Traveling alone almost always ends up a being reflective exercise for me …more so during the night time…so in a short 8 hrs train journey from the intimidating Howrah station (with its orange halogen lights and melee of sights and sound) to the bustling yet quaint Puri station (dotted with pilgrims carrying matkas of camphor smelling sweet rice and adorable grass boxes of delectable gojas) I ended up mulling over the same thoughts that make my train journeys what they are… I thought how when we are snugly tucked in our beds when we are home we never think of millions of people hurtling across the country in train ( I keep telling myself that I will try and think about people in trains when am home but I never manage to do that )…and about how vulnerable, curious , helpless ,disoriented and oddly comfortable one feels to wake up in a strange brightly lit station animated with the squalling hawkers and tea vendors (the ubiquitous, nasal “chhhhhay garam” )… and of course the mystery of fellow passengers , I don’t think anyone spends as much time as I do wondering what/who are they ? Where are they from? Why are they so obnoxious/pleasant/indifferent? What did they have for dinner? Do they take their clothes off when they go to the toilets? How do they manage not to soil them when the toilets are wet and stinky? Why do they think its ok to brush their teeth with germ infested train water but insist on drinking bottled water?

Sigh …mysteries…