Monisha Rajesh’s ‘Moonlight Express’ – rides through history, culture, planet and politics

By Sangeetha Vallat

Having spent years behind a railway ticket window, my heartbeat long attuned to the rhythm of trains, British journalist Monisha Rajesh’s latest book Moonlight Express: Around the World by Night Train (Bloomsbury India, ₹699) felt like a stroke of serendipity. With my ticket (the book) in hand and my backpack (a diary) ready, I was set to board the NightJet in Paris and join Monisha on her unforgettable ‘sleeper train adventures’.

My predilection for everything connected to trains was mirrored on every page. If I had a twin, I am convinced it would be Monisha: a rail lover, endlessly curious, and always ready to strike up a conversation with strangers across the aisle.

The author takes readers across continents, pausing not only at grand landmarks – from Vienna’s Belvedere Museum, where I lingered with Klimt’s The Kiss, to Medias’ St. Margaret Church with its herringbone tower, to the enchanting Carturesti Carusel bookstore and Carl cu Bere restaurant in Bucharest – but also at train station bookstalls, quiet rivers that twist under moonlight.

She notices the small things: the hotdog seller whose presence lasts a minute but earns a mention, the texture of food served by Harun in the train galley, or the bells of Nevskey Cathedral ringing 12 times into the night. Her appetite for detail made me hungry, curious and often delighted.

Food is as much a character as the landscapes: meals at Izbata in Sofia, soul food in Savannah, the warmth of Cigerci Aydin in Ankara, or beers shared on a Berlin-bound train. I found myself Googling for some dishes mentioned in the book, searching for local restaurants to sample them.

And then there are the trains themselves: Amtrak, Dogu, Dacia, the Royal Scotsman, the Nordland, the Nightjet, the Andean Explorer, the Shalimar Express, the Good Night Train. Each comes alive through her lens, judged on cleanliness, comfort and spaciousness, the three determinants of a good journey. (I have also started a savings folio for these luxury train travels!)

Her descriptions of the skies are especially poetic: apricot and peach-orange horizons, candy floss sunsets, snow turned blue by twilight, or the moon “girdled by clouds”. “The sun poised to sink”, the mist drifting over rivers, the molten pinks and golds… I could see it all, even feel the hush of evening when “the sweet little loops where birds had hopped around the snow” became visible. Each page is a reminder that the view from a train window is never static.

The book is also a gallery of people – co-travellers who become companions for a few miles or a few days. I bonded with the student, the schoolteacher, the theatre actor, even the stag-party-bound passenger. Herman’s remark that train journeys teach his son to trust strangers struck me deeply. I felt a kinship with fellow railway people. Some of them, like Jem, Ariel and Maya, are my family members now.

Monisha captures how trains become “keepers of our confessions”, places where we bare our souls with those we may never meet again.

There are moments of frustration, delayed trains, cancellations, but they only add to the authenticity of the journey. I smiled at the cleanliness of Jodhpur station, laughed at Mohan’s cheeky texts to Marc from Jaisalmer’s golden sands, and experienced the author’s awe at the aurora borealis.

I imagined myself working in one of the railway stations on the Ofoten line, shivering in the snow, feeling lucky to witness the amazing phenomenon of green lights in the sky during work, while tourists from around the world teemed to watch this magnificence.

With Monisha, I gasped at Murano’s glassmaking magic, tossed coins into the Trevi Fountain, and even met Santa Claus. Each chapter made me feel I was on board too, until the next train tempted me even more.

The author doesn’t shy away from heavier subjects either: racism, the UK school curriculum, earthquakes, or fleeting references to Gaza and Palestine. These inclusions feel like necessary interjections from the wider world, reminders that even from the comfort of a train carriage, the world’s sorrows remain close.

The writing blends history, culture, and politics with humour and intimacy. One moment she’s laughing about train carriages aboard a ferry, the next she’s meditating on landscapes or recounting the plight of railways struggling to stay afloat. For me, who has always known Indian Railways as a thriving lifeline, this was a sobering discovery.

If I have to quibble, it’s with the photographs being grouped in the middle – it feels like an intermission – even though I understand that it’s a printing limitation. And why didn’t Monisha venture into the rest of the railway networks like Africa, Australia, and so on? But perhaps those places will be subjects of future books and journeys.

Reading Moonlight Express was an indulgence I didn’t want to rush. I researched the places mentioned, watched videos of stations like Helsinki and of singer Serkan Kaya singing Daglarin Dumani, and chuckled when “devouring the protagonist of a Christmas song” made its way in.

Her stories of fjords, tunnels, snowy tracks, floating Uros islands, and the conversations with fellow travel writer Julian Sayarer made me want to pack a bag immediately… to chase candy-floss skies, to embrace koselig, to hear the thumping of wheels in the night.

Monisha Rajesh has crafted a work that is more than a travelogue: it is a confession, a celebration, a hymn to the railway and its endless promise. Moonlight Express left me nostalgic, restless and electrified. Closing the book, I realised I was suffering from what she herself calls “disembarkation sickness”, the ache of leaving behind a journey I never wanted to end.

Sangeetha Vallat is the author of Platform Ticket (Penguin Random House India, 2025), a memoir of her 14-year memorable career in the Indian Railways. She is passionate about books, travel, friends and conversations. Her short stories are featured in several anthologies and online journals. She now lives in Dubai with her husband.