The Train

By Nishtha Mishra

Most people wish to find the ‘one in a million’ but perhaps I could settle for one in this entire compartment of the train. The air is dense and it smells like smoke and tobacco, as if someone just smoked before entering the train. Hands gripping tightly to the roof handle to maintain balance, although I’m pretty sure there existed no space for someone to fall.

With earphones in my ears, standing right by the door, congested yet barely managing. The music played itself and kept changing throughout the playlist, however I had no memory of what I had just heard. My head was just as smoky as the sight of that smoker who had entered the train. But unlike his vision, mine was clear. Everything felt naked even with my glasses on. I hadn’t yet looked at the faces that travelled along with me but I could read the bodies standing as if cloned as mine.

I took my earphones off, surprised by the complete silence. I could bet they were just as tired and drained as me, as if someone picked a straw as thick as the train line and sucked out the energy residing in us one by one. I wasn’t alone, I was never alone. People I knew nothing of were right there standing in front of me with the same expressions on their faces. I’m glad I gathered the courage to face them.

The humidity rose, the windows of the train turned foggy and moist. I could not longer see the outside world, not that cared for. Seeing cardboard shoe boxes with rectangle cuttings and paper paint, I had seen enough of those for life, just bigger in scale. It was all an exhibition, it was all a fair that never ended.

My vision no longer felt clear and everything felt as if the dusk had arrived, although it was way past dusk. The air felt heavier than before and before I knew, the dusk had turned into midnight with no lights on. The next was a bright flash of light and a celling I had never seen before, that I knew nothing of. 

I was now suddenly living a life of an adult. My world was never so vibrant but I can guarantee you it wasn’t as dull as now. I can see the smoky sight to that of the smoker even without smoking. The days felt like the same songs of a singular playlist that I had heard none of. A life that played in x2 speed like that class lecture video that I had tried to end fast. But in question, do I want this life to end as fast?

By Nishtha Mishra