Reach Pathankot and stuff myself with reshmi kabab and parathas. (When in Rome... but I have seriously started losing my fondness for the deep-fried sizzly stuff.)
As usual, tickets are not confirmed. Another round of TT-juggling, forcibly occupying berths wherever we can get them and collapsing. Last conscious input is of a portly gent plaintively asking,
"How can to people be given the same berth?"
He trots off to find the TC and I drift off into unconsciousness, let the next incident happen when it does. And so the story continues...
He trots off to find the TC and I drift off into unconsciousness, let the next incident happen when it does. And so the story continues...
Sitting here, watching the landscape skim past, I'm wondering... is this something I can do for the rest of my life? I know I'm not going to be stuck to an 8 am - 9 pm office job with a cell permanently glued to my ear. I don't want a fixed address.
Sitting here is freedom. Sitting here is an escape.
Sitting here is life, waiting for the next station, waiting for the next adventure.
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