Anyways, now all is well, and I can channel my worries into other directions; we all just sit and worry most the time, the only difference in lives being the issues we pick to worry about.
The Mail halts at GZB now. The "temporaries" have alighted - guys with tiny briefcases or daypacks, who try keeping inconspicuous, and stare back with tired, antagonistic eyes, and rush into a quick sleep for the short journey before you could even share a word with them. Mute, writing songs in their heads that they'll never share, conveying a sad emotion that openly conveys the nature of the unremarkable journey they undertake each day. In these minutes of company of these tired mechanical instruments, even the ones onboard (the train) for more significant reasons enter a strange suspended state of rumination. No words shared, inconspicuous stares, inconspicuous body motions.
The confirmed-reservation guys dot the landscape now. Soon, we'll find everybody sleepy. Soon the lights would be out - a hard tick of the old lever switches that have stood the test of time. The fat laptop (Keane) guy has turned his laptop off and now munches on biscuits before his nap. A group of 3 in the same car as mine try making a conversation, until interrupted by a tired middle-aged middle-berth guy to sentence everybody to sleep.
"इसको अन्दर कर दो, चप्पल को" would be his last words in case the train crashes somewhere on this night. This falls into the same FAIL set as "I just... blued myself". Even a demure "Goodnight" or "Paachhay hatt jaa" would've done better.
I wonder what my last words were... I haven't spoken at all since climbing aboard, only a call back home to update on my boarding status, which, too, lacked any gems of inspiration. Nothing unintentionally noteworthy to go down history; I could wait to see another day.
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