On Railway Cutlets and Nostalgia

Pritika: One of the things my family and I always looked forward to was the continuous procession of food served when we used to take the 6 am Shatabdi Express from Chennai Central. 

 

My sister and I would save the packets of Soan Papdi to have ‘for later’. When we disembarked at KSR in Bangalore, it would only be around 10.30 am , yet it would always feel like we were leaving a kind relative’s house post-lunch.

 

Nisha: My personal favourite would be the dip teas, which would always be diluted to the largest extent,  giving my mum the confidence to let 10-year-old me have it! And the cups of tomato soup with the little croutons; she would replicate it at home by making a healthier version with pumpkin, beetroot, carrots, tomatoes, and copious amounts of croutons!  

 

Thanks, Pritika, for bringing back this beautiful memory! Be right back, calling my mum to tell her that I miss soup and bread. 

 

Jagjot: I realised very early on that train stations were the one place where you’d always find food at the oddest hours of the day. I’ve put that lesson to good use over the years, like finding puri aloo at the Jhansi station once at 2 am, when the city was asleep. This was 16 or 17 years ago, when even Google wasn’t that easily accessible, leave alone home delivery apps.

 

Shreelekha: And oily bread omelette at random stations post midnight was a thrill—the rush to buy it and get into the train before it started! 

 

Saradha: The train cutlets—a warm, crispy memory. They weren’t gourmet, but it was a ritual to get them, especially on day-time trains.

 

Vijay: There was something oddly perfect about the railway cutlet—those neon-orange breadcrumbs, the mysterious filling, and a cup of overly sweet chai to wash it down. 

 

But maybe it wasn’t just the food—it was everything around it. Waiting for the cutlets until evening while playing cards, flipping through a well-worn copy of Tinkle, or striking up conversations with total strangers who felt like old friends by the next station… that’s what made it taste better.

 

Especially on my long journeys from Kolkata to Chennai—where every major junction had its own little culinary signature—hot idlis at Vijayawada, spicy vadas at Visakhapatnam, mishti doi at Howrah. Even the aroma that drifted in when vendors walked through the aisles had a kind of magic. Maybe the flavour we miss isn’t in the food—it’s in the journey.