I sit beside a window. Beyond it, I see trees with leaves of all colours imaginable – greens and yellows and oranges and reds – fly past. The train I’m on is throttling at full speed, but I can make the shapes and sizes of these trees perfectly. Fall is finally here. The temperatures have dropped in the last month. But, inside the cabin, I feel stuffy. Almost suffocated.
The window is protected with a glass pane. Outside, the leaves flutter against the late afternoon breeze. They sway, dancing against the wind. I feel their freedom. It brings a smile to my face.
The engines brake suddenly. The metal wheels screech. Startled, I feel a little push that tries to throw me in the front. But I am able to hold still. The train comes to an abrupt halt.
Should that make me relieved? Perhaps. Maybe my parents have finally found me. Maybe, in the next instant, they’ll barge in through the door. My mum, tears flowing down her cheeks, taking me in her arms, telling me she missed me so dearly. My dad, standing next to her, equally happy but not as articulate. I would see a bead forming at the corner of his eye, but, knowing him, he would bat it away. And I would apologise to them, saying I never should have left their hand at the station.
And, yet, I know that is nothing more than wishful thinking. The train hasn’t stopped because my parents are here.
Possibly, something malfunctioned. Or, perhaps, there is an obstacle on the tracks that needs to be cleared away. Either way, I know I am not going anywhere.
Till when? I don’t know.
So, I just stare outside. The floor beneath the trees is carpeted with leaves; browner than the ones still clinging to the branches. I can hear – sense would be the right word – the crunch as I imagine walking on this carpet. And, sitting inside this desolate, suffocating cabin, the crunch sounds… deeply satisfying, almost invigorating. The corner of my eye picks out an animal scurrying through the trees, deeper into the woods. A deer, perhaps. But it doesn’t look big enough to be a deer. I turn my attention to it, and, as if it senses my movement, it faces me.
Those tiny, beady, black-as-the-night eyes stare straight at me. I reciprocate the stare with equal zest. A million thoughts fly past me as we exchange this stare, and yet I don’t remember even a single one when I hear the engine give a sharp hoot. I lose my focus momentarily, and, when I turn back to the animal, I see it isn’t there.
Clearly, it went away. It isn’t confined to a cabin, after all. It has acres after acres of land to explore.
Or maybe I imagined it. Maybe there was no animal in the first place.
But, either way, I don’t think it matters.
The engine raises a sound again – more a sputter than a confident hoot – and lurches forward. The view outside begins moving again. Line after line of vibrant vegetation, enjoying the last of its bloom (and in what extravagant way!) before the cold, hard winter creeps in, stripping the branches bare. A pang of sadness tugs at my heart at this, which comes as a surprise because never before have I felt sentimental about seasons, trees or nature.
Because I’ve been busy, you know? Six hours of school every day, two hours of additional coaching, at least an hour of tennis/football practice. And after putting in all those hours doing constructive work (“an empty mind is the devil’s workshop,” I’ve heard many people say, and I don’t think I necessarily agree with them), I need some time to myself, don’t I?
To unwind. Let off some steam.
I’ve seen my dad come back after giving twelve hours to work each day – and the three plaques, reading “Employee of the Month,” sitting on the glass self in the living room is a testament to how much faith his company has in him – and sit with a glass of what he calls “golden potion” and watch news.
For me, though, it is an hour of video games in the evening after I return from my sports practice.
Go ahead, call me a slave to the modern technological world. But, until now, I wouldn’t have minded giving up my allowance for the newest Mario Kart.
With all these preoccupations, do you expect a kid like me to be overwhelmed with emotion each time I witness a turn in the season? Or stop to feel the cool wind and breathe in that wonderful aroma of rains and wet earth as I am headed to my coaching classes after a tiring day at school? Or cry out in amazement on seeing the splash of colours on the trees, like a perfectly drawn picture, after exhausting myself physically following my football practice?
Today, though, I feel my perception shifting. I once saw a quote written on a piece of paper tacked to one of our teachers’ desks, which didn’t make sense to me back then. But I think I do understand it now.
“Death has a curious way of reshuffling one’s priorities,” it said; and beneath it, in a scrawl, she had written, “Captain Jack Sparrow” – with what looked like a heart under it. I didn’t know who Mr. Sparrow was, what he captained, or what romantic association the two shared.
But the man was right.
Even though I’m on this train as a captive, and have been blindfolded (leaving me with nothing but my imagination – of this picturesque view that I see through this imaginary window), I know the man was right.
Death does have a curious way of reshuffling one’s priorities.
*
This story originally appeared on the website of Gen Ctrl Z on December 25th, 2021.
Shaurya’s latest novel is published by Locksley Hall Publishing and is available here.
Learn more about Shaurya on our Contributor’s Page.
(Photo: Cloudcricket/flickr.com/ CC BY-SA 2.0)
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