~

It was a night of uncertainty.
Why, then, did everything go according to plan? Well, i for one, don't know the answer, but it was a night of uncertainty. Of a deceptive wind with its gentle ruffle, of an elusive moon in the backdrop of subdued reality.

From home to the station, the cab, the traffic, the smoke, the banners, the loudspeakers, the crowd... it was all subdued. Like a painting with just the background. And then, the painter forgets to finish it. An unfortunate, inadvertent masterpiece.

I was feeling hollow. Sensitive to all that went around, but not really paying attention to the song. Or the cello, or the trumpet.
And i floated along, certain in my objective, uncertain in my perspective.

The station hit me like smoke. I coughed, shut my eyes, and the smoke passed through me.

The train was standing beside the platform, steadfast in its representation(s).

Trains are nice, are they not?

I mean, these modern Eastern Railway trains. I have an insatiable attraction for trains. The solitary headlamps, screaming into the night...illuminating the parallel tracks, following the same path for miles, for days.

This train journey was particularly different from the others. In fact, so much so that it could almost be called a novel experience. People change, and i am no exception.

Fortune smirked, and i got a window seat. As i sat there, peering out at the world outside, the subdued reality started to redefine itself. To something less subdued.

Outside, a world was huffing and puffing with all its might. The coolies with their unbelievable balance, the trade cries of the hawkers, the chug-chug of some train, the grunge of metal somewhere. The cacophony almost felt like a subdued symphony.

I suddenly caught the eyes of a woman with a veiled face. She had a tumor on her face. As soon as she caught my eye, she turned away hastily, trying to hide herself. I turned away, feeling sorry for her. Or, did i turn away with disgust? There are somethings that i don't even admit to myself let alone others.

The seconds stretched into minutes, and the train whistled shrilly. It was time. With the trademark jerk, the train began to move, and for a moment, in spite of all the physics and tell-tale common sense, i played with the fact that maybe the station was leaving us.
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The train had settled into its gentle rhythm. And its soothing noise. Its funny how the roughest noises seem soothing and gentle when ignored. Like the things that look lovelier when they are absent.

The distant bobs of light amidst darkness, the dark shapes of the tree, the three parallel shafts of light slanting on the ground from inside the train, the bright imposing moon splayed across the dark sky...It was a night of uncertainty.

After a while, i pulled myself away from the view outside, and tried to measure up the passengers. A rather unexpected sight met my eyes. All the persons in the compartment, and there were eight, were gazing into their cell phones with the sole exception of my father who liked his sleep. Where was the good humoured hello-hi? All my train journeys are associated with at least one bumbling friendship. I mean, i wasn't really prepared for this. Sad, really.

I took to studying the passengers. And decided to play a game. I looked at each of the passengers, and imagined what they were thinking.
The guy sitting beside me was smiling quietly, looking at his phone. I noticed it was text he was staring at. Most likely exchanging smses with his friend.

A fat, porky man on the upper side berth was staring contemptuously at the floor.
'Heh, He thinks he can cook better boullibaisse than me..."

A middle aged man, smoking his cigarette trying to imitate Rajnikanth.

A pretty young lady smoothening the wrinkles of her salwaar every 10 seconds.
"Someone is always watching me, I need to be presentable..."

Amidst all this the train moved on.

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I got the middle berth. Recently, sleep on train has been rather elusive. I tend to wake up once every hour, check the watch and go to sleep again.

As the lights were extinguished one by one, i began to feel a weird sense of foreboding. Maybe because of the noise made by the train when crossing a bridge. I always have the nagging fear that the bridge will give away, that the last train was really the last straw for the bridge. With this kind of trepidation, sleep doesn't come easy.

By two, everyone was asleep. Or, they appeared to. I lied still, looking around like an owl. The deep sound of breathing, someone's hoarse cough piercing the silence, someone snoring, and of course, the train breathing.

I jumped down lightly from the berth, and went to the door. It wasn't locked. A man, dressed in rags, was sitting beside the door, looking despondently at the night rushing by. As i approached the door, he looked at me. He had smoky green eyes that clashed horribly with his grey-white hair.

"What are doing up so late?" He asked.

"Can't sleep." i replied, shrugging.

"Okay." Some people are so easily satisfied.

And he went back to staring at the night outside. His green eyes reflected curiosity. Not the innocent curiosity of a child, but the hardened curiosity of an experienced. An ironic, sardonic curiosity.

I lingered for a few minutes, and quietly came back. It was the green eyes that somehow put me to some sleep.