Where the train stopped

05Oct07

The Color and The Contrast – III 

Note: Third Episode in the series after The Death and The Beginning

The place where the train stopped, my journey began. The journey that wasn’t in the woods or the forests, but the one which made the trail as it went. The new house was cleaned up and it no longer stinked of the cow dung. But the walls were still mystic, mystic as if they were holding the secrets of its residents. The stains that were left by the rain out of the leaking roof, were the only relief from the mystery. But the mystery had come as a relief by itself. For the first time I was realizing that being in a place where one hadn’t been before was not as bad. The new place was an asylum for freedom. Freedom from our own pasts and prejudices. Where we are not haunted by our pasts or are judged by our past deeds.

The days were dark and the nights numb. The neighbors seemed like they wanted to know everything about us. Our past which we were learning to forget. The language was new and gave me the chance to interpret words in my own way, in the way which wouldn’t hurt me. I would see my Mom crying on the bed, sometimes for reasons I wouldn’t know. The new place began to grow old and the neighbours disinterested.

There were different kinds of neighbours as if one had taken a specimen of people from each type and grouped them here. With different languages and different colors. Some made friends, some were reluctant to invite us among them and some were apathetic. No matter how they were, we had to live there and I didnt know it then that for a good portion of my life.

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