2025-02-11essay

Me and Ghaziabad Railway Station

I spent sixteen years in Lucknow before leaving for Ghaziabad for my engineering, and the train was my default on this route. Twenty percent of my life in a city that's well-planned — grid, structure, clear roads — and my brain, for better or worse, got wired the same way. For context: I'm generally good with directions. I remember places.

Ghaziabad Railway Station has something different going on. Specifically, Platform 3.

The first time I arrived there alone, it was 2 AM — because Indian Railways, what else can I say. I stepped off onto Platform 3 and the whole place was rushing. Someone came up from behind and grabbed my bag. "Aao bhaiya, chhod du jaha jana hai." I was spooked. Said no, took my bag back, kept walking.

I took the only set of stairs going up — on the right. Walked ahead. Ahead. Got to a split: stairs going down on the left, stairs going down on the right. My brain, for whatever reason, said right. The auto-rickshaw guys were waiting for me there.

I was waiting for an Uber. The driver called: "Sir, the car can't reach your pickup. Please come to the opposite side." I didn't quite get what that meant. Waited ten minutes. Nothing.

With no options left, I negotiated with an auto on whatever fare he named — ₹700 for a 10 km run to my college hostel. Freezing night, cold air cutting in through the open sides of the rickshaw, and mostly I was just thinking what if this guy takes me somewhere else? He didn't. He dropped me safely at the hostel.

That was my first encounter with Ghaziabad Railway Station. You could say — fine, it was night, you couldn't read the place properly. I thought the same. So I made a rule: only morning or afternoon trains into GZB from now on.

The second time, I landed at 7 AM with two heavy suitcases. Right-side stairs, again. Walked ahead. This time I chose left at the split — that's where cabs should be.

Cabs couldn't reach there anymore. They'd demolished the cab stand. To get a cab now, you walk 500 m outside the station. Frustrated.

This time I went home and studied the map of the station. Found key points. Found a pathway: from Platform 3 you take the right-side stairs, walk ahead, and there's a passage that crosses to the opposite side of the station, where a proper cab line is actually working. I planned it carefully for my next trip.

The third time, I took the right stairs and headed to the left side via the planned passage. I was genuinely proud — I'd figured it out.

Ghaziabad Railway Station had another surprise. That day a security check was on. Every planned path was blocked. Everyone was funneled through a narrow alternate passage that opened out into what looked like a field next to a village. Auto guys again. No cabs.

I took an auto. He took me through narrow inside roads of small colonies instead of the main road. Nothing new, man.

This sort of thing happened to me roughly five times. At some point I decided — no more Lucknow–Ghaziabad trains. Bus only.

That's my short, slightly weird history with Ghaziabad Railway Station. My theory, for whatever it's worth: the problem is the design. Specifically, the stairs of Platform 3.