Here it is. Another train journey through the belly of the Indian mainland bringing with it a whiff of old memories. As much as the fascination of traveling by train has dwindled away, the memories don't seem to fade. Memories of the eager wait for the arrival of the train dismayed by the false arrival of just an engine, the familiar hustle and bustle which doesn't ever cease, the fight for a vacant seat on the platform, the archaic clock hanging precariously from the ceilings and which is invariably behind time making the wait seem even longer - make it all seem like it was just yesterday that you took a train home. There was a time when each summer vacation promised a rail trip. Today as I lay on the lower berth of 1-a.c., the rexin of the seat cover sticking to the bare skin of my hands, the squishy pillow giving little comfort to my head heavy and deprived of sleep, the little midnight blue light breaking the darkness in the cabin, the continuous swinging of the coaches as the train roared it's way through the sleepy towns, watching the silhouette of trees pass by through the tinted glass windows, there was a sudden reconnect to the simple joys of life. The simple joy of life called a train journey. As time passes it would become increasingly uncommon for an average middle-class family to be traveling by train. The paucity of time and the lack of modern comforts in a train journey are discounting factors to opt out of this traditional mode of transport. But then a train journey beckons a traveller and not a commuter, and it's only a traveller who knows that it's good to have an end to a journey but in the end it's the journey that matters.
She hasn't seen a wonder in years
She hasn't witnessed a miracle lately
Her bed is wet from tears of dreams she hasn't lived
And yet parched for memories of those she has
Her motionless body is restless to run wild in the fields
Even though she doesn't remember the smell of the dozen lillies
Her favorite ones
That are now wilting by her bedside
Alongside a picture frame of smiling faces
Basking in the sunshine under the summer sky
Now she sweats even on cold winter mornings
Darkness is her only companion
Compassion her only gift
Life is but an endless story
Written anonymously in monotone
The sweetest melodies, the chimes
The hymn to the Almighty is just a drone
No words to describe the grief of the kin
In her life, whose paths she did cross
For today even in her presence
They have inherited loss