On a nightfall

And the night fell on me, like a woman trying to spread on me with her wild kisses, like being immersed into a dark ocean of stars, like the sky breaking the roof and colliding into my sleep, the night fell on me, and i was awake. I was still lying alone in the gloom, on a cot of wires. Around me the limestone walls which aged a century glowed meekly in the dark. The tiled roofs patterned a series of dark brown lines, hiding in them were a few wooden lizards which usually creak a sound which always fell into my loneliness. Today they were quiet. People were asleep so was the village around. The house was still breathing, and i could feel it on my skin. I reached my hands to a little pot of water beneath my bed. It looked chilled by the breeze that was roaming around the walls. I quenched a thirst that never was, and again I lied down in silence thinking about the dark and moist night that was filling in the room. Yes!, the night is as moist as a tear, the night is as dark as our depths. The day begins from the sky but the night begins from the land. I looked at the floor around me and wondered if the night was slowly seeping from the million invisible pores of the land. I tossed around the wired bed and a beam of brightness fell on my eyelids. It was the moon on the other end. Through a glassed tile in the midst of the sand ones, i could see the moon floating on the sky. Usual sight for me to be waken up to the sight of the moon. We kept looking at each other through the blur of the glass. We had witnessed each other enough that only a silence prevailed to fulfill the distance. The lonely moon floated on the sky as a lonely man floated on his bed. The moon is the perfect symbolism to solitude. It has been there with its precious solitude, dreaming alone in the night when the rest of the universe is still asleep.The moon is not the source of the night like what the sun is to the day. A moon is just a companion to the night, a shepherd who guides the herd of stars into the wilderness of the night. He lets them feed on the night and rests himself on the shadow of tree and dreams as he always does. The night is the habitat of the moon.But the night exists without the moon for the night is not just the absence of light but the uncontrolled glow of the dark. The night is a huge vacuum pot into which we throw our secrets. The night like a faithful guardian has safeguarded the secrets of humanity, the night still has stories about Adam's first kiss.

The night jumps like a blind cat leaping from the edges of the day. While breaking away from work in night shifts, and walking alone into the night, I have seen the night lying down as a tired cat with its blind eyes glowing in the dark. Then a cup of tea would taste more when it is flavoured with a drop of the night. I would stand there on the empty roads far away from work and wonder if night is just a huge dusky bird which keeps flying around the world and the darkness is just a shadow that the birds wing descents on the earth. The night bird with it pulls the strings of time, in its mighty wings it carries the globe around. The night is the invisible dark river which is flowing from the origins of time heading towards the end of eternity. The dark river on whose shores we sleep after we get back roaming in the yellow sands of the day. The light of the day drops from the mammaries of the night, like a cattle feeding on milk the light of the day feeds itself from the darkness of the night. Night is always for the awaken and soon the smell of the night slowly enters my nose and thereby reaching my inbound pores. I look around to see that the moon has left its place. Only darkness prevailed over the glass. In sometime the same glass above my head will host the sun and i would be waking up to the yellow rays. The days are always hosted on top of the nights. Night is not one container of darkness but is made up of million tiny parts which keep floating around us.I lie alone feeling the night. The night slowly crosses over like a music. I become the one acquainted with the night. Like a fountain the night keeps pouring around me in all directions, almost drowning me, then slowly very slowly I close my eyes.

On the edge of night...

Like little drops of ink filling a clear glass of water, the night is filling in the sky. The front yard of the village house is empty and the glitter of the moon is reflected on the land, on the tiled roofs, on the wide green leaves of the banana tree, on the fillings of water, and on the corners of my pale eye. A gentle breeze blows from below the earth, the chill on the feet travels across and ends as a smile on the lips.I stand here in silence,I stand here in the darkness, I see no vision but i could feel the universe. I look up till the head becomes perpendicular to my frame, i look up till all the earthly visions disappear, and then there is only the distant moon and the thousand stars, and then there is only the sky in sight, i feel as if there is nothing in-between us, between me and the sky, between me and the craters of the moon, between me and million stars, I float in the sky, my fingers reach for the sky. They try to play with the clouds, they try to steal the moon, they try to write a lovely name connecting the stars, my legs are not grounded on sand, I don't feel my body, this is something else that i feel, as if becoming a part of the truth, the truth of existence, the truth of the universe, a single truth that connects a star thousand light miles away with a man standing somewhere in the streets of a sleeping village.I keep looking at the sky above my head, if everything above the land is the sky then I stand in sky and I stare at the universe, and in these moments i feel that time is standing still, it is waiting for my word to start ticking again, time is relative; it is the human desire that keeps pushing the hands of time,let time wait for some more time, till then it will be the sky above and a soul below.

I wake up looking forward the night, I believe my day begins to take me to my night.The best moments of my life happened to me in the midnights, I became a bibliophile with the moon leaning across my back reading with me all my favourite books, I became a graphic designer creating images with colours when the world around me went grey, I invented my philosophies of life carelessly lying in the lap of the night, I searched for a million truths in the dark walls of the midnight making my soul as the candle of flame, night gave me lessons, night gave me peace, night gave me emotions, night gave me a shoulder to cry, night gave me a reason to laugh, night gave me solace, night gave me a chance to hear angles speak like women, night is where i belong and the day is where i un-belong.You can boast all through the day, but you have to be humble in the night, because night is a mirror placed in the dark, in the darkness we see ourselves, we laugh for ourselves, we cry for ourselves, night lets you be - yourself.The real emotions come out when we are rest assured that no body is there to watch, night gives a chance to be you and to invent you. Night is where we remove the masks, the masks spotted for the sake of the society, for the sake of people around, below every bed you could find these invisible masks scattered across, night is where all the hypocrisies fade out, night is where the conscience gets awake while the body gets to sleep.The real person can be determined with the last thought that he has before going to sleep.The hidden vault of the mind gets open when we lie idle before sleep and inside it lies our deepest desires, our most beautiful memories and our intolerable sufferings.

They say the brightness of the stars depend on the darkness of the sky.The sky is dark, pitch black with some grey scattered near the clouds surrounding the moon.The clouds keep colliding above my head, like hiding the most beautiful princess they try to hide the moon from sight.The moon, the tajmahal of the night sky.Moon has been with me for years now, I remember the day when i was a little kid.I had to travel between two cities in the midnight and when the journey started i saw the moon above the grilled window of the train, as the train went to sleep i kept staring at the sky and the moon kept following me, I alighted from the train to find that the moon is still following me.I started crying fearing that the moon is here for me, to abduct me to space.The fear of the childhood became the friend of the adulthood.The sun belongs to all of humanity- the sun is a collective entity, but it is the moon that belongs to each human- the moon is an individual entity.You can be intimate only with the moon, the moon is a friend for some, philosopher for some and the hidden source of love for some.The moon is a silent observer, you can laugh at it, you can make love to it, or you can keep staring at it for no reasons.The moon doesn't complain, it stays there where it is and sends out a sense of belonging.For me the moon is the source of selfless love, and then there are the stars, my best friends for life.I count the stars till i run out of numbers, I gaze at them one at a time.These stars above my village sky remain my companions when I'm alone, i share all my pain, i share all my dreams, I share all my secrets with them.They send out a silence which can't me matched my any spoken word.

Im in the middle of the night, I decide to climb over the wall to reach the roof of the house,I climb into the night reaching the tiled roofs of the age old village house.I walk without making a fuss,I reach the middle and I look around.The village is asleep, a few dogs bark at a distance, a few lamps remain lit in the temple below the tree, I remain the only man there, i feel like im the only man alive in the whole wide world.I see the village getting drenched with the silver light of the moon, this is how the world really looks without the borrowed light of the sun, I share the sight of the first man when he was awake on the very first night, this is the real world, the darkness is the glow of the world.The mind dwells in calmness, the mind dwells in peace.I imagine travelling into the sea when the sky is dark, the sea looks like flowing landmass in the night.I imagine travelling in a little boat across the dark sea on a dark night, mind flows with thoughts like the fishes swimming near the waves, I throw a huge net across the sea and i catch the thoughts which swim deep inside and the scattered thoughts- i present them to you as words.Standing on the edge of the night the mind travels inside and the calmness you feel needs a new language to express.This moment, with the stars looking at me and the moon adding to the serenity, this moment, where i stand on the top of the village house starring at the sky,may be a moment of no specific importance, but i feel it is these little moments that make up my living.It is these moments that keep me alive and keep me going.I stand here on the cliff of the night, on top of the dark rocks, below me flows the yellow river of the day, i shall soon jump from this cliff gliding and colliding into the yellow, swimming across the day to reach the bottom of another cliff and to climb the dark rocks towards the edge of another night.I may leave in sometime.
.
But the night will still be alive outside my window.

On a few rainy days...

An old rusted compartment, deep blue window grills, brown rail tracks, green fields with white birds, grey clouds in the distance, the colorless rain water. It was a journey filled with colors. A plenty of them rioting with one other.I looked around to find that the seats were half full. With just one other person for my company I knew it was gonna be a warm journey home. It started raining the moment the train left Egmore till it reached the outskirts of Madurai, it rained all the way.And i was sharing the excitement with all the other faces that i met on the road.The train was traveling into the rain, i had never seen such a long rain all my life. My vision of rain was limited as everybody else. Rain meant a little pond of water in the front yard and a few hanging drops in my window grill. But to see it rain so wide for hundreds of kilometers did change my perceptions a little. Rain is magnificent, Rain is huge, Rain is not the drops which we see from earth but the drops that pour from the sky which we never see. Rain ends its long journey from the heavens at our feet. And we join it at the very last seconds of its living. Rain as such can never be seen with eyes, it can just be felt.

It has stopped raining sometime back, I stood under the little mango tree in the front yard and the last dew drops of the previous rain just drizzled on me. The leaves look fresh with water drops, I touched them and it shivered a little. The world looks like a different place to me, the suns light looks filtered by a silky cloth somewhere in the sky and the place is filled with a pure silver light.People look beautiful than they really are. The faces are filled with a warm smile , void of worries, i wonder rain how has always had that power to evade worries.The room is still asleep, and some kind of joy is hidden in every sleeping eye, I just feel like making the bed by the window, staring at the dark clouds filling the sky, hearing some music for the heart shrinking myself like a kid and dreaming about a better life.I just love the rain, it always inspires me, in its presence im feeling good, im feeling contended, im feeling lucky.

A rainy evening.There is no power at my place and i get to the little sit out of ours to feel the rain of the day. It's raining as it would rain in the hell. Raining like hell, raining like a curse. Its dark everywhere no streetlights no colors. It is raining like the very first rain on earth and i see it right in front of the eye. It's all black white and grey. Shades of them, dark and light, pale and full. The lighting interludes and you see a picture painted for the heavens. It is not joyful as always, at times rain too threatens. It is not kind anymore it tries to fill in the space with noise and fear. The yellow light from the little candle fights with the emptiness of the dark and fails.it paints a sad little story of the fighting candle. Some kind of pain is evoked and you could see it floating and joining the water flowing across the streets.I sit and stare at the candle. I sit. I stare. And it rains with noise and fear.

Sleepless night. I lie motionless on my bed. With closed eyes i keep staring. Staring at god. He stares back and we just avoid each other. I know he is hurt too.It will take time to heal. Why heal? let it not heal when it bleeds.... let it bleed. I open my eyes it is all dark and it is raining at my window. And i hear the rain, i hear it for the first time in my life. Like a thousand guitars playing a wild tune, it rains. I hear the frogs, a hundred of them screeching. I wonder if it is raining at your window or just mine? Why does rain change its mood often, no it doesn't change its mood, it just wears mine. It laughed when i laughed, it cries when i cry, it bursts when i burst, it becomes me. It rains just for me. I close my eyes again. I could hear the orchestra of the wild rain. I live in a closed room. But i could feel the rain breaking the walls and pouring on me. All those drops made in the sky pour on me and it joins the little drops made by my eyes.I get dissolved. I become the rain. I am the rain. And let it rain. And when it all ends ill wake up to see the sun shine at my window. ill wake up to heal, ill wake up to live, ill go out to see the little pond that the rain has made in my front yard, ill go out to feel the freshness the rain brought with it. Ill go out knowing that it rained just for me.

I'm thankful that it rained.

உன் கடிதம் வராத நாளில்...

"I love Thamizh... i think its the most beautiful language and can express even the slightest and most intricate emotions in a much more better and more beautiful way than English or any other language can ever hope to"

யாருமற்ற இரவு. உன் கடிதம் வராத நாளைத் தொடர்ந்து வரும் ஓர் அடர்த்தியான இரவு.உறக்கம் கொள்ளாத பெட்டை நாய் ஒன்று வீதியில் தனியே ஊளையிட்டு திரியும் ஒரு நள்ளிரவு. நம்மிருவருக்கும் பிடித்த நிலா கூட மேகத்தில் தன்னை மறைத்துக்கொண்ட ஓர் பின்னிரவு. உன் கடிதத்தின் வார்த்தைகளை மெத்தையாக்கி அதில் உறங்கியவன் பஞ்சு மெத்தையின் கணம் தங்காமல் வலியில் விழித்துக்கொண்ட ஓர் இரவு.உன் கடிதம் வராத என்னுடைய நேற்று இன்னும் முடியவில்லை, அது உன்னுடைய நாளைக்குள் பிரவேசித்துக்கொண்டிருகிறது .நேற்றைய முன்னிரவில் முதல் முறை தோன்றிய வலி இன்னும்கூட முகத்தில் தேங்கியுள்ளது. "குரல் சரியில்லையே?" என்று அம்மா கேட்டபோதும், "என்னடா முகம் வாடியிருக்கு?" என்று நண்பர்கள் கேட்டபோதும் சொல்ல என்னிடம் பதிலேதுமில்லை. இன்று வரையில் நான் நம்பியதில்லை வராத உன் கடிதம் எனக்கு இத்தனை வலிதருமென்று. உன் கடிதம் வராத என் நாட்கள் வீண் எனில்? நீ வராத என் வாழ்க்கை என்னவாகும்?

"நமக்குள் இருக்கும் இந்த உறவின் பெயரென்ன?" என்று நீ கேட்டபோது என்னிடம் விடையில்லை!. நான் படித்த புத்தகங்கள், நான் வியந்த சிந்தனைகள், நான் கண்ட உண்மைகள், நான் அறிந்த மொழிகள் என அத்தனையிலும் தேடினேன் எங்கும் எனக்கு பதிலில்லை.இறுதியில் தமிழிடம் என் வலியெல்லாம் கூறி விடை கேட்டேன். சிறிய மௌனத்திற்கு பின் நம்மை வளர்த்த தமிழ், நீ கண்டு வியந்த தமிழ் என்னிடம் சொன்னது "இதன் பெயர் காதல் என்று!" நான் ஏதும் சொல்லவில்லை. மௌனித்திருந்தேன்.காரணங்கள் ஏதும் இன்றி என்னிரு கண்களிலும் சிறு துளிகள் உதிர்ந்தன. அந்த துளிகளின் வெப்பத்தில் நான் அணிய வைத்திருந்த முகமூடிகள் அனைத்தும் வெந்து பொசிந்தன.

இந்த இரவு இன்னும் மிச்சமிருக்கிறது, அந்த ஒற்றை மரத்தின் மேலமரும் சிறு பறவைகளின் பாடல் காற்றை நனைக்கிறது.உடைகளற்ற நிசப்தமான மௌன வெளியில் என் மனம் சஞ்சரிகின்றது. அது நம்மால் பெயரிடப்படாத அந்த உணர்வுகளால் நிரம்புகிறது.என் கண்களில் மேலும் சில துளிகள் உதிர்கின்றன, அவை உதட்டினில் பட்டு இனிக்கின்றன.மேகத்தின் நடுவே நிலவும் கொஞ்சம் எட்டிப்பார்க்கிறது, அது நான் இதுவரை பார்க்காத உன் முகத்தை நினைவுபடுத்துகின்றது.ஒரு நாள், சிறு பறவைகள் சப்திகின்ற இந்த இரவை நாம் இருவரும் அருகில் அமர்ந்து அழகாக்குவோம், அந்த நாளை நோக்கி கொஞ்சம் சீக்கிரம் வாடி.

இப்படிக்கு உன்,
?.

Lost in the woods...

It must have been raining lately, the cold breeze still carries the smell of earth, the soil looks soaked and slippery, my bare foot could feel the earth; those sharp little stones, the dew drops on the grass, the watery soil, I could feel them all. My feet is covered with the dark brown mud looks synonymous with the ground beneath. I decide to take a brief walk into the woods, a walk into the mist, a walk into the fading afternoon, a walk from the farm house to the far end. I come to the end of our farm land and the little corner stone turns into my throne.I look all around and there are no humans in sight, all I could see are little shimmering grass insects nearby, the peacocks stealing grains on the distant lands, and a few rain bearing clouds far above. It has just been a few minutes since I started writing all these. I am writing these on an age old diary filled with few strands of mustard colored paper, I am writing these sitting beneath a lonely tree which still sizzles with the last drops of rain, I am writing these after a few tears and a long gush of silence.

The little piece of farm land on which I am sitting now, and the long stretch of coconut grooves through which I had walked are the last remaining evidences of an age old family heritage.This is the same place that my great grand fathers bought with their hard earned money, this is the same place where my grandma ploughed years back, this is the same place where my mom played games in her childhood, this is the place where my memories are preserved and delivered fresh. Days from a not so distant past start pouring in, the days when my grandpa carried me on his shoulders all the way and spoke stories in my little ears, the day when I finally brought the same grandpa who had by them lost his walk and sight, I still remember the tears he shed hugging a tree, I remember the day when I found the ancient British coin hidden beneath the soil, I remember the evenings in the summer when we chased peacocks, the fearful nights when we changed lanes for the flowing water, the countless coconuts we drank, the snake that we killed, the ripe old man who made sheets out of the coconut leaves, I exactly remember the evening of the red sun when Uncle, Arun(my bro) and I walked hand in hand. A little wind has just blown from the north, the tree has just shed a tiny droplet of water on the paper. I scan the diary. The date on the left reads "April 7", I search for the year and the outer cover reads "Executive diary 1994".A beautiful coincidence, I too was there sometime. I very much belong to the 90's, in a way we all belong to the 90's. We are the 90's people.

The clouds are turning gray, it may rain anytime now, let me move to a safer distance. come walk with me.......A little walk has now taken me to the well, the well which once watered the entire land mass, the well where my uncles had their swimming classes, the well which still holds the last breath of many, the well which has been here for centuries and seen empires rise and fall, the well in which the moon sleeps in the night. I throw a little stone into it and after a long pause i hear the stone hitting the water deep beneath.I hear a sound, the voice of the well, it is mystic, it is like the groan of a long forgotten soul. I am back at the woods amidst the coconut trees. I see a few hundreds of them all lined in a pattern as if they are attending a mass. I remember my mom saying that these were planted in the same year when Arun was born. In a way we are brothers of some kind.We have seen each other grow up from innocence, growing up into complexity.I just lie quiet on the ground between my brothers, it reminds me of the slumber I had in my primitive womb.

The time is half past six, it has already started drizzling, the feeble light is fading in front of the eye, the little stone under the lonely tree is filled with gloom, the place looks serene and eerily poetic, the frogs creep and the peacocks screech, my little heaven is getting ready for the night. I finally reach toward my favorite tree in the entire groove, the one as a result of some infection has this bent trunk like an 'L', the one with the most unique look in the entire lot, the one on which i used to glide and play as a kid, the one which is very close to my heart.I touch him, he responds by shaking the huge leaves, he could sense my presence he knows that there is this friend from the good old times,he feels warm, I lay myself on his shoulders, I become a child again. Just like a cattle tied to the pole, I think we are all tied to our childhood memories we always graze for life near the pole of childhood.I close my eyes, i could feel the ecstasy and at this very moment I don't value wealth coz I know that even a few crores cant match the sweetness of a coconut, I don't fear death coz I know that My best days were already lived.

The lightning suddenly illuminates into the darkness.The long wait is over, it has started raining! The rain is dropping all over me, a few have managed to touch the paper. I am still not sure if I am gonna search for a shelter or if I am gonna get myself drenched. But it feels good to stand here, the rain, the woods, the grass, the lil birds, the soaked feet, i feel like becoming a part of very nature.It feels good, just like reading the very last line of a lovely book.

The rain is getting heavy, I gotta close the diary now. My journal ends here.

One from the heart

The room looks deserted, I am alone all by my own. There is nothing but the noisy swirl of the fan, and the nuggets of sunlight which pass in from the dusty corners of the window. The sun is trying to intrude into me like it has always done, the shiny mustard light, the heat and warmth accompanied by the little tears shed by the skin fill in my being, I sit here like a volcano of sweat. I have no regrets. A cup of tea may not be a good option, but still I feel like I need one. I get into the kitchen burn some water, the bag of green tea looks old but smells good, I add some sugar to the water, the boiling of the water conveys that it cant wait, and then the tea bag gets into the water, little by little it looses its virginity, dip in and dip out, the essence is spilt ,the lust between the water and the tea bag ends up in making me my cup of dark green tea, I take it by hand, sip it for taste. It isn’t too sweet nor too raw, looks perfect to me, and then I gulp it, gulp and gulp! A gentle heat generates within me and the pores do some overwork. I sweat like a monster but still I have no regrets, maybe a puff of cigarette would have graced the occasion but then I remember I don’t smoke.

I sit still, slowly and deeply i start feeling the sun. Like thousand of needles gently poking into the skin, the sun light touches me. I wish it tried to speak with me, tell me stories of evolution, stories of the earth, secrets about god, secrets about its earnest silence. But we both decide to enjoy the anonymity. Right from my early days sun has been my elixir, it has always accompanied my journey. As a kid i was allured by its charm, I used to stand hours beneath the scorching sun. The magical chemistry it performs deep inside the soul can’t be put in mere words. The warmth of the evening sun has the power to seduce whatever comes by its way. I remember the summer holidays at my grandma’s village, those were beautiful days. The village was filled with the sun, the farmland, the coconut grooves, the petty shops, the innocent faces, the ancient houses, all looked more beautiful under the gaze of the sun. In the summer sun light dawns an artist role and the ordinary village streets look better than the masterpiece of Da Vinci. Sun light is straight forward, it is honest, its discerning and it brings with it a lot of clarity, it is the best succor for humanity. I remember this poem i read some days back "காதல் பகலைப்போன்றதே! காமம் இரவைப்போன்றதே!"(Love is what the day is!, lust is what the night is!) and I couldn’t find any better explanation for love and lust.

I imagine about living a life like the lonely tree that stands atop the hill. Like a saint it goes through all the four seasons of Mother Nature. Winter, summer, autumn and spring all means the same to it, it has no complaints and it doesn’t go out carping. Its sagacity and indolence remind me of a lonely sage. If i am the tree, then this is my summer!. The season has filled a vacuum in me, the days are a bit dry, so is the living. But i have no regrets, this season too.. will pass by. The sun in these days has made me revisit the Mr.grey in me. I am in the middle of this fight between all my goodness and all my madness. The black and white in me converge with will full ferocity and I end up becoming an ocean filled with grey blood. The grayness makes me belong everywhere, to all the good and all the bad, to all of humanity and suddenly i feel like god.. And the age old question arises in me again. Where do I unbelong? is it to the breeze or the storm?, is it to the god or the devil? , is it to the wisdom or the reality?, is it to the love or the lust? is it to the loner or the lively ? , is it to the geek or the nerd ? , is it to the conscience or the convention? is it to the boy or to the man ? , is it to the ‘?’ or the ‘!’....

The sun is setting. the bright yellow is to be replaced by the blustering brown. My friend is retiring for the day, he has made me scribble all this. And at times i find the scribble is mystic with its meaningless patterns but still exploring in deep these scribbles make up the most of me, just like the art of modern times this scribble is void of hypocrisy, void of conventions and void of desires. What I write is what I want to be but, what I scribble is what I am. In a few moments from now my windows will be wide open, soon the air will be filled with the enigma of the song "shadow of the day”, soon the gentle evening breeze will caress me like an angel and soon I will be lost in sight of the retiring day and will be slowly sailing into the state of oblivion.

I Got to go! Bye.

Train Journal

Train journeys are always fascinating,The sight that you get to see through the rusted windows of the of the Indian trains are unparalled.Be it the frenzic ambiance of the city that greets you in the electric train or the rural landscapes that calms you in those distant journeys, trains have something new to offer everytime. Unlike the busses which go through defined roads, the Indian train travels through the middle of nowhere, it takes you into a safari of the real india far away from the hustles of the city.The old farm house atop of the green fields, the rural kid who defecates in the dry land, the grooves of coconut tress, the majestic old man who walks away with his cow, the cattle which gazes it share of grass, the distant village which is getting ready for the night, the sun that adds its mystic yellow to the land, it gives you the same alluring vision of the land with which our forefathers have lived and died with. An unadulterated vision that iterates the fact "you belong here, not to the confined spaces of city". You feel like breaking free and getting lost into the land. But as always there is the rusted window between the dreams and reality.

Travelling in the middle of the day has happened only a very few times. It happened yesterday. I was about to travel to Madurai after a very long time, i was lucky enough to get the window, sans the usual business today and outlook there was another guy who travelled with me "Piscine molitor patel"*!!And then there were the usual co-passengers of all sorts.The lady who i suppose was a Manager in some IT company, She had phone calls all the time and spoke about client meetings and resource allocation and the usual IT stuff. She was too loud and i started to doubt her motives, Then there was the typical business man of TN who has a huge belly and a copy of nakeeran handy, a family of four with a newborn, and the middle aged villager who always tried to maintain a distance from everyone. We were an hour into the journey and people started to to get acquainted, they spoke about politics, growing land rates, and all the general stuff.. No one cared to watch out of the window.I never spoke. I was obsseed with the window this was when i saw all those beautiful imagery's mentioned above.May be i looked stern and "different" to them.But in a way they all looked "indifferent" to me. I am not sure about who was correct!!

It was a journey to remember, the sun joining hands with winds from the fissures of heaven together give that magical touch to the journey, And there was Yann Martel who writes to stop your breath in awe. All these seclude you from the chaos of daily life , and finally you find peace setting in. Adding with this, the best time in the train always comes in the early mornings, when the train travels like a whisper in the dream of the still sleeping landscape. and in the midnight when find find there is another lonely traveller coming all along with you...namely the moon.Not to forget the electric train journey in the sunset from velachery to beach. It is in the high mounted train you explore the beauty of delicate city called Madras from a birds eye view. From the richness and niche buildings of south madras, to the slums and poverty of north madras it takes you through the length and breadth of the city. At the end of which you will discover that madras is not a single city as we suppose it to be. It actually has a number of invisible cities each with its own shades of black white and grey.This is a journey which makes me fall in love with the city all over again.

There is a lot more to speak about trains and journeys but i think i am running out of words now. But the next time you travel in train, be it in rain, or sun, or the gusty wind, try to sit by the rusted window, open up you mind , and start observing things that you have missed all the time and you will find travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living#.

* - Piscine molitor patel is a character in Life of pi by Yann Martel.
# - Inspired by Miriam Beard.