My train journey back to Delhi is nothing short of a
19 hour torment. This train is already running 9 hours late.
I am sitting here on the lower side birth. It wouldn't be an exaggeration if I say the journey is like a nightmare and I
can’t wait for it to get over.
I am bored, angry, disgusted and hungry.
The smell of the train and its leather seats is
making me sick.
Every time I check the schedule over the internet in
my phone, I get to see new notifications that this long journey is going to be
longer. So I decide to keep my phone aside and let it rest for awhile; I don’t
want to be disappointed again. The upbeat child in me is expecting that when I
check the phone again it would miraculously surprise me. May be nine hours late
is demoted to six hours or seven. Or maybe even eight.
As I am tired of lying down and tossing sides on my
seat, I get up and sit. I remove the curtains and let the pleasant winter sun
shine on my face. The warmth feels good and cozy. Suddenly my slothful train
again takes a halt. I look outside. There is a dirty rusted board in the middle
of nowhere which says “Daud Khan”. I have no clue what part of India this place
is in. The place looks like dead remains of an old station that would have been
alive and green once. Now it looks like a defunct depressing junction.
I try hard seeing something that would be
interesting. My eyes track down a graveyard somewhere in the middle of the
barren lands. Its boundary is colored in sad blue and ugly green.
Whenever I
see a graveyard- a cold rush passes through my body.
The thought of death!
The thought of death of my loved ones. It makes me
sad. So sad that I find it difficult to breathe.
I try to focus on the two little houses and a tree
which are trying hard to come into my sight.
But the graveyard and the stories buried under it do
not let my mind wander anywhere else.
It is scary.
I feel like that little girl who is scared and
alarmed of the big strange man at her doorstep and tries hard shifting her gaze
inside the house to look for her mother. I try looking for thoughts that would
be more comforting or maybe just less disturbing.
But in vain!
I remember how as a little kid I used to share my
frets and fears of growing old with my grandmother. She would lovingly tell me
that as you start growing older you make peace with your fears. Your needs,
your dreams and your perceptions change. She told me there comes a time when
you find your happiness and contentment in your spouse, then in your kids and
then in your grandchildren.
And finally death doesn’t scare you anymore. Because
you have lived your life. You have seen it all. You have had your share of
smiles and tears. Eventually when death comes you embrace it happily.
Thinking of the 56 years of perfect marriage she had
with my grandfather and how she passed away quietly in her sleep one night, I
can say that whatever she said was true. At least in her case it was.
But then who knows if it is even true for me.
Next month I will be turning 23. And actually
birthdays do not make me feel my best. Yes, I do enjoy and cherish all the
attention and the gifts and the cakes but deep down my heart aches in a strange
way knowing that I am one year closer to being old and wrinkled.
The thought that I won’t be young anymore. I could
be sick or bed trodden even! It is the most frightening thing that could ever
happen to me. A chill passes through my veins. Usually when these things come
to my mind it bothers me so much that I go to my best friend and puke all my
fears out and he would comfort me. But in this lonely journey I have no one
around to assure me.
So I decide to save myself from the dreadful ideas
that are haunting me. I tell myself that it is going to be fine when I grow old
and I am going to have a loving spouse and beautiful children just like my
grandmother.
Ummm…. But then that would only happen if I actually
get married someday!
Woahh!
Here I have another more interesting (atleast
something that I look forward to more than growing old and dying) horizon to
let my mind wander into!
