I HAD NEVER EXPECTED the revival of my life, in such a full swing. I never expected that I would start learning to live so differently. Till that day the signature my past had put on my life had not faded.

Until that day I had fiercely guarded my heart from letting it out. But on that day I was on a journey, the journey that changed everything that was I. The journey worked like a bridge that has separated my past and what I am today. The train headed on a plain land, after leaving the rocks and the thorns behind.  I opened a side window. It opened like a book that I had read and loved—the green leaves, the green plains. I took the fresh breath and enclosed the green expanse within my eyelids.

The nightlong journey ended with slight fatigue inside and heavy brushing of shoulders outside, on the platform. Ticket collector stood with notable negligence, polishing a brass buckle of his belt. When I smiled at him, at the buckle, and at his blue coat, oily at the collar, he responded with professional apathy. Collection of tickets was a mandatory work, and to smile an optional. He only did his mandatory one. Then the blue coat turned his red-wet lips to spray some remnants of his chewed stuff in a give-me-the-waste box.

For going out of the station safely one would have to avoid looking at station ground that would be emptied and refilled by the whistles of trains, ignore the boiling sea of the people, unlike each other in caste, colour and creed, and sizes of their heads. Then there would emerge some faces, too, standing discretely at periphery, seemingly wearing an aged dilemma over their tense foreheads that should they move left or right. Thereafter one would come out, reaching at the main gate.

I was at the main gate. 



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