Wayfarer on a train.

There's something about trains. I'm on a side-lower and its pitch dark, like a Dravidian woman's untamed curly locks. Radiohead on full, this is going to last me more than a while.
Clearly, the night sky is trying to engulf the moon. I wonder if its possible for a womb to overwhelm the foetus. The moon is very insignificantly pretty though, a charmer at second glance. Like the smaller non-prominent twin. It is almost copper, the moon. Like the gold plating is fading leaving behind reminiscence as golden dust.

There's something about trains. At one moment I'm at an unnamed station, possibly on the far end of civilization, the only evidence of which is a dim pair of tube lights. At another, I'm on a bridge atop a crowded road full of traffic, people and hurry. It sounds like it could be noisy, I wouldn't know. Kudos to the sound proofed AC cabins, it's like I'm a spectator of the world and yet, not a part of it. In a capsule, continually moving.

Tubelights at the station.

Silhouettes of trees and rocks, big and small, pass me by. Or well, I pass them. Tomorrow, they will still be there, unaffected by my passing. The seas with high tides and calm ebbs, frothy waters splashing and still waters reflecting the moon light on their sharp edges. Ceaselessly in motion, while moving me with each detail; remain unmoved by my admiring watch. Maybe that's the difference between people and everything else. People would act differently if they were being watched. And through all this movement, through all the places I'm traveling, all that remains constant aside from the passengers of the train who are within my reference frame, is the moon. Chillin' like the origin to my relative coordinate system.

I'm at a station where another train is halted. The people inside are talking, sleeping, eating and basically trying to kill time. The kids are peeking out of their windows, a little too happily. Wait until they grow up to be moody teenagers with earphones pretending to be isolated, and then into adults who talk, eat and sleep for the sake of it. A kid is waving at us as it's (yes, it) train is starting to move in the opposite direction. I feel like I'm going forward even though the truth is that, it is you who is moving on, in a completely different direction and I still am where I was. No sooner I realize it, than I am moving too, slowly but surely, into this new realization. Making my way alongside parallel tracks with trains, that occasionally interject and I go on to my destination. Damn, there's something about trains.

Train journeys are like corresponding timelines to events as pit stops. Nobody ever remembers a train journey as much as the music festival or the Pallava architecture or the seven floored library with racks full of books describing them. And yet, it is the train journey that one needs, to realize that the seven floored library could possibly be one of the most romantic places ever. Between silly poetry and the crusades, biographies and suicide notes, the biggest romances ever written, the silence and the volumes of surrounding knowledge urgently waiting to be absorbed, no people and an almost absent librarian, doesn't it sound perfect?

Mahabalipuram

Le library

I'm liking the companionship of the moon, in her timid glory. The sky is clear and not one bit cloudy, but there are no stars. I guess that's civilization. The tomato soup with an overdose of pepper and bread crumbs are my favorite bit about these trains. A definite worth-more than a-while.  The charge on my phone is running out and I take that as a cue. Y u b smart phone?
Yeah, I'm a creep alright.