"Executive Class"

June 2013, Ghaziabad: I was standing at the ever-bustling Ghaziabad Railway Station, waiting for my MBA batchmate, fondly known to all as Chacha. He was coming in from Lucknow and had sweet-talked me into helping with his extra luggage. (Perks—or shall I say cons—of being the local guy from Ghaziabad back then. I was the go-to person for everything from home-cooked food to local jugaad to my bike becoming a college asset.)

Of course, I reached well before time (a personality trait that now causes regular debates with my significantly better half), and began daydreaming about what train adventures lay ahead.

Now, let me take you back—2013 was peak Shatabdi season. Snazzy compartments, reclining seats, big shiny windows, and food that was actually edible. But the real dream? The elusive Executive Class. Oh, the tales we’d heard—real salted cashews, dessert that didn’t look like a science experiment, and servers who looked like they walked straight out of an airline commercial.

And lo and behold—Chacha had somehow landed a seat in Executive Class! The train screeched to a halt for a blink-and-you-miss-it 2 minutes (thanks, Indian Railways), crushing my dream of sneaking a peek inside that shiny coach of glory. As we rode back to college, I sat behind him on my bike, lost in thought. At that moment, 23-year-old me made a silent vow: “One day, when I start earning, I’ll travel Executive Class.”

Over the years, life set in: jobs, marriage, bills, travel (for work and spouse), with the limited time, took priority.  Some promises-to-self got ticked off. Others got buried under deadlines and practicality. Flights replaced trains (thank you, corporate hustle). And the dream of riding the Executive Class? Quietly benched.

May 2025, Gurugram: As a consultant now, one of my projects took me to Jaipur. The client booked a train (because hey, it's just a 3-hour ride). After a long day of sessions, I glanced at my ticket—barely noticing the details—and casually headed for the station. And then—wait for it—I looked again.

"EXECUTIVE CLASS". Both onward and return. Executive. Class.

My eyes lit up. The image of Chacha, stepping out of that train in 2013, replayed like a movie scene. I was grinning like a kid about to get his first Happy Meal. 

And oh boy, the experience!

Roomy seats that embraced my wider frame like a long-lost friend. Salted cashews—yes, the fancy kind. Decent food (okay, still “train decent,” but we take our wins). I even clicked a rare selfie (and if you know me, you know how much I run away from the camera).

Somewhere between nibbling cashews and pretending to read, a wave of joy hit me. That 23-year-old boy's promise had finally come true—not with fanfare, but in the quiet comfort of a train coach.

And it made me realize—so many of us bury our tiny dreams in the chaos of “adulting.”
But when even one of them—however silly or small—comes true, it sparks something beautiful.

So here’s my two cents: Dig up that old promise. Give yourself that 10-minute joy ride.
Book the Executive Class. Buy the overpriced cake. Dance to that weird playlist.

Because sometimes, joy doesn’t come from a grand event. It comes from a train ride, a salted cashew, and a promise remembered.

Don’t wait. Go for it. Joy’s waiting at the other end of the platform!