Train of Thoughts
“I hate return journeys”, I think to myself as I sit on a chaotic platform at the railway station.
A loud bell goes off in the distance. I get up and trudge along to board the train, glancing momentarily at the information board just to make sure I’m boarding the right train. I am. Well, I don’t know if it is the ‘right’ train but it is the one I am supposed to board. So, I do.
It’s crowded, much to my displeasure but then again was I ever expecting it to be anything else? Perhaps a miracle.
There is something about train journeys that I can’t quite put my finger on. There’s always this weird energy to it. It has this knack of making you like you have been momentarily transported to a different world: the constant groan of the engine, the rattling of the rails under you, the pungent, heavy air conditioned air and the smell of rexine. The food packets being passed around over loud roars of laughter and the constant commotion of people in the aisle changes into a deathly silence when the lights go out at night only for that one omnipresent person to prick through the ghastly silence with their loud snoring. It really is a different world; a different ecosystem in its own right. Slowly making its way through the desolate, remote, vast countryside and taking mostly clueless people to their next destination. A train journey has this ability of somehow making a person grow up. The rattling of the tracks somehow replaces the ticking of the clock and for that small part of your life, time really does feel like it has come to a standstill.
The train catches speed as it leaves the platform, leaving behind a million faces and the billion stories behind them. I always feel out of place when I think about the faces I see while passing by someone on the street or on a train. It almost feels like I’m an outsider looking in and disturbing the sanctity of life. Perhaps it would have been better if I had not seen them. But I have learnt to ignore it. I think most of us have. I catch myself staring into a void as the urban concrete jungle slowly changes into rolling meadows of fresh green grass in the beautiful Indian countryside. I try to stop my runaway train of existential dread.
I try to look away from the window and at my fellow passengers. I see a little kid completely engrossed in his smartphone while his poor mother tries to catch a breath after struggling to take a food packet out of the bag stashed away under the seat. She tries to feed him with very limited success as he brushes her hand off.
“I can’t pause an online game!”, he says with an arrogant annoyance that only young age brings. The disgruntled father is quick to snatch his phone away and goes back to scrolling mindlessly on his own phone. I catch a momentary look of exasperation on the mother’s face at the ironic exchange of events between the two men in her life.
I chuckle to myself. I can’t help it.
A loud horn from the engine makes me realise that the train is chugging along at full speed now. I switch my focus to the colourful sunset outside. The Indian countryside is truly a sight to behold. The lush green fields on a crisp winter evening glistening in the golden hour sunshine. There’s a thin mist everywhere with the sun just peeking through. I can see villagers going about their daily activities as the scenery changes quickly before I even register their presence.
The train comes to a momentary stop in the middle of nowhere. I see two middle-aged men in an animated conversation in one of the fields waiting to cross the railway track. I wonder what they might be talking about. The latest village gossip? Or perhaps a heated debate about the upcoming elections? Perhaps they are discussing domestic matters and seeking advice from each other. I look back and think about my interactions with my friends. Discussing everything from cricket to life to relationship problems. I come to the realisation that my life is completely different to that of the two gentlemen who are oblivious to my staring eyes. We live in the same country, breathe in the same air, see the same things but we look at life completely differently. They might as well be living in a different universe and it still won’t have any effect on my life. It makes me feel disconnected. From myself, from my friends, from my family. It makes me feel lonely; going about my journey from nowhere to nowhere with a short halt at don’t know where.
The train starts moving again, dragging my thoughts along with it.
The sky outside is now pitch black and all I can see are little points of light whizzing past the window. A worker from the pantry takes my food order and leaves. A little growl from my stomach makes me realise I am starving. Perhaps the mother of the little kid notices it and kindly offers me some of the khichdi they have been eating. I politely refuse. I somehow can’t take people being nice to me. I take my book out of my bag and aimlessly scroll through its pages to avoid any more interaction with my fellow travellers. The food doesn’t take too long to arrive and I retreat to the safety of my top berth after an unsurprisingly disappointing meal.
The cold air from the AC is now directly hitting my face making it almost numb with cold. I gaze up at the AC vent and the dull white monotonous roof as the ability to fall asleep seems to have escaped me. I feel horribly trapped but I don’t know why. I truly did believe that going away from it all for a while will certainly make me feel better. For a brief second I felt liberated like I had never felt before. I felt alive. I have always hated return journeys. They make me feel like a helpless deer caught in the headlights or a very fast car. I know I have to move but I just can’t. So, I stay right where I am and let the car just pass over me and bear with the consequences of my apathy only to realise I am again caught in those unruly headlights.
I feel a sudden jolt and realise the train is slowing down. I sit up and look at my phone to figure out where the train has reached.
No network. Great.
I feel a bout of stupidity coming on. I feel this sudden urge of picking up my backpack and getting off this damn train. It is pulling into the right stop. All my life I have suppressed all these stupid thoughts and did all those ‘sensible’ things. Look where that has led me. Not wanting to let this stroke of inspiration go to waste, I scramble down, almost crushing the outstretched hand of the snoring man in the lower berth in the process. I pick up my backpack, faff about to put on my shoes in the dark (the lower berth man, who is now wide awake, is giving me a rather unpleasant look) and make a dash for the door. The platform starts moving ever so slowly as I stare transfixed at it.
“Now or never”, I tell myself and jump out of the train.
Relief. Confusion. Panic. Liberation.
I am home.
The train is now properly speeding away well beyond the point of no return. I can’t seem to find the name of the station where I foolishly decided to jump out at 2:47 am on a chilly Wednesday night. I can’t believe I did that. I feel panic starting to set in as I don’t know what I’m going to do next. The tough part starts now. But I feel alive; excited almost. There is nobody at the station except for two inebriated gentlemen passed out near the exit gate. I walk up to a small board that would hopefully solve the mystery.
Another jolt.
I wake up utterly confused and open my eyes to the dull white roof of the train. It is morning outside and chaos inside. I feel like I have switched on a movie at the one hour mark. I climb down from my berth and see the train slowing down. It is pulling into the correct stop. I pick up my backpack, faff about to put on my shoes and make a dash for the door. The platform starts moving ever so slowly as I stare transfixed at it.
“I guess I’d better”, I tell myself and jump out of the train.
I am home.
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