In 1973, at the age of 17, I enrolled at Government Medical College Nagpur as a medical student. During weekends, Suhas Jajoo and I frequently commuted between Wardha, where our parents lived, and Nagpur, where our college was located.

Our mode of travel? The third-class train compartments. Those berths were made of hard, bare wood, offering little comfort. Yet, we had no other option. Second class was financially out of reach, and first class was a luxury beyond our means.

So, we learned to endure the discomfort.

Fast forward to 1977. The Janta Party came to power, and Madhu Dandavate became the railway minister. Suhas and I had just passed our final MBBS exam. We were ready to start our internships in district hospitals and primary health centers.

A remarkable change unfolded.

Dandavate decided to add two inches of foam to the second-class berths. Suddenly, we found ourselves sitting and sleeping on soft, foamy berths.

The transformation was incredible. Our journeys became pleasant. We continued traveling in non-AC coaches, but even in those, despite the heat and humidity, the foam-covered berths made travel comfortable and relaxing.

I vividly recall his words in a newspaper interview: “What I want to do is not degrade the first class, but elevate the second class.”

The Gitanjali Express was the first to benefit from this change. On the day after Christmas in 1977, the train journeyed between Mumbai and Kolkata with these new, padded berths.

The Railway Board had wanted to call it the Eastern Express. But Dandavate, inspired by Rabindranath Tagore, named it the ๐—š๐—ถ๐˜๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ท๐—ฎ๐—น๐—ถ ๐—˜๐˜…๐—ฝ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐˜€๐˜€. Portraits of Tagore adorned the train’s interiors.

47 years have passed since then. Bombay has transformed into Mumbai, and Calcutta into Kolkata. Yet, amidst these changes, one constant remainsโ€”the Gitanjali Express still runs on the same route. It remains the most sought after train for travellers between Kolkata and Mumbai.

However, few are aware of its rich history.

In the past, the train stopped at Nagpur and Wardha. And it still does today. I can vividly recall those days. Despite being a long-distance service, we students couldn’t resist its allure. Although daily commuters and short-distance travellers were forbidden from entering the second-class compartment, that didn’t deter us. With youthful audacity, we would sneak in, eager to taste the forbidden fruit, to feel the plush comfort of those foam-covered berths!

This initiative spread quickly. By the late 1980s, when I rose to the position of reader from lecturer at Sevagram Medical College, every second-class compartment boasted these plush, foam-covered berths.

Now, we could undertake train journeys from Wardha to Bombay, Delhi, Calcutta and Madras in second class train compartments. The iconic holdalls, carrying sheets and pillows that had been our faithful companions on countless journeys, became obsolete, fading away like whispers in the wind!

But for Madhu Dandavate’s visionary initiative, we would have remained resigned to enduring those unforgiving wooden berths.

As physicians, we frequently console our patients with incurable diseases with the adage, “what can’t be cured, must be endured.” Without Dandavate, we, too, would have been compelled to seek solace in the same adage.

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