I guess its a good time to write. 6 o clock in the morning, I leave from Hazrat Nizamuddin Railway station New Delhi.
2 months back, I had thoughtfully decided to travel back to Pune by train instead of Air. Somehow the train journey gives me a lot of time to relax and think. I can feel the journey. This is very much unlike the air travel. Domestic flights end before you feel you are travelling and in international ones, you wish you never travelled.
Its true that I can very rarely afford train journeys because of the painfully long time they take but in this case, time is something I have at premium, I say..why not use it. And its going pretty good so far. A few minutes back I was reading Shantaram. It gave me a very beautiful line...'Every passing minute is a short story with a happy ending'. I smiled and started comparing it with my life. My own story of last 15 days unfolded before my eyes.
I won't consider myself as lucky as Mr Greg Dave Roberts to have every story a happy end but then I don't like all stories to have happy ends. Life is a mixed bag and so should be the stories. That is exactly how my story of last 15 days have been. Filled with colors. Multiple colors. And what a rainbow do I withhold. The Violet of frustration, the Indigo of smiles, the Blue of gloom, the Green of calm, the Orange of agitation, the Red of love. And then their shades and tints. They mix up in beautiful combinations and present themselves before me. What I can tell Mr Roberts is that My life of last fifteen days was a canvas. Almost every one I knew was invited to paint me as he or she wished. I was done very generously and at the end of it I stand like a caricature of myself. I have minutely observed every brushstroke and I can say I am unnerved by the density of purposes.
To be continued...
