Somewhere between Ottapalam and
Palakkad on a train journey from Cochin to Coimbatore, my senses were free to
feel the world around me. The 5 year old was asleep (phew), I had an engaging book in hand (woohoo); and then, suddenly,
I had to keep the paperback down and just be. That’s when the thoughts came
rushing, and I had to write them down. I found a four-line English book in the
daughter’s bag, and a pen, and then the words began to spring...
“Train journeys are a time to enjoy the quiet in the
noise. To look within as you look out. To not do a thing because just “being”
is a kind of doing.
I enjoy the luxury of “not doing anything”; or should
I say just “being”? For me, just reading a book as the world goes by is a
luxury I rarely enjoy these days. But today is one of those lucky days when the
clanging railway tracks bring me that elusive inner calm; elusive, because a
young working mother is mostly denied of that pleasure.
I look at the speeding landscape, listen to the
vendors selling their wares, watch the co-passengers—some reading the
newspapers, a few sleeping, and others chit-chatting with each other—and I find
myself in each one of them; a passenger who knows exactly where she is going,
but unsure of what experiences await there. But the anticipation is priceless…”
Rumination done, I went back to
my book. Smiling.
As I typed these words out on
my laptop after getting back to Cochin, I tried going back to how I was feeling
on that train. The daughter and I rarely travel alone; unless of course we
drive around the city, trying to get things done as we agree and disagree on a
thousand things. But this journey was different. I was going to a city I had
left 12 years ago. Of course I had been there a few times in between, but this
time it felt different. Special. Perhaps why the mind was wandering, picking at
random thoughts, making sense of my eagerness to get there. It’s when moments like
these come along that I thank my stars for making me a writer. An average one,
alright. But at least I know how to put my thoughts down on paper.
As the days at Coimbatore
unfolded, I rediscovered almost all of what I had left behind. It was precious.
It made me want to cry and laugh at the same time. And when I was leaving, my
heart ached. That bittersweet feeling. I told myself—I may have made many mistakes when I was in this little town, growing
up and learning from life’s little lessons, but I wouldn’t want to change a
thing.
I said my goodbyes as the train
left the station, unsure if I would be back ever again; but glad that I had a
few more memories to take along with me.
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