There were only ten minutes for the train to leave. Most of the people had settled into their seats. Take care of your health, give us a ring once you reach, don’t worry, everything will be alright. Farewell words, some laced with tears and spoken with choked voices, and some with joyous hugs. Some spoken in a matter-of-fact way, with intermittent checking of watches amidst earnest hopes that the train would leave on time, so they could get home soon. 

The porter we had engaged ushered us in, quickly getting past the surge of people at the door. Ravi, my husband, put the suitcases under the seat, easing his way with a friendly smile and solicitous enquiries to those who had already put their luggage in the prime corner spots. A middle-aged woman, sitting comfortably with legs stretched across the opposite seat, asked her husband to shuffle their belongings and make space for us. Then she smiled at me “We have to make adjustments, shouldn’t we? After all, just for a day. But see, not everybody will think like us,” she said, giving a sideway glance at others. 

Before we could even settle comfortably in our seats, the woman introduced herself to me. Her name was Ratna; she had come to Bangalore to attend the marriage of her brother-in-law along with her husband Krishnan and two sons, and was now going back home to Guntakkal. She wanted to know why I was going to Hyderabad, how long I would stay there, how my son would take care of himself in my absence, and so on.  

I would reply in monosyllables and then shift my attention to the scenery outside. I am not an introvert; nevertheless, I certainly value my privacy and hate unwarranted intrusions into it.

I had been looking forward to this journey ever since Ravi was nominated to attend a week-long training at Hyderabad by the private telecom company he was working for. I had joyously agreed to apply for leave and accompany him. Different hours of work may have helped us to take care of home and our respective professions; but over time, it had taken the spark out of our lives. 

I loved travelling by train. I could slip into my own world incognito. No responsibilities…no pressures… I didn’t need to feel answerable to anyone, and the time would stretch elastically. I could close my eyes and float in a world of music with a pair of earphones tucked in, or just relax with my favourite novel and some crunchy snacks. When my eyes ached, I could close my eyes and listen to the sound of the wheels grinding over the rails and singing the most melodious rhythmic lullabies. I could sit for hours at the window, watching with glee the houses in the foreground run in a direction opposite to the train and the far-away trees march along in the same direction and trying to figure out at what distance they made this transition.