Enroute who cares?
As i write this I am sandwiched between three other passengers. Occasional gust of wind I am looking forward to, pungent washroom odour dipped in human sweat, conversations, chaos hitting the senses as I write.
Enroute? Who cares.
I have forever liked train journeys not because it lead somewhere, not because it leads to new acquaintances, but because I have lived most of my childhood in them; upper berths, vendor screams, blue draped seats, and stories.
My father's job gave me wonderful things. He mostly used to stay away, sometimes distant district of my own state, sometimes elsewhere.
All the memories I have of childhood, I usually have of travelling, sometimes Jharkhand, sometimes Bihar border, and the memories are always this faded sky blue coated eastern railway-isque. My father's job took my father away mostly, and gave me trains.
I don't know how to say which one is better now.
Anyway, coming back to this, I didn't get a window seat, so I'm mostly peeping from a mid-aged man's shoulder to see the passing lights of the night. The moon is bright up there somewhere, which I assume because the silhouettes are too bright. The train pass and so do I, and the silhouettes backwards. I keep looking.
I usually find more beauty in the soothing night visuals than the screaming morning light. They don't come with the obligation to be seen by you.
Also you put in a little bit of effort to see the night sky; and what is beauty if its not yearned for?
The train in its own mood, and I in mine, we travel.
Enroute? Who cares?
As i write this I am sandwiched between three other passengers. Occasional gust of wind I am looking forward to, pungent washroom odour dipped in human sweat, conversations, chaos hitting the senses as I write.
Enroute? Who cares.
I have forever liked train journeys not because it lead somewhere, not because it leads to new acquaintances, but because I have lived most of my childhood in them; upper berths, vendor screams, blue draped seats, and stories.
My father's job gave me wonderful things. He mostly used to stay away, sometimes distant district of my own state, sometimes elsewhere.
All the memories I have of childhood, I usually have of travelling, sometimes Jharkhand, sometimes Bihar border, and the memories are always this faded sky blue coated eastern railway-isque. My father's job took my father away mostly, and gave me trains.
I don't know how to say which one is better now.
Anyway, coming back to this, I didn't get a window seat, so I'm mostly peeping from a mid-aged man's shoulder to see the passing lights of the night. The moon is bright up there somewhere, which I assume because the silhouettes are too bright. The train pass and so do I, and the silhouettes backwards. I keep looking.
I usually find more beauty in the soothing night visuals than the screaming morning light. They don't come with the obligation to be seen by you.
Also you put in a little bit of effort to see the night sky; and what is beauty if its not yearned for?
The train in its own mood, and I in mine, we travel.
Enroute? Who cares?
