You Are My Princess by Tanushree Das
Not every train journey is about reaching a place. Sometimes, it quietly reminds us of how far we have come. That was the thought I was left with after reading You Are My Princess by Tanushree Das, one of the stories in Stories from Trains. The story follows Tanushree, or Tanu, who is traveling alone to Kolkata after a long gap. Somewhere along the journey, she hears two familiar voices calling out to her. They belong to Joshua and Arjun, children she had taught earlier. They are delighted to see her, and very soon, the train compartment fills with the kind of easy affection children bring with them. There are nursery rhymes, laughter, dancing, and conversations that take Tanu back to a part of her life she clearly holds close to her heart. Then comes an encounter she wasn’t expecting. Tanu sees Hemant, a man she had once quietly loved. There was a time when she had hoped he would notice her the way she noticed him. That never happened. Now, years later, she meets him again, this time with his wife and child. This was the point where I wanted the story to slow down. What happens inside you when you unexpectedly meet someone who once occupied so much space in your heart? Do you remember the person you were then? Does something still hurt? Or do you look at that person and wonder why you once wanted their attention so badly? I wanted to know what went through Tanu’s mind in those few seconds. Instead, the story moves past the encounter rather quickly and tells us about her earlier feelings for Hemant. I felt this was a missed opportunity. A small hesitation, an awkward exchange, a memory that surfaced without warning, or even Tanu’s surprise at realizing that she felt nothing anymore could have said far more than an explanation of their past. Hemant doesn’t need to become a major character, but his presence matters because he represents something Tanu once wanted very badly. The children, on the other hand, represent a very different kind of love. One of the sweetest moments in the story comes when Joshua looks at Tanu and says, “You are my princess Tanu.” His mother immediately corrects him and asks him to call her “Ma’am,” while Arjun joins in and calls her their princess. It is such an innocent exchange, but there is something deeper sitting beneath it. Tanu had once imagined herself as a princess. Perhaps, when she was younger, being someone’s princess meant being chosen, loved, and made to feel special. Yet here are two children offering her that affection without knowing anything about the disappointments she has carried. This was one of those moments where I wished the author had simply allowed the scene to breathe. I also wanted to know a little more about Joshua and Arjun. We know Tanu taught them and that they remember her fondly, but why do they share such a warm bond with her? Was there something she did as their teacher that stayed with them? Did Tanu remember something about them from their preschool days? Even one small shared memory could have made their reunion warmer and helped us understand why their affection touches her so deeply. There are also places where the dialogue could have been more natural. At times, characters seem to speak mainly to give the reader information. Real conversations are rarely that complete. People interrupt themselves, leave things unsaid, laugh, hesitate, change the subject, or communicate through a look. Bringing some of that into the conversations would have made the people inside that train compartment feel more real. I also found myself rereading a few sentences because the wording made the meaning difficult to follow. Some descriptions are imaginative, but they don’t always create a clear picture. A tighter edit for grammar, sentence structure, and word choice would have made the story much easier to read. This matters because when a reader has to stop to work out what a sentence means, they are pulled away from the emotion of the scene. And this is a story that depends heavily on emotion. For me, the strongest part comes after the train journey. Tanu goes alone to Flurys on Park Street. She orders the food she wants and sits in a restaurant she had once dreamed of visiting but couldn’t afford. There is something quietly satisfying about that moment. No grand achievement is required. She is simply sitting in a place that once felt beyond her reach, able to pay for her own meal and enjoy her own company. Then she tells herself: “Tanu, you are my princess.” I liked that moment. In fact, I liked it enough to wish the story had trusted it more. The long audio message that follows is where I felt the story said a little more than it needed to. Tanu talks about Hemant, self-love, healthy relationships, earning her own money, publishing her book, and learning to find a sense of safety within herself. I understand why the author wanted Tanu to say all of this. These are clearly important experiences, and they explain the woman she has become. But by then, I had already understood much of it. Seeing Hemant with his wife and child had brought her old hopes face-to-face with reality. Meeting Joshua and Arjun reminded her that love and affection had existed in her life in other forms. Sitting alone at Flurys showed us that she could now give herself something she once couldn’t. And that one sentence, “Tanu, you are my princess,” brought all those threads together. The story had already spoken. That is why the audio message felt more like an explanation of the ending than part of the ending itself. A shorter message might have worked. Perhaps even no message at all. I would have been happy to leave Tanu sitting at that table, remembering the little boy on the train who had called her a