In finer print...

In hibernation. Dont know when I will be back. Or will I be at all...

[Read Part I and II]
What was he concentrating on? The people around him – he had no interest in them. The hustle-bustle inside the compartment did not perturb him. It was incredible how a tiny, innocuous roach caught his attention.
How had it got in there? Without anyone squashing it with just one stomp of their foot? How could it scurry across without anyone noticing it or some woman shrieking? The roach was near someone’s shoes now and then on the leg of the seat. Slowly climbing up, hoping not to be seen; its antennas swinging awry in all directions. He wondered how it smelt its way to a scrap of food or garbage. It slowly climbed on the window pane. Everything went dark. The train was passing through a tunnel.
It was a long tunnel. As the train zoomed past, the small rays of the distant moonlight obstructed by the bars, cast an angular shadow on the roach. It remained still, perched on the window pane as the train continued to move at a subliminal speed. It took a moment for the fli…

[Read Part I before...]
The steel bench at the platform had been warmer. Not really warm as the stiff chill in the air had decided not to relent or have mercy on a lone traveller. Yet watching the stray pup curling into its mother’s body for warmth seemed comforting. Now he was in constant motion. The train seemed to run along the rail lines as if it were feeding on it. It ran along like a greedy man moving on, aching for more, running along consuming the tracks, getting sucked into greed.
The train was on a mission. Running back and forth irrespective of the hour. He wondered what the engine would look like from the inside. Was it oiled regularly? Yes. Else how could it go on eating the tracks like it did? Unlike the smooth insides of the engine, his insides were dry. He had a body alright but of little skin and meat. Feelings and desires had deserted him. He was stuck somewhere between his past and present. The lines between his present and future had blurred long ago.
Only sleep w…

The empty bench comforted him in someways. He was glad of the isolation. The flies buzzing over his head in the yellowjaundice-like lamp light had no effect on him. The platform was almost empty. Just a few stray dogs here and there. They too were asleep. It was past midnight and last local train would be there in ten minutes. He knew he wouldn't board this one either.

He had lost count of how many had gone by since early morning. He had no business or reason to be there. But he had been sitting there all day long. The now empty bench had been warmed by numerous people-- young and old. Some grouchy some calm or talkative. Nobody spoke to him. It seemed like nobody knew of his existence. This had spared him the pain of talking, of making a random comment or being dragged into a conversation. The chana-shing wala had passed by many times. But he like the others did not feel the urge to ask him.

With every incoming train scores of commuters got off and rushed to catch up on their dail…