Look out of the window of your second class compartment. It takes a while for your eyes to get used to the rickety swaying of the train. As the train pulls out, the stagnant smell of the night, of dirty toilets and rusting window panes, is replaced by a soft morning odour of melting raindrops. It’s always a nice start, early in the morning.
There are other people too, with their own ways, yawning, stretching, some just out of bed, and others ready for a heady day. You look around for company, prospecting from the very start. You’re not always lucky though. So you turn away once again and look out. It is not your first time. You know what is in store – the broad dimensions of the journey. The city that is moving out will soon merge into the forest, only to be intermittently intercepted by the small settlements. They weren’t there earlier, they are here now. There are, nonetheless, gapes to be filled in – the finer strokes in the outline. So there is a fair bit of expectation – chance gets it fair bit, sometimes a little more also. In the relative solitude, for the train is still half empty, an odd glimpse of a chital excites the eye. The excitement isn’t long-lived. At the next station the train fills up. You hope for good companionship. But the thing you hate the most, bad luck, tirelessly follows you. You accept it, and try and make the best out of it. You think of a pick-up line (though it’s not really the best thing to think of when your co-passenger happens to be a belligerent old couple). You are just trying to invent a smile for your face when they set off a fight over their baggage with another passenger. A smirk escapes your lips. You needn’t worry though; others will have their chance at you.
A young man passes by. He has a book in hand – The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. It is the journey that matters. Suddenly the train comes to an irritating halt. You get the idea that it’s the elephants crossing. Sadly, you’ve left the jungle behind and are in the middle of a mango orchard. No elephants in a mango orchard! It starts getting humid in the compartment. You just start hating the Indian Railway.
The train moves after a while. The landscape changes. The planted fields are full of water. It is just after the first monsoon rains. You look out for peacocks but there aren’t any. You’ll have to do with egrets. There is considerable excitement among the egrets. They vigorously jerk their heads off and on in the water clogged paddy. You recall that every time you travelled this way these birds used to be completely white. You wonder why their heads are yellow. May be they aren’t the same birds. Putting up a brave face, one of them comes daringly close to the train and fumbles, trips and falls in a funny manner. It must have been nervous. The egrets get boring too.
The sun starts swimming faster through the clouds. Was the rain just an illusion? May be the sun is too. Shades of white play on your arm that rests against the window. The paddy needs both, the sun and the rain, you reflect.
You get your bag out and fish out a book. Reading makes you drowsy so you look out again. It’s a little cloudy and you feel good. And you see more than egrets this time, sparrows, crows, drongos, treepies, swallows – all too common but they still look nice. And then you get your moment to romanticise – yesterdays, today and tomorrow, all quietly mingle into a steady stream of thought. You think of the evenings you have spent on this route before, when going home. The same poplar trees look a shade dimmer; the sun seems to be turning redder. You think of the days gone by – things you wish to remember and things that you cannot forget. You sail into the future – conjuring dreams that change every second, adjusting the finer detail, raising the bar a little higher each time. A song escapes your lips – you don’t know the lyrics too well, though at times it is the music you lose track of.
The constant rocking is lulling you to a nice sleep as a gentle breeze picks up. You lose touch with everything around you for the next two hours. A sudden jerk wakes you up. You groan a little as your back aches because of the crooked posture you slept in. But it’s always fun sleeping in the train so you forgive yourself for the backache.
The ride is about to end. You pull down your bags and take steer them down the thin aisle to the exit doors. It is humid and you’re sweating. The open doors blow in gushes of air. It helps. The station can be seen in the distance and the train slows down. You pick your bags up ready to jump off as the halt is a short one.
The destination is just the start of another journey.
The train moves after a while. The landscape changes. The planted fields are full of water. It is just after the first monsoon rains. You look out for peacocks but there aren’t any. You’ll have to do with egrets. There is considerable excitement among the egrets. They vigorously jerk their heads off and on in the water clogged paddy. You recall that every time you travelled this way these birds used to be completely white. You wonder why their heads are yellow. May be they aren’t the same birds. Putting up a brave face, one of them comes daringly close to the train and fumbles, trips and falls in a funny manner. It must have been nervous. The egrets get boring too.
The sun starts swimming faster through the clouds. Was the rain just an illusion? May be the sun is too. Shades of white play on your arm that rests against the window. The paddy needs both, the sun and the rain, you reflect.
You get your bag out and fish out a book. Reading makes you drowsy so you look out again. It’s a little cloudy and you feel good. And you see more than egrets this time, sparrows, crows, drongos, treepies, swallows – all too common but they still look nice. And then you get your moment to romanticise – yesterdays, today and tomorrow, all quietly mingle into a steady stream of thought. You think of the evenings you have spent on this route before, when going home. The same poplar trees look a shade dimmer; the sun seems to be turning redder. You think of the days gone by – things you wish to remember and things that you cannot forget. You sail into the future – conjuring dreams that change every second, adjusting the finer detail, raising the bar a little higher each time. A song escapes your lips – you don’t know the lyrics too well, though at times it is the music you lose track of.
The constant rocking is lulling you to a nice sleep as a gentle breeze picks up. You lose touch with everything around you for the next two hours. A sudden jerk wakes you up. You groan a little as your back aches because of the crooked posture you slept in. But it’s always fun sleeping in the train so you forgive yourself for the backache.
The ride is about to end. You pull down your bags and take steer them down the thin aisle to the exit doors. It is humid and you’re sweating. The open doors blow in gushes of air. It helps. The station can be seen in the distance and the train slows down. You pick your bags up ready to jump off as the halt is a short one.
The destination is just the start of another journey.
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