The train started riding towards south; towards my city every moment since it departed the station. It was an early morning train and my eyes were red with sleep deprivation. The sun has not risen yet. It is too early for pedestrians on the sidewalk or farmers on their field. I looked up at the sky and the moon was crescent-waning and Venus shone by its side like a glittering diamond.
The sky is lit now. I plugged my earphones and tapped on my playlist. The train was dancing to its own sweet music- the next compartment as could be seen from my seat waved and nodded with a rhythmic movement. My racing mind and thoughts have come to be untamed with continuous-frequent travelling. As my train passed by the slopes and slants of the tea garden, I find myself familiar with the trees among the plantation; guarding and shading the squared harvests.
Up till now the sun couldn’t be seen over the horizon but now it was reflecting itself on my window. The train is now galloping and the sun shines bright red-orange. Several other trains and loaded carriages pass by and ours danced to the Beethoven notes which I am listening to. The roads are yet to be filled with people. My mind becomes blank again- Tabula Rasa. No humans- no wait! I see a farmer man doing something but he’s too far for my vision to see. I see a patch of land- purely golden, but yet to be brown which means the paddy is yet to be full circle and ploughed.
A flock of crane, bright, white, beautiful flies over a splash of water from last night’s rain and their reflection on the water is a bit blurred, the wind forms curves on their image. I can see a bundle of bamboo plants turning yellow- has been a long time since they were born. They are growing old and thus perfect to be cut into furniture. The old man who lives beside the bamboo plantation prepares his sickle to cut the stems today and the lady beside him, I assume to be his wife has a plastic bag tucked in her waist. May be she plans to plant new shoots for their next harvest.
The train is now making a rattling noise- it is crossing a bridge over a dried up river. Oh Dam! There might as well be no bridge at all. The water life has perished here, till the workers feel the need to let go of their collected water. The attendant served us with a cup of hot water and a tea bag, the steam from which rolled up in curls. Passing across several railways crossing I spotted some cabbage and tomato farms and a highway on which stood loaded trucks with new potatoes parked at the side. Two little tempo carrying heaves of dried ochre colored wild grass passed the trucks and stood at the railway crossing which barred them from any further movement. It reminds me of Kafka’s The Castle.
Meanwhile I had almost forgotten to drink my tea which I had colored to the darkest shades of brown. I dipped the tea bag until the taste matched the toughness of my tongue. A furiously racing train just passed by- a break in my conscious stream of thoughts.
There is a perforated, translucent sticker pasted on the windows of this train and it is creating a lemonish haze around the outside scenic stretch of trees far away. An array of banana plants stands by the side of the tracks and behind them I can see autumn colored trees. Few farmers nearby have nylon bags in red and green lying beside and them and they are moving in a gesture which seems like they are sowing seeds. The sunlight is now falling on my leather suitcase on which I am resting my feet.
Our train crossed another bridge. This time the river is full although not brimming. Two men on separate boats shaped like slices of pizza, side by side, fished out their day’s catch. The water looked algae green and scattered with bits of white pollutants. As the train crossed past the shallow river, far away I could see little white goats grazing at the slopes, taking shelter under the shadow of the trees.
Sindhura 