For someone, who had always held a hand to even walk to the local market, this was a big step towards unknown.
The information board displayed that my train was five minutes late. I stared at the names of the places, repeating the foreign taste of them in my head. When you are left alone in a new country, fending from basic needs of groceries to getting a bank account, the realization that you have grown up is inevitable.
It was one of these days, I was settling down the feeling of isolation in a new city that adulthood knocked on my door yet again. It was time to write another chapter. One of my friends had flown down to London and wanted to meet. Now, I wouldn't label myself as the good old introvert but I didn't have any company to go with. The fact, that for the first time, I'd have to break out of a bubble was having to accept excitement interlaced with fear. Contrary to my previous lack of geographical trust in myself, I'd successfully figured out my route to University. However, this was a bit different. Even though most of my hours would be spent in the train, it was the first time I'd set out alone for such a long distance.
I held on to the strap of my white bag and gazed into the mirror. For ages, I'd related dressing well with confidence. The black dress with flower embroidery clung to my frame till my mid thigh and continued with net stockings that snuggled into a pair of boots. Somehow, the tapping sound of boots always boosted maturity in my head. It sounded ridiculous when spoken out loud but there was a sense of rationality for me.
An official waved the red flag and requested all of us to stand behind the yellow line. A minute later, the train pulled in. Everyone lined up respectfully to get onto the train. I wondered if I'd get a good seat or have to spend the next two hours smelling the fumes of washroom in the corridor between boxes. An old man was by the door when I reached. I stepped back slightly to let him in but he graciously extended his arm, asking me to go ahead. I wasn't used to any of these gestures since back home no one stopped for anyone. The warmth in my heart travelled to my face and broke into a smile. I breathed a thank you and climbed on.
The narrow passage smelt of coffee and people. Heads popped out from every seat. I'd almost given up when I noticed one side of the four chair part was empty. No one stopped me and luckily the seat wasn't reserved.
Welcome abroad Virgin Trains. This train will be travelling to London passing Rugby, Long Buckby, Northampton, Wolverton, Milton Keynes Central, Bletchly, Leighton Buzzard, Watford Junction and London Euston.
I zoned out after that as it gave me the craved assurance. We started moving. I couldn't get up and run back to the safety of my accommodation anymore. I'd never appreciated the safety, within those four walls, more than at that moment.
Luckily, a reader is never lonely. I shuffled out my companion from the bag. Suffering from mild motion sickness, I'd decided to combat my phobia this year. Travelling was as much a part of me as breathing but the hours spent on wheels meant time I couldn't use judiciously. It was difficult to read or write while in motion, so choosing to do the same, was my fight against a weakness. Wilde's wit, drenched in words of Dorian Gray, in an aesthetic narcissism of the narrative, blurred with the passing landscape outside the window, a scenery of what Romantics wrote odes for. As I flipped through the hardbound, the reasons why I'd fallen madly in love with literature came crashing on me. The thing about Wilde was, after a point, I needed a break to dissect his ideas in my head and lethargically savour the meanings.
So, I let my thoughts wander on how the word 'aesthetic' had become a mere commercial usage. At one point, it was on par with theories of materialism, theology, psychoanalysis and other intensities. Today, it was a caption of someone's Instagram story. Just casually thrown around without having the respect of being thought of in tranquility, ironically. My gaze was fixed outside. Lush green fields lay until swallowed by horizon. Small cottages, the kinds that make you wish concrete jungles were myth, scattered around. The human touch was so minimal. Now and then a flock of sheep would appear, enjoying the warmth of the rare sun. Hues of pink and purple flowers would dot the green and make me wonder what would it be like to paint them.
The background faded as I met a pair of green eyes, reflected on the window. They belonged to the man sitting in front of me. For just that moment, a bundle of questions opened up in my head. Was he fond of the sun? Did he prefer playing football on a lush field or was he inclined towards sitting in a secluded desk in the library with a classic in hand? What was the kind of friendships he liked? Was he in a relationship with someone he couldn't get his eyes off? What did sadness mean to him? Would he believe Wilde, in that beauty was of permanence and theories like philosophies faded away?
The next station is Leighton Buzzard. Train doors will open on the right. Be mindful while stepping down. Thank you for travelling with us.
Just like I'd unfurled the flower petals, I closed them and looked away. Time had passed by faster than the train. Two stations more. I watched as the scenery outside slowly got overpowered by humanity. We entered a dark tunnel and now I stared into the black, thinking, overthinking. At around 12:20 p.m. the train ceased movement. This was the kind of punctuality, I aspired to have in my life. The moment I reached the gate, the same old man who had let me on, coincidentally walked in from the other direction. I paused and respectfully gestured him to go ahead. He gave me a crinkly smile and waved farewell.
***
8:00 p.m.
As my muscles strained from the unusual exercise, I realized that in the ripe of my early twenties, I'd somehow stumbled into my fifties. With the promise of joining the gym, I held on tightly to my friend's hand.
"It's platform 6a. We're almost there. The train leaves in like five minutes," he said.
"Why did we go to that park? What if I miss this?"
"I'll book you a hotel room," he grinned. We'd stopped for a bit to find the direction. The slope that went towards the platform came into view and we moved towards it. "Do you want me to come further? It's right there."
"I came all the way from another city to see you. Now I risk being kidnapped or worse mugged off my money. The least you can do is drop me till the train. Please," I said.
"God, why are you so dramatic in life?" he asked, rolling his eyes. We reached the train and without further ado, I got on. I didn't even have the time to hug him before the doors closed. It's a bittersweet pain waving goodbyes. He gave me a familiar smile before the face disappeared into the night. I turned around and breathed. As the doors to the box opened, I realized this was the first class. At the same time, loud voices rang in the corridor. The drunken slurs sent a wave of fear in me. Their words seemed nearer and I didn't want to be alone. I hurried down the box but they caught on.
It was mid-November and they were blaring out Christmas Carols. With a pounding heart and sweaty hands, I walked forward, tapping my boots loudly. Why did my steps sound in sync with the song? As our group walked, people sitting around threw looks. Some shifted uncomfortably while the rest of them carried on. It wasn't an unusual sight to have drunk people, frolicking around at this time. I didn't find an empty seat, so disdainfully moved towards the last box. Finally, their voices dimmed. I sighed. Noticing the pole near the exit gate, I moved towards it and leaned on. It was going to be a long journey.
Carefully placing the white bag on my boots, in case the floor tainted it's innocence, I tried to calm my breathing. It would be around 10 p.m. when I'd reach home. In the middle, I had to change trains. Hopefully, the platform wouldn't be hard to find. The announcement for the next station was chimed down as the Christmas carols echoed in the box. I looked on the side and groaned. The best strategy now was to avoid eye contact.
It was as if vodka was using oxygen as chaser for the smell drained into my lungs, filling me with passive intoxication. I clung closer to the pole as one by one the men passed. They sang off beat, sans any melody and yet with a confidence that I envied. I averted my eyes to the floor. One or two of them greeted me but I refused to look up.
Then, it happened. Despite my resolution, I couldn't stop myself. This 'hi' was different than all the others. There was a strange emotion infused in it that it pulled me. When the first one didn't work, he said another and another. Afraid, he was blocking the rest and a fight might start and also pulled by curiosity, I looked up.
He wore the Santa hat with the red end falling lopsided. The brown skin was stretched over cheeky features. His black eyes twinkled in an alcoholic daze. There was not a crease of worry but something else lined that face. Without meaning to, I looked deep into his eyes for mere seconds. It felt as if everything had stopped. His mouth moved.
"Do me a favour," he said. "Don't ever fall in love."
Before I could utter a word or even blink, his sad eyes shifted into laughter and he yelled out 'Jingle Bells.' For a long time, I stood there, the voice repeating those words in my head, again and again. A poetic moment crafted just for my ears. Just in the span of that day, I'd fallen in love with Wilde, with language, with nature, with the stranger who had green eyes, with my friendship, with a city, with farewells, with being solitary and with a drunken man who would never remember me. Every day we ran from feelings, not accepting in fear of weakness and yet they were the only aspect of life that made it real. There was a ruckus in the box now but I had transcended far beyond that. It wasn't until someone passing by poked me with their elbow that I realized, I had to get down.
The unfamiliarity shrouded by the night brought back my fear. It's holding on to that feeling and moving forward that really makes you feel old. I'm sure the reason my mother or father could travel alone, and they travelled a lot, was because some day they had accepted this very emotion as their own. Instead of running away, they'd taken that step forward and that's what they'd want me to do. I walked down the slope but stopped in my tracks.
Those loud voices were becoming my nightmare.
Without thinking further, I slung my leather jacket back, held on tighter to the straps of my bag and walked briskly. It took a bit to figure out my way but I didn't stop. There wasn't a sign of anyone around. Usually, my claustrophobia would have appreciated the vast, empty spaces but tonight I wanted to be immersed in a crowd. As my nails dug deeper into my skin, I contemplated booking a cab. It would take me longer but I could be safer. That's when my frantic eyes fell on the back of a white haired man. The conductor. Breathing in relief, I walked towards him.
"Excuse me," I said, masking my nervousness. "Is this where the next train to Coventry is?"
His brown eyes met mine. I gasped. He was the same old man who had become one of those temporary acquaintances. What were the odds? His smile stretched in recognition.
"Yes, love. This is the station. The train will be in another fifteen minutes, I reckon. Why don't you wait outside?"
I stepped outside and the breeze cooled my face. The dreaded drunken voices echoed yet again. At this point, it felt like I'd started hallucinating them. What was the coincidence that they were travelling with me, yet again. Suddenly the men stumbled out, heading towards me. I looked away to avoid giving the wrong signal.
"Aye mates," someone said. "How are you all, today? Whereabouts will you be travelling to?"
I turned around and saw that my old friend had ambushed them before they could reach me. He was standing between us.
"Where is the train to Dublin?" one of them asked.
"Jeez Greg, that's in Wales, bugger. Where should we go for Neverland, kind Sir?"
"Y'all are bleedy drunk. We are bound for Watford!"
"Ah! Walk to your right now mates and wait by there," the old man replied. I don't know how he maintained a straight face through all this. The lads gave him a hug and shook his hand, muttering incorrigible words. They ran towards the direction the conductor was pointing, really far away from me. Then he turned around and shook his head.
I gave him a slight nod which he probably didn't even notice in the dark. To say I was grateful would be an understatement.
"Bit chilly eh, love? Why don't you put on that jacket there?" I'd seen a lot of beautiful things today. From the silver trinkets in the local Camden market, to the chaotic yet alluring mess of streets, to the scintillating taste of Japanese delicacies, to sipping the luxurious pink gin with floating pieces of strawberry, to the breathtaking city line of London. His crinkly smile, topped it all.
The train finally pulled into the station. I got on.
Even though the real world was a bleak place, a dark cave that made you wish to be exempted from all the suffering. It was meeting people like him, who just did the smallest things that made all the difference between giving up and hope. Luckily, I got a seat in the last row, right next to the window. I hadn't gotten a chance to say bye but some farewells were better left unsaid.
Just when I thought nothing else would catch my attention, my gaze fell on the man sitting right opposite me. Both of has had no companions. There was something so ethereal about him, that my breath caught. I felt for a brief time, I'd somehow become part of a science fiction novel. He was tall and lanky with grey-white hair neatly cut and falling into his face symmetrically. His cheekbones were stretched highlighting the bones beneath in the sharpest way possible. The set jaw angled beautifully into a long neck. His artistic fingers itched the right ear and I saw three piercings shine. He wore a long black overcoat that fashionably clung to his frame, even when he was sitting. Was he a model? Maybe an aspiring actor? How would his voice sound, reverberating through theater halls? Perhaps he was a just another business man who handled investments. Unlike any other day, another pair of stranger's eyes met mind briefly. He couldn't be real. They were grey, almost smokey as a ring of black encircled the end and broke into the former colour. It was like swirling in a volcanic lake, high above the ground, surrounded by fog.
"Don't fall in love."
With bated breath and a racing heart, I looked away. I had to pretend there was nothing strange about me by nonchalantly staring out of the window. From my peripheral I could see he was staring at me. With slightly shaking hands, I pulled my hair from behind my ear to curtain my face. Before I even knew it, we'd reached. Both of us got up. Nervously, I waited as he vacated the train. I followed, keeping a safe distance from the broad back.
As I got down, into the familiar bustle of my temporary home, I realized something had changed within me. Without glancing back, I released the straps of my bag letting it cling comfortably to my shoulders
and dusted my leather jacket.
Memories aren't just made out of imagination. Sometimes you have to drink the adrenaline and let those boots tap out loud on unfamiliar surfaces around unfamiliar faces. You never know when you'll fall in love!