Train of thoughts

The security of the past warms the heart, misting the window of the train.

When the train begins to chug on its journey, like always memories flood me, conversations from the past between people I love and who are no more, yet they live on only because it is hard to let go! It happens every time. I board at Cantonment station; the first voice I hear is of my father as I pass my grandfather’s house on Nethaji Road, his words of reassurance assailing my fears; fears of a child. The security of the past warms the heart, misting the window of the train, the mist of your breath; because you edge closer, the mist of tears, the mist of memories. You want the past to ever-last.

The train passes the signboard, ‘Kolar Gold Fields’ it brings to mind many voices, narrations of visitations to this exotic mine, times were different and trusting then, that it was pleasurable to go to these places and wonder at nature, skills of man and the glint of gold. Vaniyambadi; where a friend’s family served delectable food to my family on car trips, my very young mind envisaged that there was always welcome from extended quarters.

Vellore, is where my grandmother’s relatives live, the place holds a lot of intrigue for me, because funnily I have never met them. I recall from conversations of the elders, scores of little things that made life seem like it was picture perfect there. Walljah: my cousin’s husband had an grandaunt there, who willed them a small fortune, his voice resonates from the past, I go on to recall all his recipes, he loved cooking!

I have enjoyed the sojourn, Chennai is my destination and I silence the past. I have come for a purpose I go about my duties, then visitations to relatives who welcome you warmly. At that point I wonder why I planned such a short visit! Why don’t I make more time for Chennai?

My aunt has relocated from Bangalore to Chennai she has been the pillar of strength during the times I needed her.

She lived and presided over her house in total command of her life. Old age, has taken its toll, but I can see she resides happily with her granddaughter. I travel back to Bangalore with the experience of this trip. En route I see the same places once more but, this time I think of my aunt, the look in her eyes, suddenly I realise the past is not that important, the present is. The actual people across the windows begin to intrigue me; I think I should begin to visit all these places to put realness into a perspective! 

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