India’s longest train journey, the Vivek Express, covers an incredible distance of 4,189 kilometers in over 80 hours, from Kanyakumari at the southern tip of the country to Dibrugarh in the northeastern state of Assam. The train passes through 8 states—Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, Odisha, West Bengal, Bihar, and Assam—offering a unique glimpse of India's vast landscapes and diverse cultures. Though this journey is the longest in India, it looks small in comparison to the world's longest train journey, the Trans-Siberian Railway, which covers a mind-boggling 9,300 kilometers across Russia, from Moscow to Vladivostok, taking around 7 days to complete. One day, I hope to experience that legendary journey too. For now, however, it was time to tick off the Vivek Express from my list—a trip I had been dreaming about for years.
I had thought about this journey for a long time, wondering if I should take the plunge. It’s a long ride, almost four days on a train, but the idea of completing India’s longest train journey was something I couldn’t ignore. After much deliberation, I finally managed to book myself a seat in Second AC. I have seen how crowded Sleeper Class can get, and I wanted to avoid the hassle, especially on such a long trip. I was keen on getting a side lower berth, which took me a couple of tries. Unfortunately, my booking came through a bit later than I had originally planned, causing me to adjust my travel dates.
Arriving at Kanyakumari station for the first time felt surreal.The train was already at the platform, and as I walked past the Sleeper Class coaches, I could see they were packed. I knew it would only get more crowded as we passed through Kerala, with many migrant workers from the Northeast heading back home. They often prefer this train, as it covers their entire route without the need for a change.
When I boarded my compartment, it was nearly empty. The coach attendant asked where I was heading. "Dibrugarh," I said. He looked at me, stunned, and asked if I was a vlogger or something. I chuckled and shook my head—it wasn’t the first time I had been asked that question. This was just something I had wanted to do for a long time. The journey was on.
The train moved into Kerala, and as expected, more passengers started filling the compartments. Even in Second AC, I felt a bit uncomfortable with the crowd trickling in. For a moment, I considered dropping the plan entirely and heading back to Bangalore. I started searching for trains that could take me back, just in case. But I decided to give it a night and see how things were in the morning once we crossed into Tamil Nadu.
To be safe, I checked train options from Tamil Nadu and even Andhra Pradesh, just in case I wanted to switch course. However, the TTEs were on their toes, making sure unreserved passengers didn’t overrun the reserved compartments. By the next station, the crowd had thinned out significantly. I had dinner, reassured myself, and went to sleep. The next morning, we were back in Tamil Nadu, and things felt much calmer.
More passengers boarded, including my co-passenger, who joined me around midnight from Palakkad traveling till Guwahati. He told me he works as a cook in a college hostel in Kozhikode and spoke highly about the place and its people, sharing how welcoming and friendly they are.He surprised me with his fluency in Malayalam - he spoke much better than I did. His friend was on a berth behind us. He worked as a laborer.His hands were rough, a testament to the hard work he did daily, laying bricks, mixing cement, and shaping structures that would eventually become homes.Their stories about construction sites, long work hours, and friendships showed me what life is like for many who come to Kerala for jobs.Both of them were curious about my trip. They seemed impressed and even suggested some places to visit in the northeast. Many of those places were already on my bucket list, but with time constraints on this trip, I had no plans to explore much. I will likely save them for another visit.
Starting conversations is something I struggle with, but my co-passengers seemed friendly and eager to chat. They were the ones who brought me into their conversations. There was this girl traveling to Odisha. She worked in a factory in Ernakulam and looked at me a few times. Our eyes met occasionally, but when I saw her buying pan masala from an outside vendor, it changed my initial impression of her. Then there was another girl on the opposite berth, traveling all the way to Malda Town in West Bengal. She shared her snacks with me during tea time, and we struck up a conversation. To my surprise, she was my age, yet already had a five-year-old daughter. That moment made me pause and think about how differently our lives had shaped up—while she was managing a family, I was out here, wandering on train journeys with not much concern for the future. She showed me a picture of her daughter on her phone, a small, smiling face with two pigtails. 'She’s my everything,” she said quietly, looking at the photo a little longer.
Pantry vendors became a constant presence, offering tea, snacks, and bits of conversation. They were all curious about my journey, fascinated that someone was traveling the entire distance to Dibrugarh. It felt nice to have those small interactions along the way. All these people, from different walks of life, filled the time with interesting chats, making the long hours more bearable.
As the train rolled on, the landscapes changed dramatically. From the dry, arid lands of Tamil Nadu, we crossed into the greener patches of Andhra Pradesh. By the time we entered Odisha, I started noticing more greenery and a subtle shift in the architecture of the homes that flashed by. It was a constant reminder of how diverse and beautiful India is.
As the train crossed through West Bengal, I noticed the border fence between India and Bangladesh. It was a strange yet comforting feeling, watching life go on just across the border, not so different from ours. I found myself wondering about the people there—their stories, their daily routines. Though only a fence separated us, it felt like a whole other world. The thought stayed with me as the train moved forward, reminding me how borders can separate countries, but people are the same everywhere.
On Day 4, we finally entered Assam. The rain was pouring, and fog enveloped the landscape, adding to the already heavy atmosphere. The train had run eight hours late, and as we approached the stations, most passengers began de boarding for their destinations. I bid them goodbye—each one had been good company throughout the journey. With the fog thickening, I sensed that the delay might only worsen.
The landscape in Assam was quite different from what I had seen so far—green and beautiful in parts, but also showing signs of poverty. The cleanliness, especially around some areas we passed through, was worse than expected. My co-passenger and his friend were preparing to get off at the next station. We shared one last conversation, took a quick selfie, and then said our goodbyes as they wished me luck for the rest of my journey.
At this point, almost 90% of the train had emptied out, and the once lively coach now felt silent, with only the occasional sounds of vendors passing through. I realized something—this journey had begun with an almost empty coach, and now I was ending it in much the same way, sitting quietly in an almost empty coach. It felt like a full-circle moment. But this time, I wasn’t alone. I carried with me the stories, smiles, goodbyes, and fleeting moments of connection with people I never thought I would speak to.
We finally reached Dibrugarh, nearly six hours late at midnight 2 a.m. As I stepped out of the train, the wet platform shined under the dim lights, and I felt something shift inside me. The journey, which started with nervous excitement, had ended with a heart full of stories and connections I hadn’t expected. Watching the world drift by, sharing meals, and exchanging goodbyes had made the delays and discomforts seem trivial. This trip wasn’t just about covering 4,189 kilometers; it was about the moments of quiet reflection, the unexpected friendships, and the sense of fulfillment that came from finally ticking off something I had long dreamed of doing.
I had been worried that my room booking might get canceled since I
hadn’t shown up by 11 p.m., but luckily, everything worked out, and I
got my room.As I settled into my room with the rain still hitting the window, I couldn’t help but smile. What began as a solo adventure had turned into something much more meaningful. Sometimes, all it takes is one long train ride to understand that no journey, no matter how lonely it seems, is ever truly taken alone.