A Journey by Train Essay

Last Friday I travelled by train with my mother to visit my grandmother in Chittagong. We boarded the Inter-City Express at Kamalapur Railway Station in Dhaka early in the morning. The train was clean and had comfortable seats. As the train moved, I watched green rice fields, tall palm trees, and small villages pass by the window. A vendor walked through the aisle selling tea and biscuits. My mother told me stories about her childhood train journeys. We reached Chittagong after six hours. I enjoyed every moment of the ride.

On 12 March 2025, during the mid-term break, my father decided that our family would travel to Sylhet by train. We arrived at Kamalapur Railway Station at 6:00 in the morning and purchased three second-class tickets costing 225 taka each. The train, known as the Parabat Express, departed at 6:45 and headed northeast through the fertile plains of Mymensingh. From the window I saw paddy fields stretching to the horizon, flocks of white egrets standing in shallow water, and clusters of tin-roofed houses surrounded by banana trees. A tea vendor came through the carriage selling hot cups of tea for 10 taka and packets of biscuits for 5 taka. My younger brother enjoyed a packet of peanuts. As the train climbed toward the Sylhet hills the scenery changed from flat green plains to rolling tea gardens with rows of neatly trimmed bushes. I was amazed by the beauty of the landscape. We reached Sylhet after approximately seven hours, tired but happy. The journey taught me that travel by train is not just about reaching a destination; it is also about enjoying the beauty of our country along the way.

On 12 March 2025, during the mid-term break, my family boarded the Parabat Express at Kamalapur Railway Station in Dhaka for a journey to Sylhet, a city in northeastern Bangladesh famous for its tea plantations and natural beauty. We purchased three second-class tickets at 225 taka each and settled into seat numbers 14, 15, and 16 in coach number 3. The train departed at 6:45 in the morning, and as it crossed the Dhaka-Chittagong highway bridge over the Buriganga River, I caught my first glimpse of the wide, muddy water below where cargo boats and ferries moved slowly. The route passed through Mymensingh Division, where vast paddy fields stretched to the horizon on both sides, broken only by clusters of mango orchards and bamboo groves around small villages. A food vendor walked through the aisle selling hot tea at 10 taka per cup, bottled water for 20 taka, and packets of cakes and biscuits. My father bought me a cup of sweet tea and a small packet of sponge cake. After approximately four hours the train began to climb into the Sylhet Division, and the flat terrain gave way to rolling green hills covered with rows of Camellia sinensis tea bushes tended by workers wearing conical bamboo hats. I read from my guidebook that the Sylhet region produces over 80 percent of Bangladesh’s total tea output, with estates like Srimangal and Kazi and Kazi being among the largest. We spotted a pair of hornbills flying between two tall trees beside the railway line. My mother pointed out a group of children waving at the train from a village platform. We reached Sylhet Railway Station after approximately seven hours, tired but delighted by the journey. This train ride showed me that the beauty of Bangladesh lies not only in its famous landmarks but also in the landscapes visible from a moving train window.

On 12 March 2025, during the mid-term break, my family boarded the Parabat Express at Kamalapur Railway Station in Dhaka bound for Sylhet, a city in northeastern Bangladesh celebrated for its tea estates, waterfalls, and the shrine of Hazrat Shah Jalal. We purchased three second-class tickets at 225 taka each and settled into seats 14, 15, and 16 in coach number 3 of the 16-carriage train. The train departed at 6:45 in the morning, crossing the Buriganga River bridge within the first ten minutes, where I observed cargo barges and wooden rowing boats navigating the wide brown waterway. The route passed through Mymensingh Division, where expansive paddy fields dominated the landscape, broken by clusters of mango orchards, bamboo groves, and clusters of tin-roofed houses that formed small villages. A railway catering vendor walked through the aisle selling hot tea at 10 taka per cup, bottled water for 20 taka, and small packets of sponge cake and biscuits for 5 to 15 taka. After approximately four hours the train entered the Sylhet Division and began climbing into the undulating hills of the Barind Tract, where the flat terrain gave way to rolling tea gardens with rows of Camellia sinensis bushes tended by seasonal workers from the Khasi and Garo hill tribes of neighbouring Meghalaya in India. I consulted my guidebook and learned that Sylhet produces over 80 percent of Bangladesh’s annual tea output of approximately 85 million kilograms, with the Srimangal tea estate alone covering over 1,500 hectares. Between the tea bushes I spotted two pied hornbills perched on a tall rubber tree, their large yellow beaks unmistakable against the green canopy. My mother pointed out a group of children standing on a village platform who waved enthusiastically as our train passed, and my father laughed and told me that waving at trains is a cherished tradition in rural Bangladesh. A ticket examiner in a crisp navy uniform checked our tickets at around 11:00 and politely asked us to keep our identity cards ready for verification. After approximately seven hours of travel we arrived at Sylhet Railway Station, tired but thrilled by the journey. This train ride demonstrated that the true beauty of Bangladesh is revealed not in famous monuments alone but in the green fields, tea gardens, and human warmth visible from a moving train window.

On 12 March 2025, during the mid-term break, my family boarded the Parabat Express at Kamalapur Railway Station in Dhaka for a journey to Sylhet, a city in northeastern Bangladesh renowned for its tea plantations, limestone caves, and the centuries-old shrine of Hazrat Shah Jalal. We purchased three second-class tickets at 225 taka each and settled into seats 14, 15, and 16 in coach number 3 of the 16-carriage train, which was painted in the distinctive green and yellow livery of Bangladesh Railway. The train departed punctually at 6:45 in the morning, and within ten minutes it crossed the steel bridge over the Buriganga River, where I observed cargo barges, wooden rowing boats, and a ferry carrying trucks toward the Sadarghat terminal. The route passed through Mymensingh Division, where expansive paddy fields stretched to the horizon on both sides, broken by clusters of mango orchards, bamboo groves, and small villages with tin-roofed houses and hand-pump tube wells. A railway catering vendor pushed a metal cart through the aisle, selling hot tea at 10 taka per cup, bottled water for 20 taka, and packets of sponge cake and biscuits for 5 to 15 taka. My father bought me a cup of sweet milk tea and a packet of cakes, while my younger brother chose a packet of salted peanuts for 10 taka. After approximately four hours the train entered the Sylhet Division and began ascending into the rolling hills of the Khasi-Jaintia foothills, where the flat terrain gave way to terraced tea gardens with rows of Camellia sinensis bushes tended by seasonal workers from the Khasi and Garo hill tribes of neighbouring Meghalaya in India. I read from my guidebook that Sylhet produces over 80 percent of Bangladesh’s total tea output of approximately 85 million kilograms annually, with the Srimangal estate alone covering more than 1,500 hectares and the Kazi and Kazi estate recognised as the country’s largest organic tea producer. Between the tea bushes I spotted two pied hornbills perched on a tall rubber tree, their large yellow beaks unmistakable against the green canopy, and a flash of blue indicated a kingfisher diving into a roadside stream. My mother pointed out a group of children standing on a village platform waving enthusiastically as our train passed, and my father explained that waving at trains is a long-standing tradition among rural Bangladeshi children who view the passing trains as symbols of connection to the wider world. A ticket examiner in a crisp navy-blue uniform checked our tickets and identity cards at around 11:00 and politely reminded passengers to keep their belongings secure. The landscape shifted from tea gardens to a flat river valley as we approached Sylhet, and the Surma River, one of the major waterways of the division, became visible from the train windows, its wide, calm surface reflecting the afternoon sky. We arrived at Sylhet Railway Station after approximately seven hours, tired but deeply appreciative of the journey’s beauty. This train ride demonstrated that the true charm of Bangladesh lies not in famous landmarks alone but in the green fields, fragrant tea gardens, and warm human gestures visible from a moving train window.

On 12 March 2025, during the mid-term break, my family boarded the Parabat Express at Kamalapur Railway Station in Dhaka for a journey to Sylhet, a city in northeastern Bangladesh renowned for its tea plantations, limestone caves, and the centuries-old shrine of Hazrat Shah Jalal. We purchased three second-class tickets at 225 taka each and settled into seats 14, 15, and 16 in coach number 3 of the 16-carriage train, which was painted in the distinctive green and yellow livery of Bangladesh Railway. The train departed punctually at 6:45 in the morning, and within ten minutes it crossed the steel bridge over the Buriganga River, where I observed cargo barges, wooden rowing boats, and a ferry carrying trucks toward the Sadarghat terminal. The route passed through Mymensingh Division, where expansive paddy fields stretched to the horizon on both sides, broken by clusters of mango orchards, bamboo groves, and small villages with tin-roofed houses and hand-pump tube wells. A railway catering vendor pushed a metal cart through the aisle, selling hot tea at 10 taka per cup, bottled water for 20 taka, and packets of sponge cake and biscuits for 5 to 15 taka. My father bought me a cup of sweet milk tea and a packet of cakes, while my younger brother chose a packet of salted peanuts for 10 taka. After approximately four hours the train entered the Sylhet Division and began ascending into the rolling hills of the Khasi-Jaintia foothills, where the flat terrain gave way to terraced tea gardens with rows of Camellia sinensis bushes tended by seasonal workers from the Khasi and Garo hill tribes of neighbouring Meghalaya in India. I read from my guidebook that Sylhet produces over 80 percent of Bangladesh’s total tea output of approximately 85 million kilograms annually, with the Srimangal estate alone covering more than 1,500 hectares and the Kazi and Kazi estate recognised as the country’s largest organic tea producer. Between the tea bushes I spotted two pied hornbills perched on a tall rubber tree, their large yellow beaks unmistakable against the green canopy, and a flash of blue indicated a kingfisher diving into a roadside stream. My mother pointed out a group of children standing on a village platform waving enthusiastically as our train passed, and my father explained that waving at trains is a long-standing tradition among rural Bangladeshi children. A ticket examiner in a crisp navy-blue uniform checked our tickets and identity cards at around 11:00 and politely reminded passengers to keep their belongings secure. As we entered Sylhet city, the landscape shifted from tea gardens to a flat river valley, and the wide, calm surface of the Surma River became visible from the train windows, reflecting the afternoon sky. The Parabat Express, which operates on the broad-gauge metre network connecting Dhaka to Sylhet, covers a distance of approximately 264 kilometres in about seven hours, making regular stops at stations in Mymensingh, Habiganj, and Bibirbazar along the way. We arrived at Sylhet Railway Station tired but deeply appreciative of the journey, and I reflected that a train ride through Bangladesh is a living lesson in geography, agriculture, and the everyday kindness of strangers.

On 12 March 2025, during the mid-term break, my family boarded the Parabat Express at Kamalapur Railway Station in Dhaka for a journey to Sylhet, a city in northeastern Bangladesh renowned for its tea plantations, limestone caves, and the centuries-old shrine of Hazrat Shah Jalal. We purchased three second-class tickets at 225 taka each and settled into seats 14, 15, and 16 in coach number 3 of the 16-carriage train, which was painted in the distinctive green and yellow livery of Bangladesh Railway. The Parabat Express operates on the metre-gauge Sylhet line covering approximately 264 kilometres, with scheduled departure at 6:45 and arrival at approximately 13:45, though the actual journey time often varies between six and eight hours depending on the condition of the track and the number of intermediate stops. Within ten minutes of departure the train crossed the steel bridge over the Buriganga River, where I observed cargo barges, wooden rowing boats, and a ferry carrying trucks toward the Sadarghat terminal, one of the busiest inland waterway ports in South Asia. The route passed through Mymensingh Division, where expansive paddy fields stretched to the horizon on both sides, broken by clusters of mango orchards, bamboo groves, and small villages with tin-roofed houses and hand-pump tube wells that extract groundwater from the alluvial aquifer of the Ganges-Brahmaputra floodplain. A railway catering vendor pushed a metal cart through the aisle selling hot tea at 10 taka per cup, bottled water for 20 taka, and packets of sponge cake and biscuits for 5 to 15 taka. After approximately four hours the train entered the Sylhet Division and began ascending into the rolling hills of the Khasi-Jaintia foothills, where the terrain shifted from flat alluvial plains to terraced tea gardens with rows of Camellia sinensis bushes tended by seasonal workers from the Khasi and Garo hill tribes of neighbouring Meghalaya in India. I consulted my guidebook and learned that the Sylhet region produces over 80 percent of Bangladesh’s total annual tea output of approximately 85 million kilograms, with the Srimangal estate alone covering more than 1,500 hectares and the Kazi and Kazi estate recognised as the country’s largest organic tea producer. Between the tea bushes I spotted two pied hornbills perched on a tall rubber tree, their large yellow beaks unmistakable against the green canopy, and a flash of blue indicated a common kingfisher diving into a roadside stream. My mother pointed out a group of children standing on a village platform waving enthusiastically as our train passed, and my father explained that waving at trains is a long-standing tradition among rural Bangladeshi children who view the passing locomotives as symbols of connection to the wider world. A ticket examiner in a crisp navy-blue uniform checked our tickets and identity cards at around 11:00 and politely reminded passengers to keep their belongings secure under the Railway Property Act. As we entered Sylhet city the landscape shifted from tea gardens to a flat river valley, and the wide, calm surface of the Surma River became visible from the train windows, reflecting the afternoon sky. The journey from Dhaka to Sylhet by train covers approximately 264 kilometres and is a popular alternative to the five-hour road journey via the Dhaka-Sylhet Highway, offering passengers the opportunity to observe the dramatic transition from the flat deltaic plains of central Bangladesh to the forested hills of the northeast. We arrived at Sylhet Railway Station tired but deeply appreciative, and I concluded that a train journey through Bangladesh is not merely a means of transport but a living classroom in geography, agriculture, and the everyday kindness of strangers.

On 12 March 2025, during the mid-term break, my family boarded the Parabat Express at Kamalapur Railway Station in Dhaka for a journey to Sylhet, a city in northeastern Bangladesh renowned for its tea plantations, limestone caves, and the centuries-old shrine of Hazrat Shah Jalal, and this essay recounts the experiences, scenery, and companionship that made the trip memorable. We purchased three second-class tickets at 225 taka each and settled into seats 14, 15, and 16 in coach number 3 of the 16-carriage train, which was painted in the distinctive green and yellow livery of Bangladesh Railway and operated on the metre-gauge Sylhet line covering approximately 264 kilometres with a scheduled departure at 6:45 and arrival at approximately 13:45. Within ten minutes of departure the train crossed the steel bridge over the Buriganga River, where I observed cargo barges, wooden rowing boats, and a ferry carrying trucks toward the Sadarghat terminal, one of the busiest inland waterway ports in South Asia handling over 30,000 passengers daily. The route passed through Mymensingh Division, where expansive paddy fields stretched to the horizon on both sides, broken by clusters of mango orchards, bamboo groves, and small villages with tin-roofed houses and hand-pump tube wells extracting groundwater from the alluvial aquifer of the Ganges-Brahmaputra floodplain. A railway catering vendor pushed a metal cart through the aisle selling hot tea at 10 taka per cup, bottled water for 20 taka, and packets of sponge cake and biscuits for 5 to 15 taka. After approximately four hours the train entered the Sylhet Division and began ascending into the rolling hills of the Khasi-Jaintia foothills, where the terrain shifted from flat alluvial plains to terraced tea gardens with rows of Camellia sinensis bushes tended by seasonal workers from the Khasi and Garo hill tribes of neighbouring Meghalaya in India. The Sylhet region produces over 80 percent of Bangladesh’s total annual tea output of approximately 85 million kilograms, with the Srimangal estate alone covering more than 1,500 hectares and the Kazi and Kazi estate recognised as the country’s largest organic tea producer. Between the tea bushes I spotted two pied hornbills perched on a tall rubber tree, their large yellow beaks unmistakable against the green canopy, and a flash of blue indicated a common kingfisher diving into a roadside stream. My mother pointed out a group of children standing on a village platform waving enthusiastically as our train passed, and my father explained that waving at trains is a long-standing tradition among rural Bangladeshi children. A ticket examiner in a crisp navy-blue uniform checked our tickets and identity cards at around 11:00 and politely reminded passengers to keep their belongings secure. As we entered Sylhet city the landscape shifted from tea gardens to a flat river valley, and the wide, calm surface of the Surma River became visible from the train windows. The journey from Dhaka to Sylhet by train covers approximately 264 kilometres and is a popular alternative to the road journey, offering passengers the opportunity to observe the dramatic transition from the flat deltaic plains of central Bangladesh to the forested hills of the northeast. We arrived at Sylhet Railway Station tired but deeply appreciative, and I concluded that a train journey through Bangladesh is not merely a means of transport but a living classroom in geography, agriculture, and the everyday kindness of strangers.