Train Stations

Train Stations. Were they made to bring people together or part them forever?

A thousand steps stomped to one another’s rhythm, some in hurry; others in peace. A myriad of voices in a race to reach their listener’s ear, yet many dissipated in the vast space of the colossal waiting hall, unheard. Felt like the building had not been renovated since the beginning of time or were the cracks on its walls the scars of all the longing hearts that had always waited here; right here, where I stood.

A cold voice known all too well abruptly brought all conversations to an end,

‘’5 minutes to boarding for Istanbul – Tibet!’’

‘’I have to hurry up’’, I thought to myself and dove into the masked crowds in an attempt to find my way to the train. I realised taking a small cabin backpack with only a few pieces of clothing, a notebook, a wineglass, and a bottle of Merlot was perhaps the best decision, otherwise, it would have been impossible to pass through the impenetrable wall of flesh.

As I approached the entrance of the wagon, I felt an intense breeze of disinfectant smell; almost as if I were in a hospital. People had washed the wagon down with disinfectants in their attempt to combat the invisible enemy; out of fear. The interior of the wagon could make a great time machine, I mused – old and uncanny. Unsettled, I hurried up to find my seat as I heard the horns blast.

The train took off. Sat uncomfortably in an almost stone-hard seat, I remembered a conversation with my friend we had had a few years earlier. I told her I might just end up being a monk in a far distant Tibetan monastery; she laughed it off. To her, it was just another surge of burnout, or nothing more than an irrelevant joke. Truth be told, I took it no more seriously than she did. Yet, here I was now, attempting to escape the entire world. I looked through the window and tried to carve the sights into my memory for I would never see them again; my journey was to be only one-way. I felt a concoction of sensations flaring up into my chest – nostalgia, I reckoned. Part of me was scared of the unknown and desperately fighting to go back. ‘’But there is no way back’’ is how I concluded my inner dialogue.

Rapidly changing sights merged into a floating picture as if they were the pages of a sad novella turned hectically by a bored teenager. Perhaps it was merely the laziness of the eye.

Home was far back, I reckoned as I started to see places too unfamiliar while searching for another topic to keep my inner dialogue going. I heard a screech, then again. Agitated, I looked around and saw no one. I sat down back into my unwelcoming seat and tried to calm down while thinking about what might have caused the terrorised screaming. Only a moment later the swaying of the wagon became more noticeable. In fear once again, I wondered whether that was only my triggered psyche or was there something terrible happening? Now, unnerved, I looked around again – nothing. Seconds later I heard quick steps approaching my cabin. ‘’That must be it, a murderer!’’ My panicked mind rushed to conclude. The steps quieted right in front of my cabin. I was either going to pass out or fight for dear life. I began to craft a self-defence plan in my mind.

— Is there anyone? Can I please enter? A trembling and soft girl’s voice broke the silence.

Still nervous but relieved, I responded.

— Yes, sure, enter.

The cabin door opened and I saw a girl. Her sculpted face was imbued with panic. ‘’How can even fear look so good on someone’s face’’, I thought and hastened to invite her to take the facing seat. Faintly she sat in front of me as I sat back into my seat too. In the meantime, I was thinking of ways to comfort and calm her down. She looked out of the window, now her fear replaced by shyness.

I finally gathered up the courage to ask what had happened and why was she so afraid. Hesitantly, she answered:

— I think I saw a mouse in my cabin!

Barely holding myself from bursting into laughter, I tried to look serious and sympathetic.

— Oh, that is awful! They should definitely improve their hygiene standards!

I responded in all firmness and continued,

— How can I help you? Would you like to stay with me throughout the travel?

Despite her hesitation, she nodded at my offer and responded with a discrete smile.

There was that brief awkward silence again and her looking out through the window. To me it was a moment as short as a single breath but also as long as eternity; I inspected her from head to toe. Dark and healthy hair casually falling on the shoulders, satiny café-au-lait skin, and a backless dress carrying all the warm colours of the Orient.

Had I reached my destination? Perhaps journeys were meant to lead unto journeys, I thought.

I trembled with the unfamiliar feelings that were bursting into my chest; those that one gets to feel once or twice in a lifetime. I needed help to get the situation under control and also help her relax a bit out of her shyness. Carefully, I unzipped my backpack and took the bottle of Merlot with the wineglass elaborately capped onto the bottle’s neck.

— Would you join me in a glass of wine? I asked with clumsiness in my voice. I realised I hadn't introduced myself. — My name is Serdar, by the way, I added quickly.

She was more hesitant this time, for a second, I could see the uncertainty in her face, but then she smiled and nodded in agreement and said ''Vihra.''

— But there is only one glass. I remarked. ‘’Would you mind drinking from the same glass?’’

She only shrugged this time and I decided she didn’t mind. I poured the Merlot and gave her the half-filled glass to take the first sip. She smiled back and looked down into the glass as she slowly sipped almost closing her eyes. She seemed to love the wine; she took another sip and passed the glass to me.

Looking into her warm coffee-bean-hued eyes, I took a sip where she had drunk from the glass.

Within a few sips and refills, she started talking about her family and her journey. She was Indian; She had studied in Istanbul and now was going back to her family after 5 years of not seeing them for they could barely pay for her tuition and living costs.

As she was talking about her family, I kept thinking, was she my Tibet? Had I found it elsewhere; my escape; My destination?

She noticed I was gazing at her and barely catching up with what she was talking about; she stopped and looked into my eyes.

— Did I say something wrong? She asked in distress.

I couldn’t say anything for almost a minute.

— Train Stations. Were they made to bring people together or part them forever? Half-drunk, I spoke my thought out.

At first, she looked confused, then looked through the window again, took a breath and said,

— They were made to set us off on journeys.