Woman with backpack arrives at the station.
The indicators flash names of towns far off,
which call out to her.
Buys a ritual coffee on the platform.
She watches hawkers sell books, tissues, bhel, fruits,
and yes, chocolate.
The smell of chlorine mingled with that of food
Together form essence of railway station-
the smell of travel.
The announcements go on, try to catch the words
The train whistle is condensed wanderlust.
Are the trains on time?
Finally the platform vibrates; her soul thrums.
Happiness is the race to board one’s carriage,
She’s going away.
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