The Train Ride Home (and Away)

 

The rhythmic clickety-clack of the train tracks lulls me into a restless state. Today was a goodbye I wasn't strong enough to face. Mom and Dadi , their faces etched with a love that always seems to see past my facade, a love that would have shattered the dam I've built around my emotions.

I know it. The blessing at their feet, the touch, the warmth – it would have unraveled me. So I left with a choked hug and a smile that felt more like a grimace. Strength, that's what I try to project. Strength they shouldn't have to worry about.

This love-hate relationship with my hometown. I wouldn't say I love it, not exactly. But it holds a place under my skin, a familiar ache that blooms into tears whenever distance throws it into sharp relief. Grandpa's room is the epicenter of this ache. The air feels heavy with his absence, and every visit is a fresh wave of grief.

Why can't I grieve normally? The day he left, everyone wept, a chorus of raw pain. But I, the supposed apple of his eye, stood there, a hollow shell. Not a single tear escaped. It was a dam holding back a torrent, a dam I haven't been able to breach.

Missing him is a constant dull ache, a yearning that whispers his name in the quiet corners of my mind. Yet, yesterday, a prayer for his peaceful slumber escaped my lips. Maybe that's a start.

As I scribble these thoughts on my phone, the train hurtles forward. My mind races too - IIM interviews, the semester results (a bittersweet pass), and the ever-present weight of being single, adrift in a life that feels…well, sucky.

But amidst the chaos, there's a flicker of belief. I can overcome this, every hurdle, every tear I haven't cried. It's the time it takes that steals my breath sometimes.

This might have been a messy, emotional outpouring, but thank you for being here, for holding this space for me. Until next time,

Gautam.