"was at home for a couple of weeks", "wow!, so have you brought something for
me?" No, absolutely not. I have brought nothing for anyone.
Tell-a-Tale, I have an original score, shall I proceed!
Going home: A waiting List ticket worth of 700 bucks standing at 482 when bought and last updated to 211 to travel some odd 3600 kilometers. Indian Railways has these strange ways of earning. A very confident average Indian(one like me) even dares to travel such distances on mercy of the train floor. "Lets spread the News Paper and rest our ass. Got a long way to go.", yelled a fellow mate with Waiting List stand 43. I stood there, by the door for a few hours before the light bag started spraining my shoulders. With rest of the passengers already fallen asleep even some on the floor. Placed the bag somehow under the first berth, and also took the liberty of informing the berth owner that I wanted to share a part of his throne. My friend in middle of his deep slumber gave a quick nodding. Thank you heavens now I have a place to sit and read the book! Yes, what else can one do when you know what ought not to do. In my case its "Sleeping".
Pulled out that and adjusted my posture to fit in, with my legs stretching over to rest the berth across. With Khaled Hosseini's "Thousand Splendid Sun" in my hands; my now sleepy eyes read the assorted plight of women in Afghanistan. Meanwhile my legs kept folding and rising for every one who kept passing by all night, felt like some security toll gate. The rate of which marginally increased with each new station adding more waiting list passengers.
The same thing repeated the next night and also the final night before Khaled stopped writing, I stopped reading and the train too drew closer to the horizons starting a new morning before it halted for the last time. That's how I reached home this Bihu. And you must have already understood what I was doing during day time. Yes, with good wishes from my friend I slept on his berth literally the whole day.
