neared, I packed my bags. He took my number, gave me his, and said, “Our stations are neighbors. God willing, we’ll meet again.” When the train stopped for two minutes at Pratapgarh, I stepped off, folding my hands in a namaste goodbye, inviting him to visit my village. He returned the gesture, and I watched the train vanish, carrying him to Amethi.A Friendship That LastsI never reconnected with the Allahabad friends, but the Amethi man and I still talk. Every call brings back that train ride, and we laugh over our 29 matches. For Western seniors, it’s like meeting a stranger on a road trip who becomes a lifelong friend, bonded by shared moments. That journey taught me how a deck of cards and a few hours can spark connections that linger.