The year was 1982. Yes, a time when there were no cell phones. There was no Internet. And there certainly wasn’t any Facebook. People relied on letters most of the time. Life was simpler!

It was a rainy night. The mood was jubilant. We were gathered on the railway platform after attending a family wedding. Uncles, aunts, cousins, kids, babies were all chatting away. It seemed like we were the ones making most of the noise on the railway platform.

The train was late. The tension was building. The Howrah express only had a 3 minute stop at the tiny station, and our party of 35 was loaded with luggage. There were noisy and confusing discussions on who should climb in which bogey, who should be allowed to embark first, and how all the luggage would be managed. The coolies stood by the side, bored, smoking bidis. It was all regular work for them.

Finally, there was a whistle. Some smoke was seen curling up in the air. the choo-choo of the train’s wheels was heard, and the engine rounded a corner. The train, an express, had some 65 bogeys. It came in at great speed and overshot the platform a bit. Everyone scrambled to climb on. A dig in the ribs, and a stiletto on my foot made me scream out in pain, and I crumpled to the ground. Before I could realize what was happening, another whistle blew and the train was chugging away.

I was so shocked that all I could do was stare with my jaw open. No one was standing at the door, with a hand out to help me up. It was obvious no one realized I was left behind. By the time they took a head count, the train would be miles away.

I looked around. The coolies smiled at me, sinisterly, I thought. I slowly realized my predicament. I was in a small town, on a deserted railway platform. There were no other trains until the next morning. This wasn’t an urban setting, so I was the only girl or woman on the whole platform. There were some homeless people sprawled on a bench. And the yellow lights flickered as the power fluctuated. All the horror movies I had seen and books I had read came rushing back to me. I felt totally alone, and I was in danger! Danger with a capital D.

Tears flowed down my face without restraint. I was without a safe harbor and had nowhere to go. This was the first time I had to face being alone. Then I remembered what my mom had taught me to do in a situation like this. Calm down and look for a person in authority, or call the police.

I took a deep breath and said a prayer, telling myself I would be OK.

I looked for the station master’s office and went in. I told him what had happened. He was an elderly gentleman my father’s age. He made some calls to find the status of my train and found out that it was being held at the next station due to a red light. He happened to live near there and offered to escort me. I had to trust him, and I preferred going with him to spending the night on the lonely platform.

Before leaving, he bought me a cup of tea from a roadside stand, served in a clay pot. I sipped the tea gratefully, and very soon I was hopping onto the train and into the arms of my family. In all the chaos, no one had realized I was missing.

I learned an important lesson and vowed to depend on myself and become independent. And this childhood lesson made me tougher and helped me stay brave through all my travels and adventures, all obstacles life has thrown at me.

When times are tough, the first person you need to call on is yourself.

This is the most important life lesson my mother has taught me, and it has helped me overcome many adverse situations.