Why do we burn the trains we love?

Even if you were too young for B R Chopra's racy thriller 'The Burning Train', circa 1980, you are surely old enough to witness the many sequels from 2022. A pesky pattern in the recent protests has been the fiery assault on trains, causing damage to both sanity and the exchequer. 

Truthfully, Indians have always enjoyed a love-hate relationship with the Railways, as if an indispensable yet controversial member of a joint family. For most, it is still the primary lifeline, this stature unshaken by both the friendly skies and the moody Golden Quadrilateral. We are guarded in appreciation when the rakes perform while trigger happy in fury, when delays demolish our precious plans. Quite remarkably, we quickly forgive the institution's mammoth contribution towards demographic attrition, the fatal train accident sadly not just a cinemascope demonstration. 

But to truly understand why we love damaging trains, it is useful to assess our uniquely native sense of entitlement. Whether rich or poor, tax-paying or evading, Indians believe that properties of the state are meant for abuse, as much as use. Perhaps it is an understated vigilante outpouring against reluctant politicians and an insufficient public service culture or perhaps simply just the way we are, genetically uncivil in public conduct. Which is why parks are routinely vandalized, garbage is destined for the footpaths, toilets take moments to resemble battlefields, and engraving love homilies on historical architecture is a nagging youth obsession. 

The train represents the might of the state in gigantic glory, a nation within a nation possessing a set of compelling codes, and until recently, even a dedicated Budget. To drive home the administrative metaphor, it is capable of amazing alacrity and can, as easily, slip to shoddy slumber, and has loving space for every socio-economic denomination, best defined by the meticulous Class System. Where we can select our desired rides, as per ability or inevitability, but clearly under the auspices of a common engine, thus unifying destinies on the most basic parameters. 

To add a quirky layer, the train is also a fertile arena for human emotions, and most of us have been privy to all such possibilities. The delirious delight at the onset of a much-anticipated family vacation and the mellow sadness that marks the return journey. A tatkal or unreserved boarding to hastily attend the funeral of a dear departed and the mirror image joy of rushing to welcome the newest addition.

You may treasure school trips that forged bonds for eternity, charismatic strangers who permitted a sneak peak into our famed diversity, the romance of unfamiliar tastes from neighboring hot cases, NatGeo views of our beautiful land yet undiscovered, or staring transfixed at army personnel heading towards conflict. Our worldview at large was shaped by trains and we do feel a strange sense of ownership, spontaneous and not restrained, stoutly abetted by cinema and the famous flight of Simran. 

However silly it may sound, this warm familiarity also provokes an equal and opposite reaction, making the train a consensus candidate for showy reprisals. Which, when coupled with the endemic strains of entitlement, leads to a rather complicated relationship between Indians and trains, rapidly blurring the distance between loving and burning. It also helps, I suppose, that upcountry tracks don't have CCTV cameras, so the perpetrators can get away comfortably, cherishing their exploits on the TV headlines.

On a more potent note, trains must stop being poster boys of rage warriors and for this, two things need to happen. Firstly, a punitive regime that sternly puts proven arsonists on the right track and a thoughtful branding exercise in public awareness, both economic and emotional. Till then, however, 'The Burning Train' will sadly not just be cinematic nostalgia.