I am in the train right now. I was in the train eight days back too, while I was travelling to my home-town. I have been living my ‘other-life’ at home since the past eight days. Presently, I am somewhere in between. I am on my way to the place where my present lies. Yes, I am in-between. Last week I had another of my terrible bouts of sickness. I was suffering, incredibly. I had plans when I was going home. I wanted to write; I wanted to read; I wanted to roam around; I wanted to watch stuff: series, movies, anything. But, what I was doing was lying down, most of the time. Let’s come back to the in-between thing. I just left a life behind me; that life where you have your parents and your family to govern your mood and your decisions. That life where you are sort of protected. I am going back to my life where I work for a living, where I am an independent and absolute person. Also, I am oddly alone. Aloofness does not make you incomplete, so the life I am heading back to wouldn’t do anything bad to me, really. Yet, I am just trying to absorb this state when I am not living any of the two lives I have. I am undertaking a journey. I have not even a single soul around me who knows me or who I know except for the course of this journey. Once I am off this train, even these people will be lost; for them I will be lost. It’s just the matter of a few hours. That’s life. I guess generally it’s just the matter of a few years, may be months. Eventually, it’s all lost.
We have always been living in semi-permanent phases, or the entirely temporary ones. Come to think of it. Has any particular phase of your life lasted exactly as it is for more than three years? Or four? We lose friends, we lose dreams, we change, we bear the twinge, we smile, we cry and we keep transiting between varied phases, hoping for better tomorrows. That’s where we never go wrong. We go on hoping. That’s human nature. But, have you ever thought about the meaning behind it all? What’s the point in suffering, hoping, getting hurt, still hoping, crying, yet hoping and going on with doing just that. What about that point where you give up, where you wish to stop hoping. What’s the point of a life then?
As I delve deeper into these contemplations, I realize that the real point of life lies in the little things. There is a point in the lives that I am surrounded by at the moment: a group of army-men. I feel glad to see them standing high and with courage. There is a point in the visions I see as I glance from the window of this train. There’s beauty, there’s nature. There is a point in togetherness, a point in loneliness. Life makes sense because of what we feel, how we feel. Life becomes complete as a consequence of what we endure: pain, happiness and all those emotions that spice up our verve. Life always has a deeper meaning behind it. Let’s go find it!