Time has it’s way of latching onto your deepest entrails, test them, and you either come out of it better or you don’t. When it rains, it pours. Such was this past month, grinding, hilarious, and awfully real.
Negotiating after long term absence is always difficult, be it in relationships, work, studies or plain materialistic considerations. Sometimes the absence is sudden and permanent, which leaves you numb. You try to move on, to focus and work and eventually you do. But that nag remains. The work may drown you out, but the sleep will keep you afloat. Recreation may let you go, but eventually you come back, to a point where things feel incomplete, unjust and deflated.
I figure that life is a train journey. A typical Indian train journey in a packed general compartment. All kinds of people are there, each no doubt wanting to upgrade, in a reservation class. Isn’t it the way in reality? No one is actually satisfied with what they have got, and neither should one be. You struggle in the train, to get in, to sustain, and for your place. You fight your way through to the doors of life, fight to find your feet and hold your place. Normally you know where you want to go, yet every intermediate station entices you. Because it’s the unknown you love, you love it so much that it frightens you. Maybe you know that you have no purpose on that station. Yet you’re there, either to escort someone, or to patiently wait for your time. For the unknown is your mistress, the known a sworn enemy. One random shift of tracks can make you jolt back to reality, only for the longing to jump to get you. Every lush field, every passing river, every dark tunnel, all signify a purpose. Every change of terrain, every change of wind on your face brings with it a multitude of thoughts. The ‘what ifs’, the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’, and probably the most nagging, ‘how wills’ and ‘what wills’. You question the purpose of every traveller, and in the end you agree, that each has his own destination, and they will try their best to reach it.
Nothing is assured, however. You never know when you might need to pull the chain, or jump out. Every time I cross a river while I am at the door, I want to jump. Too bad I can’t swim. Not to say I would have jumped off if I could, but that, remains on my bucket list.
To jump, to jolt, to chug, to halt, to move and to reach. That is a train journey and that, is life.