Miles to Dream and to Live

Shivani pens an inward-looking story. A young man travels to his childhood. An exclusive for Different Truths.

I am a young man. Like millions of others, time runs after me. I run after work and success. I desire for more. Always, a promotion, a girlfriend, a vacation and a lot of other things, like fame. I read it too. Every night, Pablo Neruda’s poetry grips all of my soul and flushes my heart. I cling myself to the moments that make me overthink things in a beautiful way, the moments where reality feels like a dream and everything flows around swiftly.

I searched for my most desirable seat in the local train. It was evening. I was heading home from work. Like every day, the chai at the train station had excess sugar in it but it was okay. I appreciated the chaiwala’s efforts, as I walked through the corridor of the train, stepping onto the striped sunlit floor, as the rays crept in through the window with metal bars. Looking around, I have always thought that all expressions, faces have a story to tell and I think that is beautiful.

There was an old man. The orange teal sun fell directly onto his face. His white hair flickering in the golden, trapped shadows in his wrinkles, as the train began to honk before it could start. A subtle smile collected at the end of his lips, pushing his wrinkles further down his cheek, his greyish eyes reflecting the most beautiful colours, most beautiful stories.

I found a seat near the window. It was an extremely tiring day, I was a little too worn out, as I sat there on the hard seat. It did not even feel as if I was physically present, flowing through the euphoric satisfaction of coming through another day, all tasks done. I was excited to reach home, meet my dog, ’Rancho’, brew some coffee, take a shower and watch TV, as I put my head back, watching the sun sink into the horizon, with clouds reflecting shades of violet, orange, red, yellow, pink and rays escaping from the tiny spaces, where the clouds hadn’t yet collected, making it into a canvas, an art that many like me loved to endure, every evening.

I sat there in the sun, without doing anything, my head held back, the warm rays fell right on my face, suddenly all the noise in the train started to blur and fade in my ears and, all bodies started to fade like ghosts, all I could see was the sky, deep and endless, going off to sleep.

Poetry started to collect in my head. A lot of it started to merge within my vocabulary, tangling with my emotions as I watched the sky recite its own. I wish I could hold it back, the moment, it almost felt like it was always there, every evening but I would never notice, but today as I noticed, I fell in love, I want all of the warmth and the orange to take me completely, take me to places far away.

It started getting darker. City lights started to reflect into the sky. The clouds started to take shape. It was as if I saw my father and me in one of my childhood, happy years, playing in the garden. Maybe I also saw my grandmother reading a bedtime story to me,  like I was coming to life but also travelling back in time, ‘it all falls down’ and all of us falling in a circle, laughing, giggling, playing on the slides, I got lost in the sky so much so that I could feel my heart taking flight.

“Was I dreaming…?”

Photo from the Internet