the only way out is through, some unhinged thoughts idk what to title this
- Ashna Ranade
- Jan 13, 2023
- 3 min read
Picking up from where I left the previous article, a week older and 3 outings richer.
I took a local train after over 7 months to go to Churchgate- my usual route to college, the same compartment, around the same time, but not the same me. I didn’t have to complete a submission, I didn’t have to revise for the finals, all I had to do was listen to some music and wait till we pulled in into the beauty and moment that is the Churchgate station. Millions of people might be doing this everyday, 7.5 million to be precise, but to me it seemed unusual. Train rides have always seemed like a chore and simply a way to commute- I was either reading, studying, making notes, waiting for a friend, doing everything but merely sitting and enjoying the ride. My friend always tells me how much he loves his train rides, especially at night and somehow I never looked at it as an enjoyable experience because to me that idea seemed impossible. Having to do nothing for those 40 minutes was a waste of my time and maybe I didn’t know better until last week. I read somewhere that (the journey is even more beautiful than the destination) “safar khoobsurat hai, manzil se bhi” and I never thought I could relate to it until I saw a little boy staring outside the window for 6 stations continuously, smiling when the train pulled into the station, pointing out to trees, colourful billboards to a mom who was playing candy-crush on her phone (no shade, candy-crush is my guilty pleasure too) and even with Mac miller playing at full volume on my earphones, I had to stop and look at how simple it was for him to be a part of the journey and embrace it. After a few stops, when it was time for them to deboard, his mother asked him to come to the door and he refused. On trying twice and with him not leaving the window’s side, she had no choice but to drag him away and I watched him as he cried while leaving. I’m not someone who cries on the train and definitely not someone who’d admit she did but for the momentary measure that I was living vicariously through him for, I felt sheer grief that he had to abandon his view for the destination, and even to my surprise, I started crying. (luckily the compartment was empty and I have no witnesses to confirm except for this essay)
Cut to a few days later, while I’m sitting in bed waiting for mom to call me for dinner, I remembered the boy from the train, and started wondering why I cried. In the simplest words, I wanted what he had and it got taken away from me, without it even being mine in the first place. I don’t regret not enjoying my train rides, and more importantly- I have no complaints but I wish the 18 year old ash knew better than to be buried inside a textbook or the article she had to read before the 8am class and found a way to embrace these journeys more. As I write this essay, for me, this is true in most situations- I only realise how valuable an experience is or was only after I’ve experienced it. I’m in deep love with the heartbeat that mumbai is and I go through the same (sometimes even increasing) amount of pain everytime I have to leave, but what I’m taking away this time is holding on to the fact that I’m leaving, only to come back. If this can’t be home, I don’t know what can. Everyone of my friends who has moved out has told me that it gets easier with time, so why is it becoming increasingly difficult for me, every single time? Until teleportation becomes a tangible device, I’ll have to wrap my head around the fact that Mumbai is a feeling. It resides in the deepest corners of my heart, but also in every inch of me, and in every room where I’ve said “I’m from Mumbai”.
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