"My name is Billa"

There are so many different people that one comes across on a single train journey in India. For every person who agrees to exchange seats, there is one who sits and stares at the breeze lifting and shifting clothes while their owners sleep. For every random offer to entertain a child there is a touch, a nudge or a shove. In short, the Indian train journey is just like life in general in India.
The minute I took out the laptop, there was a bevy of fascinated observers, who quickly lost interest when they saw that all I wanted to do was write. I smile at the graffiti on the wall “My name is Billa. I love my family.” Who doesn’t, really?
Thinking about my trip, I realize that all the things I went to do, I did. I wanted to shop, meet a certain someone, get distracted and finally leave something behind. This something started in Chennai, should have ended there, except I took it with me when I left. At least, I left it behind, this time.
After sleeping a couple of hours during the day, I’m worried about sleeping at all tonight – the berth seems to be filled with bedbugs and I’ve got sore spots all over. I don’t fit in the side berth anyway. Might as well sit through the night. I will reach Mangalore by five and Manipal by seven, at the latest.
A whiff of tobacco catches me by surprise. It reminds me of last night. It was not a great night – very average. I’ve gotten drunker at Manipal before, so it wasn’t special in that aspect. But it was the promise of a might-be that makes it unique. The beginning of an interesting could-be. The interesting start of a silly requited crush. The long overdue end of a great love. (Oh! What a drama queen am I!!!)
Enough said. Time for some Spider Solitaire.