I first heard The Local Train in 2019, standing with my then girlfriend at a small venue outside a mall, rain cutting through the evening. It wasn’t a planned discovery. I hadn’t listened to a single song of theirs before that night. But I’ve been a fan ever since. This piece on their debut album Aalas Ka Pedh is my attempt to slow down and unpack why The Local Train’s songs connect the way they do, and why they continue to stay with me.

Aalaas Ka Pedh [The tree of laziness]

The album is a lyrically dense, rock-driven record, powered by belting vocals and memorable solos, all stitched together by the story of a character moving through the seven stages of grief.

The album opens with Manzil (Destination), kicking off with an immediate rush of energy. A distorted guitar riff by Paras Thakur sets the tone, before Raman Negi joins in with his sustained call of Manzil, adding depth and weight to the opening riff.

The song sets expectations for what follows, a proper rock experience that carries you through highs and lows. As Raman belts out “Manzil saamne aaa” (The destination is almost here), the instruments and vocals come together to lift the song’s core idea.

As an album opener, it captures a sudden cry from someone nearing their destination or goal, aware that the person or thing they wished to share it with is no longer there. It strikes a careful balance between abstraction and clarity, leaving enough space for listeners to bring their own experiences and make the song their own.

The album unfolds like a story, with each song placed deliberately, both lyrically and musically. For instance, Manzil, which builds on an upward surge, feels like the volley in an alley-oop. Aaoge Tum Kabhi (Will you ever come?), the song that follows, lands as the slam dunk. The spacey guitar effects that open Aaoge Tum Kabhi evoke the brief silence between the volley and the dunk, that suspended moment where both player and ball hang in the air. It works as a contentful follow-up to the rush of the opener.

Aaoge Tum Kabhi stays close to the theme set by Manzil, carrying the story forward. The character grows tired of waiting and begins to care less about the destination itself, yet hope refuses to fade, there’s still a quiet belief that the special one will eventually return.

Gayega ya sama, gayegi ye zameen (This atmosphere will sing, this earth will sing)

Badlega ye jahan, gayega asmaan (This will all change, the sky will sing)

Aaoge tum kabhi, meri jaa keh rahi (Will you ever come? My heart is asking)

Its chorus moves through one of the simplest descending melodies, yet it works effortlessly, a testament to how well The Local Train have crafted the song.

Paras Thakur, who put his plans to move to Los Angeles on hold to play with The Local Train, shines with a beautiful rock solo. Lasting nearly ninety seconds and arriving after the lyrics have run their course, the solo fully earns its space. Along with his commanding stage presence, Paras’s guitar work is an essential ingredient for The Local Train’s success.

You can hear the care that went into producing this album. The songs are layered thoughtfully, with subtle fingered guitar rhythms weaving through the background and revealing themselves over repeated listens.

Bandey opens with muffled beats and cymbals hitting its stride, setting a restrained, tone to the rock song. Raman’s vocals ease into one of the band’s fan favourites, singing “Kismat se kahaan” (Where is luck?). The song returns to the same character we met in Manzil and Aaoge Tum Kabhi. This time, he is filled with resentment, blaming himself for not fighting harder for what he once had.

The song artfully misleads the listener a couple of times, letting the rising crescendos resolve not into a chorus, but back into yet another verse. When Bandey finally does hit its chorus, it arrives a little late, but as a pleasant surprise, and one that’s easy to forgive. Much like Aaoge Tum Kabhi, Paras closes the track with a solo, letting the song breathe till its final moment.

The fourth track, Choo Lo, opens like a fresh page. The mood shifts from angst to yearning. The character reasons through the weight of what they refuse to let go of. By the time the final lines land, it feels less like loss and more like quiet resolve, as if the character has finally realized that his last ditch attempt has failed.

Haan, main ruka hoon (yes, i’m staying)

Tu ja chuka hai (you are gone)

Choo Lo is the oldest song in the band’s catalogue, written by Raman back in 2005, well before the band took shape. As the track unfolds, Raman steadily raises the stakes with an increasingly powerful vocal performance, while Paras drives the momentum with gritty, distorted rhythms. The song finishes with Paras’s soaring solo, placing Choo Lo on par with Aaoge Tum Kabhi and Bandey.

Kaisey Jiyun kicks off with a commanding drum pattern, immediately setting a heavier tone. One of the earlier songs in The Local Train’s catalogue, the track captures a character sinking into depression, questioning how to live on after loss, yet stubbornly choosing to keep going. The chorus erupts into a kind of melodic chaos, where grief and defiance collide, and Raman repeatedly asks the same haunting question, not in search of an answer, but as a release.

Kaise jiyun, kaise rahoon, jiya jaaye naa (How to live?  How should I live? Let’s live)

Kaise kahoon, kaise sahoon jiya jaaye na (How should I say? How can I bear it? Let’s live)

Paras delivers what is, in my opinion, his most compelling work on the album.

The penultimate track, Yeh Zindagi Hai, opens with a playful, Irish-tinged rhythm. There’s a noticeable shift in perspective here, the character begins to accept life as it is, although with a quiet cynicism, yet grounded in the understanding that this, for better or worse, is life.

Ke paise ke yaar yahaan par sabhi (Everyone’s here for money)

Jal jaayega (It will burn)

Tootega tera dil yahaan par (Your heart will break here)

Tu samjha nahin (You don’t understand)

Ke bikta hai saala pyaar yahaan par sahi  (Love is sold right here)

Yeh zindagi hai samjhe na koi (This is life, no one understands it)

As with the earlier tracks on the album, Raman’s full-bodied voice makes the chorus instantly mesmerizing. Paras’s tasteful use of the wah-wah pedal elevates it further, adding both texture and flair.

Dil Mere, the closing track, takes a gentler turn after the album’s heavier rock moments. Built around delicate finger-style strumming, it’s a song that has inspired countless amateur guitarists to upload their own renditions on YouTube. Lyrically, Dil Mere marks a return of hope, the character accepts the unfairness of the world, yet their heart still longs to wander, to seek, and to find something more.

Dil mere tu hai ek banjaara (My heart, you are a banjara.)

Jaane na tu kyun firta awaara (I don’t know why you wander around)

It’s simply a beautiful song and the perfect conclusion to both the album and the character’s journey.

Looked at as a whole, the album traces a clear emotional arc, mirroring the seven stages of grief:

• Manzil : The journey begins in shock, as the character realizes that their special someone is suddenly absent.
• Aaoge Tum Kabhi : Denial sets in; hope lingers, and the character continues to wait, believing they might return.
• Bandey : Anger surfaces, directed inward and toward the situation itself.
• Choo Lo : A phase of bargaining, where the character reassures their loved one of their place in their heart, promising patience no matter the outcome.
• Kaisey Jiyun : Depression takes hold, as the character mourns and questions how life can go on after the loss.
• Yeh Zindagi Hai : Acceptance arrives, tinged with cynicism, but grounded in the understanding that this is simply how life unfolds.
• Dil Mere : Hope returns. The character sheds their bitterness, feels the urge to wander again, and searches for that lost spark.

It’s unfortunate that The Local Train eventually disbanded. But in a universe shaped by chance and timing, we’re lucky that everything aligned just right for them to create an album this honest, this cohesive, and this enduring.