>> Mar 2, 2011
There is an uneven shyness in unknown stations. You can relate to your deepest emotions with them. They are hesitant, withstanding the obvious and still oblivious of definiteness. Trains come, the starving lights blink at an uneasy corner. An old station master comes out from the dark and waves with a green flag. It's almost as not required as the train's presence there. But still they meet. Two inconspicuous characters breathe life, only then in the whole day.
Traveling is beautiful, Journey is more wise. There is an independence in being a traveller. Self imposed duties come when you are doing the latter. There will be expectations of better places. The former is more bohemian of sorts. Its like the essence of love without the sense of future responsibilities. Traditionalists may curse.
Riding a train at night is unassuming and so absurdly romantic. You look out of the window and there is nothing visible. Still there is a strange attraction as the moon sneaks out of the cloud sometimes and gives you a peek to the root that lies like a snake and reaches the heart of the village. Or atleast you can not see where it ends. Anything incomprehensible to us, is either interesting or curious in itself. You will see stranger stations with abstract names fast approaching and departing. They are less casual than the unknown stations where trains stop. There is a surety and nonchalance in them. Life doesn't stop there. You feel sad, a little.
At dawn, when the Sun rises, there is an undoing in a traveller's eyes of yesterday's sleep. The miles that you have crossed, you discard. The moments you have seen the lost roads in faraway villages, you remember. And as the train shouts and runs towards the young Sun, you fall in love with your life for the first time. If it rains, stretch your arms and feel the rains as you meet new members of the clouds' descendants each moment.
Someone said, she could marry a station. I dream, one day I will wake up inside a train and there will be no tracks.