Travelogue sans visuals
Chennai-Mumbai-Ahmedabad-Mumbai-Chennai.



Heart-broken
I see the train.
I see the train move.
I see myself running to beat the train's pace.
The beginning of every travel story of mine.
Today, however, the train beat me.

The tracks with their forlorn look didn't seem as appealing, sans the immediacy

They were there to stay, but I didn't feel grateful.
I turn back, always seeking the fleeting.


The key to the bag
A lot of hustle and a bit of bustle
Some shoving and a show of grumbling
He finally finds a place for himself and his lil' red bag

He steadies himself and pulls a lock out of it - the very size of the bag.
As he secures the bag with the lock to the seat, I can't help but wonder:
Is the bag for the lock or the lock for the bag?
My idea of a perfect love story.




Florence in Andhra
I remember bending over to see the lovely hills and the floating clouds of the Tuscany sky through a train window in Italy
At that precise moment, the beauty of the sight before me overwhelmed me.

Another train, another window. But this time, closer home.
And yet, I am overcome by the same sensation- watching the rain-washed plains pass by.

Has my memory fizzled out? Or has Europe's advertising had its desired effect?