In Transit

I think people who insist on an AC coach for a train trip miss out on a lot. The childhood magic of sitting at a window seat and letting your senses be overpowered by the experience outside will never be lessened for me. I realised that recently.

It's always the same story. A thick novel, a walkman, a crossword puzzle...all carefully planned for the long trip ahead. Yet they remain untouched once the train journey begins.
Villages with gawking kids whiz by, wild thorn bushes stand as sentinels to paddy fields beyond, electricity cables engage in a sinusoidal dance from post to post, small groups of birds give company in the sky before giving up the unequal race with the train, the setting sun shimmers on the distant stream....and I can do nothing but watch.
The drop in the evening temperature is distinct, and the cool breeze is a breath of fresh air, literally. The sun sets and the images outside blur. The ensuing darkness is thick, with only an occasional spot of light from a lonely house breaking through. I can't make out a thing outside the window now, but I can vividly feel the landscape rushing by, and it feels strangely reassuring. And in the darkness, images dance in front of me...from the past, from the future, arbitrary musings...scattered, random and clear.
And I ponder, and I brood, and I wonder...till I feel the gooseflesh all over me.

Today, I realise that what I need desperately at the moment is time NOT to think. I want to be immersed in something so completely that I have no occasion to brood. I want to be so busy with routine activities that it leaves me with no opportunites to entertain random thoughts.
And I realise the place Iam going to might just facilitate that. Which is perfectly fine, because then on my way back home on the train, I'll have that much more reason to sit at the window and gaze.