Its way past midnight. I lurch sideways and get up all of a sudden. The train seems to have creaked to a halt. I open my eyes and try to make sense of what is around me. Its all dark, slowly my eyes get accustomed to the dim blue light coming from the night lamps in the corridor. I see a tinge of blue and white immersing itself in darkness in the form of the spotless white Indian Railway bedsheets and the night lamp. The next instant I am pushed sideways and I realise the train has started moving. The rhythmic motion, rocks me back to sleep.
Again, I get up and squint. So much of light. The sun's rays bathe the compartment in a golden yellow colour. I rub my eyes, climb down, sit near the window. The train is speeding past fields, rivers and stations, almost everything. I try hard to make sense of what is happening. Someone hollers "Chai Kaapi, chai, chai, kaapiya" suffixing Kaapi with ya every time he hollers so. I order a cup. I cringe when he takes out a plastic cup, fills it with watered milk and sprinkles some instant coffee powder. For a Tamilian, anything less than filter coffee is a mood dampener. I pay him and try sipping the coffee. Ouch! Too hot. I try cooling it and take another sip. Manageable. I again look out of the window, the taste of the coffee is somehow enhanced by the sight outside. Golden yellow mixing with brown colored tress and shrubs. A series of sounds, and the train crosses a river. The sun's rays seem to have built a golden path right in the middle of the river and a sole boatman is rowing towards the horizon. All this seen and admired in a couple of seconds.
The muffled sounds of the train going khatak khatak over the tracks reaches my ears. Every one else seems to be asleep. Its me, the train and the landscape outside, talking to each other without saying a word. For a few moments. Slowly the level of activity in the coach starts increasing. People get up, more tea is ordered, 'Breakfaast' is ordered, the smell of cutlets captivates the senses. I open my aluminium pouch to find two red color discs and a squarish, yellowish piece of bread with a sachet of sauce. The cutlet is placed on a piece of bread and the bread is wrapped around it. Then an effort to take a balanced bite of both bread and cutlet begins. The fast is broken, satiated, a cup of tea is ordered. The morning paper arrives. News is read in the middle of nowhere with a cup of strong masala tea, if I am lucky or an insipid tea bag in hot water. A lot of noise, I look at the window. Many tracks join, the overhead electric wires come closer and closer, a junction perhaps. The train slows down. Sedate, slower, slower, creaks to a halt. A station has arrived.
I alight. Its a cold morning, I put my hands into my pockets. I walk around to feel my legs. I bask in the warmth that a lone patch of Sunlight provides.
These mornings aboard trains in India I am with me. I am not worried, not tensed, not apprehensive. I am not there. I am in that boat rowing towards the horizon, I am walking in those fields in the morning sunlight. I am not there, I am elsewhere, somewhere, where I am me, where I am free...
Again, I get up and squint. So much of light. The sun's rays bathe the compartment in a golden yellow colour. I rub my eyes, climb down, sit near the window. The train is speeding past fields, rivers and stations, almost everything. I try hard to make sense of what is happening. Someone hollers "Chai Kaapi, chai, chai, kaapiya" suffixing Kaapi with ya every time he hollers so. I order a cup. I cringe when he takes out a plastic cup, fills it with watered milk and sprinkles some instant coffee powder. For a Tamilian, anything less than filter coffee is a mood dampener. I pay him and try sipping the coffee. Ouch! Too hot. I try cooling it and take another sip. Manageable. I again look out of the window, the taste of the coffee is somehow enhanced by the sight outside. Golden yellow mixing with brown colored tress and shrubs. A series of sounds, and the train crosses a river. The sun's rays seem to have built a golden path right in the middle of the river and a sole boatman is rowing towards the horizon. All this seen and admired in a couple of seconds.
The muffled sounds of the train going khatak khatak over the tracks reaches my ears. Every one else seems to be asleep. Its me, the train and the landscape outside, talking to each other without saying a word. For a few moments. Slowly the level of activity in the coach starts increasing. People get up, more tea is ordered, 'Breakfaast' is ordered, the smell of cutlets captivates the senses. I open my aluminium pouch to find two red color discs and a squarish, yellowish piece of bread with a sachet of sauce. The cutlet is placed on a piece of bread and the bread is wrapped around it. Then an effort to take a balanced bite of both bread and cutlet begins. The fast is broken, satiated, a cup of tea is ordered. The morning paper arrives. News is read in the middle of nowhere with a cup of strong masala tea, if I am lucky or an insipid tea bag in hot water. A lot of noise, I look at the window. Many tracks join, the overhead electric wires come closer and closer, a junction perhaps. The train slows down. Sedate, slower, slower, creaks to a halt. A station has arrived.
I alight. Its a cold morning, I put my hands into my pockets. I walk around to feel my legs. I bask in the warmth that a lone patch of Sunlight provides.
These mornings aboard trains in India I am with me. I am not worried, not tensed, not apprehensive. I am not there. I am in that boat rowing towards the horizon, I am walking in those fields in the morning sunlight. I am not there, I am elsewhere, somewhere, where I am me, where I am free...
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