A Piece of Peace

By Hamshika

The Dream

I open my eyes to see that my dad is sitting near me. I am moving. It is moving. The train stops in the middle of the track between the station we have left and the one we are to reach. For an unknown reason, my dad decides that we should get down in the middle and walk a few miles remaining to reach the next stop. As always, I obey him and stand there on the track waiting for him to join me, but the stagnant train starts moving again, and he leaves me there. I am a little girl. I don’t know what to do, so I just walk to the station as we planned earlier, but he is nowhere to be seen. I try asking someone to guide me so that I can reach my house. No one helps. I somehow drag myself to my house. There I see my dad crying to my mom and telling her that he had lost me somewhere in the Railway station. A cloud of words escapes my mouth: ‘What a liar!’ I call out to them, but they don’t even turn my way. 

It hits me that they can’t see me, like the people I asked for directions in the railway station. I look at myself in the mirror of a nearby scooter. A memory comes to me where I saw panic in my dad’s eyes while the train moved. I see a flash of light and then…

I woke up from my dream with a jolt. Felt something snail on the forehead, sweat.

I muttered out my realization from the dream.

“I am dead.”

The Demise

"I am sorry, but I have to let you go." I looked blankly at his face. Wrinkles clustered at the corner of his apologetic eyes. 

Those eyes. Were they really sorry?

As I walked away from him, I could feel something different in me. The corner of my mouth pulled its way toward my eyes. I touched and confirmed.

A smile.

I knew deep in my gut that this would happen. It was strange that I didn’t feel as if someone had pulled the carpet under my feet. 

For a minute, my soul soared and I walked on clouds.

It would be foolish of me to think this day wouldn’t come.

As I packed my bags, ready to leave, I was woken from my trance by my friend. I talked to my friend for a bit.

At that moment, a few tears managed their way from my eyes to the corner of my lips, salty.

That’s all.

I started flying in the free expanse of the sky, from one cage to another, my house.

The First Ride

I caught the train and travelled in belief and disbelief at the same time.

To obtain a sense of reality, I told a few of my friends and experimented to see whether I was able to digest the “letting go”.

Unlike me, who anticipated living this moment, they expressed their shock.

A self-fulfilling prophecy.

I didn't know what to say or how to break it to my parents.

I calmed myself down and enjoyed the crowded train ride back home.

The Ritual

I took two trains from my house.

I woke up at six in the morning, like clockwork, and left to catch my train at seven.

It took me forty-five minutes to reach the first station. From there, I would walk on a subway to cross the road. I passed through a route of filth, embraced by a beautiful stink of human waste, to get to a bridge. I would have to take the bridge to reach the other side, where the platforms are situated.

Then I would patiently wait for fifteen more minutes for my second train to arrive. I would search for a compartment with some space to keep my legs. 

It took me about forty-five minutes to reach the station nearest to my office.

I took a share-auto for ten more minutes.

This is how I reached my office every day. I would repeat the same steps to get back to my house at night.

I spent almost four hours of my day in this unavoidable ritual, which had built itself in me.

There were times when I had an upset stomach, but held it till I reached office as there were no restrooms on the station or worse the fear of missing the train.

It was all I knew, which one to catch when. A mind full of schedules.

After all that I would juice my brain seamlessly.

I had ten more days.

Ten days to bid adieu to my life for the past two years.

The Accident

In those two years, this had never happened.

That particular day, the second train I was supposed to board derailed, causing an accident.

Usually, in these situations, the demon in my head would emerge, a pirate in hiding with his sharp, knife-like words. It would call me unlucky, a nobody, and a good-for-nothing.

It wouldn't let me breathe in peace.

That day was different.

It soothed me.

I just found another way to reach home, with extreme calm.

The House

I stood in front of the iron gate, scrambling for my keys. They were locked inside.

This meant my mom was already asleep, and I had to wait until tomorrow to talk to her.

I ate my dinner in serene silence.

Just a place to eat, sleep, wash up and leave.

Slept like a bear in hibernation.

The Woman

The next morning, I woke up but didn't want to break the news to the woman while she was getting ready for work.

These matters require a good sense of timing. I was sitting there like a total scatter-brain.

Especially with my mother even God cannot deduce how this woman perceives things.

“Are you staying home today?" she asked, breaking my reverie.

I replied positively.

She instructed me about lunch and left for work.

The Hedonist

I thought I would like to stay home, but I couldn't.

The memories from two years ago resurfaced to haunt me.

At that moment, I decided not to torture myself any further. I informed my mom and left home to have lunch in a good restaurant far away from the house.

Alone, I enjoyed the auto ride, took the metro, and then walked the streets to reach the expensive restaurant where I spent lavishly on lunch that day.

For dessert, I had an espresso and a pain au chocolat.

As it grew dark I decided to wind up my gluttony and go back to the house.

The Confession

That night, after getting into my pajamas, I faced my mom.

I told her I wanted to tell her something as she scrolled through her phone. No response, not a peep or a glance from the woman.

“I got laid off.”

The moment my mom heard those words, she looked up.

The woman who was doom-scrolling on YouTube while I sat there, preparing her about what I was going to say, looked up from her serious hobby.

She smiled at me and said: "It's okay. Take it positively and move on. It might be difficult for you, as you had a place to go for two years, and now suddenly you have to stop. Just focus on finding a new job.”

How gloriously she was stating the obvious. Should I be mad or glad that she was not angry?

I was shut, as usual.

The next morning I broke the news to my dad. He was irritatingly glad. He congratulated me.

At that moment, I felt something. I would like to call it disgusted reassurance.

The First Home

I started feeling relieved, and even enjoyed the wretched 4-hour journey. I spent most of my life on the train.

But the things I witnessed during those 4 hours were better than any Netflix show.

I even thought about living on the train.

There were fights for seats.

Old people arguing.

Couples with their shenanigans.

Some people read, and I always tried to guess their books, as I have a penchant for reading.

Some mindless drunk guy with their weird gestures and slurred unparliamentary words.

I have seen good and bad.

No matter what season, no matter what happened, the train always moved.

I have gotten drenched even after being inside it. I have written several poems in it.

I have slept, cried, been sick, studied on it, watched movies, and listened to songs on the train. 

Things most people do at home.

Somehow, the train was my home.

The office was my second home.

The Contradiction

It is contradictory how I felt both relief and pain every day.

The relief was about not having to travel four hours every day for a job where I was not recognized at all.

The pain was also for the same reason.

Strangely, I started liking the travel, the struggle, and the insults.

My mind was calm, and my body was somehow in a weird bloom. As if out of a glass cage.

As it neared the last day, I was calm as lake water.

The Doom

On my last day, I submitted everything and thought I should be careful about where I would join next.

But I was also glad I joined there, because I truly got amazing friends from that place.

At one point, I used to go to my office just to meet my friends.

That was one of the motivating factors.

I never acted out of character, nor did I try to impress people.

I was neutral, so I had people who cared for me, and then there were phonies and backstabbers.

One of the people who cared for me the most also had the same last day as mine.

I made sure I comforted my friend, as they were really desolate.

The Betrayal

I reached home and was relaxed and slept well after a long time that night.

Neither did I keep alarms, nor did I take my phone to bed.

That day, after a long time, I went to bed as I used to two years ago.

Two years ago, fresh out of college, smart, and despicably unemployed.

My body betrayed me.

Awake at six, thinking it had to transport my despicable soul to work. Mind, a dreadful demon.

Clueless whether to go back to sleep for a bit or just get up and do something.

The same thought I had exactly two years ago.

Felt like the Vermin from Metamorphosis.

No matter what I think or what they do, my parents' love for me feels bought.

Bought by something called success, and adhering to what they say.

Hang me like their medals.

In their house.

The Yearning

I missed the train.

I ached to go on that congested train. Get pushed and sucked into it. Being stomped on the foot.

My body yearned for it.

The routine I built with my body over two years was broken.

After ten days, my body was rampaging off the schedule.

Maybe I am someone who cannot live without being on a schedule built by others.

First, my parents built my schedule.

Then my office.

And then I just didn't have one.

The Peace

It felt like my journey halted when I stopped going on that train. The way it stopped when I lost my job.

All I asked myself was, why is it not okay to not have a schedule?

Why isn't it all right to stop running for a bit?

What am I even running behind?

What do I really want?

Was it really my mind that had me in a choke hold, compressing my breath or was it something else?

Why do I always get these train dreams where I either die or reach the wrong destination?

I realized that from the beginning, when I was young, all I wanted was peace.

Perhaps peace, strangely enough, stems from being in a congested train, hanging for your life, just hoping you don't get mushed or crushed.

A train that keeps moving without me.

By Hamshika