Written on 9th January, 2019.
On a train journey; going back to Varanasi.
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As a child I used to be very fascinated by trains. Big windows, convertible seats, a continuous overflow of humans from different parts of the country, yet a known smile passed every time someone meets the eye. As a child, I used to be this frantic kid who'd clutch on to ma's ‘aanchol’ and baba's hand, getting up on a train, trying to absorb everything that the journey had to offer; from the various smells to the eccentric ways of vendors; I tried to capture it all in my tiny little brain.
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And fifteen years later, I still find myself in the same place, the only difference being that I am always alone, traveling back and forth from hostel, still trying to capture everything that the journey has to offer. And of course, we have smartphones now, a living proof of a boring train journey which suddenly turns amazing because of one reason or the other.
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Trains are an excellent example of our inner selves; sometimes affected and sometimes growing numb towards the life outside.
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Trains are amazing, says a twenty year old swivel - eyed adult, who's still trying to figure out life, one journey at a time.
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