This slow journey is a sleeper class Is like being in a public library.
Open to everyone.
Freshness out of the window.
And most importantly, Could wander around.. And chose where to stay*.
Packed my stuff and occupied my allotted berth. To join vikram and Sanjay, co-passengers for the next 24hrs(26)
Vikram dressed in camouflage pattern shirt and sunglasses. With ab itch of curiosity asked if he belonged to any armed forces, for which he smiled and replied no. Of my many more random questions to him, that was the first.
Post Mysore, this got to be the destination I am happy to head towards.
This being away from a known place, known people felt good.
Distance and time of travel tells us how far we’ve come from home.
I kept looking out into the window. There were power lines. Towers of power lines were of two types. The one which offers huge opening in between so that wires can pass in between them and the other sort being tall erect with wires hanging on its shoulders.
Guess human anatomy might have inspired those engg designs. Pun intended.
And then suddenly in the evening, the air is filled with sadness.
Behind the sad blue skies, near the horizon were the happy golden smiles.
When I started assuming that the path is linear, began the curves.
Curves. Tunnels. Gorges. Rivers. Meadows.
The tracks were carefully banked and curved like brahma designs his daughters with intense care and attention.
Time flies away when we feel pleasure. The sun dawned and the night came.
Berths have been killed.Ripped. Supressed. But they stayed silent just as the earth.
Within half-hour of lying down on my berth,got involuntarily indulged in the the dirty business.
The dirty business of dreaming.
For the night,
Lullaby of wheels and track has replaced soft rock music,
Middle Berth chains replacing the pillow army, can sleep in peace without the fear of falling down.
Its a tragic moment when we woke up in the middle of a dream not knowing its inception and the end. And moments later forgetting the dream.
perhaps life progresses in the same way.
Woke up. Packed.
And so, out of the station, up the road, and to the left. The bus stand. A begging mother and a weak child, 6₹ and a tea.