The rhythmic clatter of the train’s wheels against the tracks was oddly soothing as Wise Mama settled into her window seat. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and sighed, feeling the excitement bubble within her. Bangalore to Darjeeling—it was a long journey, nearly two days, but something about the slow transition from the bustling South to the serene hills of the North made her heart hum with anticipation.
This wasn’t just a trip; it was an escape. An escape from the daily whirlwind of work, responsibilities, and the ever-present hum of the city. Wise Mama had always believed in nourishing the body, but this time, she was nourishing her soul. And what better way to do it than by embracing the arrival of spring? The season of renewal, where the earth wakes up, stretching after a long slumber, blooming in soft pastels and bright greens. It was a reminder that change could be beautiful, and that even the busiest of souls needed time to breathe.
She glanced around the compartment, already absorbed in the stories unfolding around her. Across from her sat a young couple, whispering excitedly about their honeymoon plans. A few seats away, a large family was sharing homemade theplas and chutney, the aroma instantly reminding Wise Mama of childhood train journeys when food was a communal joy.
But what truly caught her attention was the little girl on the parallel seat. Every time the train pulled into a station, the child would bounce up and down, her tiny hands pressed against the window. "Mummy, what snacks will they have here?" she would chirp, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.
Wise Mama smiled, watching as vendors stepped aboard, their voices blending into a beautiful cacophony. “Garam samose, chai chai, freshly fried pakode!” The smell of spiced chai filled the air, rich and comforting. She wrapped her fingers around her own clay cup, feeling the warmth seep into her palms as she took a sip. The train was slowly making its way through Karnataka, and the vendors carried trays of steaming idlis, vadas, and chutneys.
By the time they crossed into Maharashtra, the snackscape had changed—out went the idlis, in came crisp bhakarwadis and spicy vada pavs. Wise Mama chuckled, marveling at how food could tell the story of a place. A single train ride could take you through a culinary timeline of India. A little boy seated nearby held up a fresh guava with chili powder sprinkled over it, grinning as he took a bite, the tangy-sweet flavors making Wise Mama crave one for herself.
She leaned back, enjoying the flavors, the shifting landscapes, and the conversations that effortlessly wove strangers together. The train passed by fields where bright yellow mustard flowers swayed in the evening breeze, a sure sign that spring was truly here. The cool air smelled fresh, almost sweet, carrying hints of blooming jasmine as the train sped past rural villages waking up to the season of renewal.
As the evening settled, the sky outside turned a deep shade of indigo, speckled with stars. Wise Mama pulled a shawl over her shoulders and looked outside, the air humming with the promise of spring. There was something magical about being in transit—between destinations, between seasons, between the known and the unknown.
She took another sip of her chai and smiled to herself. She pulled out a small notebook from her bag and began jotting down the little moments, the fleeting joys of her journey—each snack, each face, each story. These were tales she would read later, cherishing the adventure long after it had ended. With each page she filled, she knew she was preserving something precious—the beauty of the small, unnoticed moments, much like spring itself.
This was just the beginning of her adventure. Tomorrow, the journey would continue—new states, new flavors, new faces. And by the time she reached Darjeeling, she would be carrying more than just her bags—she would carry stories, flavors, and the lingering warmth of a journey well traveled.
To be continued…