As Vivek eagerly awaited his delayed train on the platform, he couldn’t help but wonder about his profound love for train journeys. He tried to recollect how it was never just about the mode of travel as a child, but rather the entire immersive experience that kept him captivated.

Memories rushed in of numerous heart-pounding moments when Vivek had narrowly avoided missing the train. One was related to him alighting to shop for books when the train had started without his knowledge. Some chase it was!

Another memory involved his uncontrollable urge to snatch a food item from a hawker’s basket while sitting on the upper berth. If it weren’t morally wrong, he probably would have.

Then there were times when a river would come into view—everything would feel different. Besides the breathtaking span of the river, a distinctive rumble would fill the air as the train would traverse a bridge. It seized your attention, urging you to gaze out the window as if something significant was unfolding. Soon, the regular track would resume, and the rumble would fade in the distance, passing through each carriage gradually. It used to be the most exhilarating part of the journey.

Having a window seat was fortunate for him, as it allowed him to peer into the ‘running world.’ He would imagine a panther chasing his window through the fields, attempting to keep up but facing numerous hurdles along the way, ultimately failing.

Purchasing something from the window when the train briefly halted was always challenging. The time it took to fetch money for the product would invariably be in the nick of time. Vivek would lean his head on the window rails, attempting to catch a glimpse of the seller’s expression to see if there was a satisfied smile, indicating a successful transaction.

Today, waiting for his train to arrive at the station felt no different. In his twenties, Vivek was returning to his home from college. Whence he came, no acquaintances patronized him. He was a solo traveler from a distant land. He preferred traveling alone to companions because they would steal the experience with their talks. When you are not mindful of the journey, it ceases to be one.

As the engine roared past, it shook his entire body. The unsettling feeling of the platform moving, though it was the train, returned. He smiled at the old familiarity. Whoever first imagined the train must have drawn inspiration from a slow-moving snake. To a bird, it must appear so—crawling slowly, nibbling at the rails in the process, taking twists and turns when needed, spewing its venom to indicate how deadly it could be if you fall in its way.

A commotion exploded as people rushed to get to the gates first, some falling in the process. In that brief moment, chaos ensued. The train shed off passengers and then picked up some more. As he prepared to board, he realized that the summer was almost over, which meant the wind from the windows would carry a hint of moisture in it. It was going to be an overnight journey, which meant that he would have a good night’s sleep.

It took him a while to settle since unapologetic men pushed him a couple of times, fighting over their luggage. But when he did, he removed his shoes and tried to nestle them between his luggage. Soon, the train lunged forward. With that, a smile broke on Vivek’s face, reminding him of how as a kid, he imagined he had a superpower and that he was the one pushing the train forward.

Since Vivek’s seat was a side lower berth, he folded his legs and sat, trying to focus his attention toward the running fields and trees. A strong odor permeated throughout the compartment, forcing him to open his window. He had hardly opened it for a few minutes when a splash of water hit his face, forcing him to semi-close it. Thoughts began tormenting him as to what that liquid could have been. Each thought was followed by his disgust for reckless people—flinging stuff outside their windows without knowing how Physics works.

Time, that’s what you have when you travel alone. Plenty, to go over your life. Vivek commenced turning the leaflets of his memories one by one till the sun had almost set. He realized he was growing tired of sitting, so he wanted to stretch his legs. However, the person sitting in front of him wouldn’t move his leg. Also, Vivek was too shy to ask.

Looking outside became tiring soon, and he began dozing off on his seat. When the ticket collector arrived, the guy in front shuffled restlessly. Turned out he didn’t have a ticket and was asked to vacate. It was good news for Vivek—now he could spread his legs. The sleep that followed woke him directly in the morning to the noise of a tea-seller.

A cup cost 10 bucks. Vivek had a note of 50. He reckoned that spending 10 wouldn’t harm his budget. When he asked for a cup and gave the seller the 50 Rupee note, the latter promised to bring back the change.

Vivek was gullible enough to trust a stranger. He took a sip and rued ordering the tea. It was bland, undercooked, and watery. He turned around to look in the direction of the tea-seller. The man was at the edge of the bogey.

“Hope he remembers that he has to return me the change,” Vivek thought. He was becoming restless with every sip and with every passing minute.

As the train came to a halt, Vivek’s anxiety hit a new high when he failed to find the tea-seller in the bogey. He immediately stood up and moved toward the direction where he had last seen the tea-seller, but the fear of losing his luggage brought him back to his seat.

“Bloody mugger!” Vivek kept whispering under his breath as he made his way toward his seat. He noticed another man sitting in the earlier vacant seat.

“Great!” Vivek muttered in sarcasm.

He checked his watch—still 2 hours left for his station. For the rest of the journey, Vivek would spend thinking about the elusive 40 bucks. During the next two hours, he would be thinking about how much he hated trains.