❝Hope––a mighty evil feeling to exist!❞

4th April 2014

How was I supposed to console someone when even I needed the assurance that everything was going to be okay?

Everything needed to be fine. I didn't have a choice to not be okay.

Only a few minutes had passed since I sat by the window seat of the crowded train and my eyes still fixated on the two upset faces outside, standing in the middle of the animatedly rushed station. Even though I was strong enough to not let the storm of emotions and fear tickle down my eyes and shine across my own masked appearance, still, seeing the mist forming in Maa's usually warm--now tired--eyes, it was a battle to sit frozen and not approach her.

She hadn't said a word after our dinner interaction two days back, not a single grumble or reasoning in the past forty-eight hours. Nor did I try to weigh any other options or even reach out to her. Had I stepped onto any bubbling conversation, Maa would've created a reason justifiable enough for me to throw soil over my plans. Somehow, deep within, we both knew Kashi was a journey I needed to make, and the more I delayed, the sure were chances of losing myself into a tempting embrace of fallen addiction.

Even the pleasant early morning wind didn't help in subduing my nerves. The soft blow that always carried so much comfort while rising from the ocean and blanketing the coastal houses, or the early risers like me who found the epitome of heaven midst walking barefoot in early dawn hours, letting the wind lead my path. This morning, even the wind was bland and full of grief, as if all the ease that I so passionately craved had been vacuumed and emptied by the coasts only.

I tried seeking certainty from the continuous outburst of noises in this general compartment of the train. Howrah as usual was crowded with varieties of presence, both inside the train and outside on the ever-stretched platforms. Some crawled on the berths whenever a new face strolled, in an attempt to keep the seats reserved for their known ones. A few went as far as igniting a fight when their frustration spiked over not finding any more empty spots to sit.

The first time I travelled in this exact spot, I remember I had been amused by the scenes unfolding. The fights, the bitter banter, the hustle to take even a quarter of the seat, those annoyed profanities, impatient words--they entertained me.

Now they only forced me to face the blunt, sharp-edged mirror of struggle. The day-to-day struggle that each one of us did in one way or another. In the dark, in the light. The flimsy line of black and white.

Aren't we all a little bit decayed?

I found myself staring out of the window again. Deepti stood out among the crowd, her arm draped around Maa's shoulder to hide that occasional shakiness from me. I couldn't go out and comfort any of the two. So, I stay rooted and forced a small smile on my face, which only my sister mirrored. Maa still had the blend of many emotions flashing across her face. Fear, anger, disappointment, hope, sadness. Everything!

It was time to bid them off.

##

31st March 2009

I was broke. And high as a kite. Still shameless.

Quite honestly.

"Viraaaaaj!" That dramatic voice was so close to me, yet sounding so off the hearing circle that the slurred accent made me chortle without any care.

Siddhant, my childhood mate, and I were going somewhere by train. Where? None of us knew. We had the tickets, but no one was sober enough to actually take a glance at the destination's name. The journey, it was a plan made in some dirty, puke-stinking corner of a cheap run-down bar two nights before. We both were hooked on some intense stuff to completely discard the odds when another group from our field of profession dared us to go on a 'blind trip' and come back with a photoshoot worthy enough to have us, especially me, reclaim our lost fame.

Who had ever thought sanely in the spur of a drunken stupor?

There and right then Siddhant booked the tickets to whichever random place his fingers blindly tapped over, and two days later we stumbled into the general compartment of the train, starting our journey from Howrah to an unknown destination.

A place that could either break me or make me invincible.

"Broooo!" I drawled back in a similar tone, earning a jibe in my stomach from his elbow.

At the same time, the train swiftly stepped into motion, and it was then only that I noticed the empty seats on our berth and the above, also the seats in front and by the other window. Only I was seated by the window and Siddhant beside me. Between us laid two half-empty bottles of fruit beer, and some two or three rolled joints with off-white powder scrambled at the edges. We both were lost in our own addicted state, completely washing the disgusted looks of fellow travellers down the drain. None wanted to be anywhere near us, and neither of us two found any single thought to give them. We simply looked around, smiled at a few scowling passengers, and returned to our sweet addiction.

##

4th April 2014

A forgotten, fallen addiction now it was.

We both were supposed to step out of the train at Dumraon station that day, instead, we kept rooted, probably playing cards, and only got out when the train halted at its last stoppage. At Kashi.

I slid my fingers inside my cargo pants pocket to feel the crumpled edges of the two tickets; one of that day's journey, and the other of the five years back on which mine and Siddhant's names stood proudly. Keeping the rough, torn ticket safe inside, I pulled out the new ticket and glanced at the destination's name. Kashi, it said in bold. Then my eyes flickered to the compartment name in which I was supposed to sit, building up a ghost of a smile across my face.

Back then, Siddhant had booked the first tier AC compartment for us two, although we sat in the general.

Now, I purposely booked the general ticket.

My chain of thoughts zoomed back to starting point when the familiar jerk in the train sizzled a small fear inside me. The journey had started, and I still wasn't sure if I was strong enough to continue. I still had the chance to walk out of the train, the speed would've allowed me to step out without any harm. And I believe I might have gotten out, had my mother not chosen that exact moment to walk with the moving train and give me the most genuine reassuring smile that reflected only one thing. Finally.

Hope.

A much deceiving and daunting word, but powerful in its full might. Hope, something that my heart clutched at, when the journey to Kashi began the first time, and the second. Hope, something which took the form of tears within the sanction of my mother's eyes. Hope, something that shone on my sister's face when she halted to a stop and pulled Maa to a pause when the train picked its speed, and in a second or two I couldn't see my family anymore. Hope, something that crawled on every person's face present inside and outside the moving train.

We all seemed to be travelling in the same journey; the journey to keep that hope eternally alive. The journey to revive our lost parts. Each face carried a stranger around me, and yet I felt as if I could blend so easily among them. As if I was one of them, and as if I knew everyone.

A few were elders there, looking silently outside the window, a hint of resignation on their faces, seemingly wishing to lose themselves in the last spiritual embrace of Kashi. Then there were those who had waved youth off, but not quite touched the fifties yet. Their faces didn't mask the desperation. A needy stance to settle down, to find something that could anchor them towards the peaceful shore. Possibly they were out in search of some kind of labor opportunities, leaving their families back. Then came those whose faces remained lively and joyful, their eyes ever so positive that their happiness and excitement felt infectious to some extent. A college group of travellers, highly likely. Or probably a group of newly hired employees who jumped at the chance of enjoying by the shore when they received their first paycheck.

Lastly came those young faces whose eyes hadn't yet seen much of the world. They were now slowly falling into a wider sphere called life, coming across new faces, new ambitions, new journeys, and new addictions. The fresh set of school pass-out students, I countered.

Strange enough, no matter which purpose or motive anchored them towards Kashi, the way they mingled among themselves, with the strangers, it was hard to believe we didn't know each other already. Even those who fought ugly for just one seat now had somehow adjusted themselves to accommodate more travellers.

Squeezed in one small seat, their hope blanketed the animosity they had.

My eyes jumped from face to face, some giving me a small smile, some a friendly nod, a few waves, some even shrugged and got lost in an unknown world of imagination, and some old, experienced eyes stared comparatively longer as if to say, "I see you", "I know you", "I know your journey", "I am aware".

But that was a comic thought to fuel. They wouldn't have known, would they? None could know. How could they be aware of who Viraj was, and what his journey symbolized?

None of them could possibly know they were travelling with a murderer, right?

Right.

Howrah: one of the largest and busiest railway stations across the world.