Train House. That's all we did last weekend.
A real train compartment transformed into a house that accommodated the 4 of us. A dream come true, especially for the boys who would do anything to get closer to a train.
It was a 2.5 hours drive from Sydney before we could board the train. Sitha thought it was awkward. “A long journey to get to the start of a train journey!”. To the Wayanadan in me, this was nothing new. It would have been awkward for me if the trains or beaches were any nearer.
Saturday at 1500 hours, we were inside the compartment. All normal.
We got out the next day at 1100 hours. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.
Just like sleepers on a train track so far everything fitted in nicely to the itinerary of a train journey.
Everything except DUNGOG.
Dungog, the sleepy little town, was the place where we boarded the train.
We stepped out of our train experience twenty hours later.
Dungog. We were still there.
I would be lying if I said everything was the same.
Earth did revolve. Things were different.
The numerous Australian native bird families, including colourful Lorikeets and Cucktaoos that sounded a little tired in welcoming us the evening before, sounded fresh and louder when we got out in the misty morning.
The rabbits - we counted 4 when we arrived - had extra springs in their hops.
I am proud that I said hop. It was only twenty hours ago that the dad in me got excited while commentating on the action to the boys, "Look at the rabbits running around. Wow."
Sivaram, in his usual calm way, said, "Acha, I don't think rabbits run. They hop."
"Oh yes. My bad. They definitely do hope."
This time it was the turn of the more direct and unforgivable Mr Madhav "Hey Acha, you are wrong. Say hop with a 'ɒ'. Not with the 'əʊ'."
"തുള്ളിച്ചാടി ഓടുന്ന മുയൽ. എത്ര മനോഹരം." I said to myself while nodding to the little Australian phoneme master.
Back to the original point.
Dungog. The start and end points of our train experience remained the same.
In fact, it was just the name of the place that stayed the same.
“Tuk. Turrrk. Tuk.Tuk.” An unusual clicking noise interrupted not just my morning stroll but also the flow of my thinking.
It was the beak clicking of a rainbow lorikeet from a tree to the right of my walking track. On second look I realised there was not one a full one and a half of them. A newly born chick extended its little spiky head out to feel the world from under its mother’s wings. I got the message and walked on. Beak clicking is the bird’s way of saying stay away from my personal space. It’s not me but the bird book that I was reading with Sivaram the night before that helped me decipher the mother lorikeet’s message.
The young rainbow lorikeet family gave me a sharp reminder. Life did move on around us.
We had our own life-or-death crisis while inside the compartment.
"Where is the toothbrush? It was you who was supposed to pack it. I told you…"
The dentists in the readership may stare at this. "Our fingers worked overtime doing dental cleaning before bedtime and in the morning, that too with no toothpaste."
An oops moment, a blame game followed by an ingenious solution.
Yes. Life did happen. Within us too.
Hold on.
But Dungog.
I didn't progress from where I started.
"I"
Why is it always all about the "I" getting ahead in the so-called rat race?
"Tell me of those who live in wisdom, ever aware of the Self, O Krishna;" Arjuna's question from Bhagavad Gita now sounds like a refined version of the ignorance that is me.
"It is in dying [to self] that we are born to eternal life." The last line from the prayer of St. Francis of Assissi. Maybe this is the line that can guide me. I long for the line to stay with me - from start to finish.
Dungog is where I started.
Dungog is where I finished.
It’s clear. The “I” train has to come off the track.
It is not about the 'I'.
It's Dungog that matters.
It’s the ‘I’less world that matters.
A train house holiday.
Or a life lesson in 20 hours.
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