(For Roy of the 50's)

There's a train from Siliguri
- a township on the plains -
Which is mobbed by native coolies
Who cart baggages with strain.

The meter of the rail's gauge
Is as narrow as can be,
And though the train has great age
It's the smallest you will see.

It's known to all as Toy Train
And it winds up to the Hills,
As it runs through mist and rain
With its whistle sounding shrill.

It oft'times stops for panee
And a load of blue-black coal,
Children holler, "Kuch purwanee"'
By the railway signal pole.

At first the train goes flat out
Through the densely jungled floor,
And often there's a loud shout
When one hears a distant roar -

Of imagined thick striped tigers
And of rhinos passing through,
And the calls of antlered Neelgai
Or of cockatoos of blue

Up the hill the train crawls
On its single railway track,
Up the slope the train hauls
Folks with packs upon their backs.

The Toy Train closely passes
By giant ferns, so near
That it brushes tall sharp grasses
All the way to Tindaria.

And there, the little engine
Stops to rest and breathe,
And cool its boiler within,
Stoked by red-hot furnace heat-

As all about the Toy Train
Locals come to ply their trade,
Sometimes soaked by driving rain,
Thick by Monsoon made.

The guard then blows his whistle
And the flagman shows it's "Go!"
Hear the echoes fade and die still
'Cross the vistas far below.

And up on engine's rail front
In his lap a sack of sand
Sits Gurung, lean and gaunt,
The Railway's trusty hand.

He sprinkles grit on both rails
To traction steel to wheel.
For should the engine's grip fail,
From off its track 'twould peel.

Around the many S-bends,
Across the Jhoras wide,
On little Toy Train all depends
To negotiate landslides.

Now to the town of Kurseong
Four thousand feet up, plus,
The journey yon is quite long
- It's much faster going by bus!

But when the Toy Train gets there
And crawls along the street,
The children race, they boldly dare
On bare and shoeless feet

While mangy little hill dogs
Along the roadside stream,
See engine's puffing dense fog
And bark at hissing steam.

The little Train chugs northward,
Climbing all the while,
It pauses when a small herd
Of mountain goats pass by.

It pauses, too, at times
When the train comes face to face
With another on the line,
Which it then has to displace.

The `down' train takes a siding,
While the `up' train journeys through
To ensure there's no colliding
-The crews know what to do!

And onward goes the Toy Train,
Sometimes up a grade so steep
That it tugs with all its might and strain,
Yet moves at but a creep.

Along the ribbon'd loop of track
Which girdles like a bow,
The line then curves and doubles back
Above the one below.

At last! The struggle's done
‘Top the lofty pass at Ghoom.
From here on in, the smoky run's
All downhill, through the gloom.

Yet, over zig-zag sinuous trail,
Yet, on the hair pinned bends,
Chugs Toy Train on its polished rail
All clear to journey's end.

Comes the train from Siliguri
Belching smoke, it steamy sings,
Hailing all the weary coolies
In the town of Darjeeling.

Tomorrow, when the dawn breaks
O'er Himalayan skies,
The train again, will once more wake
And heave a sleepy sigh

And head on down the hillside
At a walking pace for some
Its furnace mouth all open wide
To make another run.

Yes, it's the train from Siliguri,
Which is fifty miles away,
It's the Toy Train of the mountains
For which all cry, "Hooray!"