I feel ashame to say tht It's my 1st train journey alone as a 22 yrs old nd I missed something in train !
I didn’t even book a seat, ended up in second class.After scanning for a place to sit, I landed on a solo window seat, put on my earbuds, turned on noise cancellation, and got ready to disappear into my own little world
Just as I started settling in, An old lady, In a loud voice mixed with hand gestures nd thick village slang, said, “The sun will slap ur face there!”. she pointed to the seat next to her. I unwillingly left the window seat nd sat near her.
She asked me (still so loud wth a sign language) where I was going. I was confused, why she is acting weird like I can't hear anything, Then it hit me~ she probably thought I was deaf. My earbuds were hidden behind my hair. So to her, I looked like a quiet girl staring into the void, not hearing a thing. Huh...
She told me she was visiting her pregnant grand daughter-in-law. No one asked, but I admired the enthusiasm. In just a few minutes, she was deep into her life story, stopping only to breathe or adjust her saree. I sat there thinking, Do I know this woman before ? But it’s a very Indian thing—especially for people of her generation to start long conversations with strangers. Before smartphones, people had no choice but to talk.
Her husband, sitting at her opposite, woke up from a travel nap and looked at us like we’d just reunited after a decade. She leaned toward him and whispered (loudly murmured), “Look ! She looks just like our Thangam (name or maybe Nickname of someone)
He put on his glasses, gave me a suspicious stare and then said, “Yes she is !”
I was like, Thangam ??
He pulled out an old wallet and handed me a small pic of a girl — their late granddaughter. Honestly, the only things we had in common were skin tone nd a similar face shape. But in their eyes, it was like they were seeing someone they deeply missed.
It reminded me of my own grandpa. When I lived away from him during school, he used to call me nd say, “I saw a girl today who looked just like you!” I’d get excited and ask, “Really? Exactly like me? ” nd he’d say, “Yes ! She wore a pretty little gown, had two ponytails, and talked to her dolls like they were real.”
I’d roll my eyes and say, “Grandpa, I’m a big girl now. I don’t wear ponytails or talk to dolls anymore” And he’d laugh softly and say, “But u used to ! That's all I remember like yesterday”
I’ve realized since—it’s not about what we see that reminds us of the ones we’ve lost or loved. It’s something softer, something stitched into memory. Something in the heart convinces the eyes: there they are. In a smile, in a voice, in a stranger on a train. Our heart will search pieces of them in everyone we come across. We may sometimes look for faces we've never seen before in faces we think are beautiful♡
We find whoever we love in whatever we find beautiful
That day, the train didn’t just carry me to my destination. It carried me through a story, through nostalgia, through someone else’s memories nd somehow, back into my own.
The oldlady, she was beautiful, with her dark skin tone and a messy hair bun adorned with flowers. She wore aesthetic jewelry, but one piece in particular caught my eye ~ a sparkling ornament called "koppu" or "bugadi"
She showed up like a snack delivery service wth bags full of homemade treats and organic fruits for her granddaughter-in-law. Then, she gently (well, she thought it was gentle) hit my cheek with her folded fingers ~ a playful village gesture, smiled and said, “Eat well and get chubby! Don’t stay skinny like our Thangam”
I was still recovering from the cheek assault, it felt like my teeth almost broke. I kept wondering what she eats to have that much strength in her fingers.
Then she handed me some mangoes, some crunchy treats, homemade sweets, all with so much love (nobody can tell me tht I can't get anything from strangers from now on)
She got off the train, said 'Get home safe,' gave me a cheek pinch nd a kiss, nd took my whole heart with her
Yup Its my heart !
I didn’t even book a seat, ended up in second class.After scanning for a place to sit, I landed on a solo window seat, put on my earbuds, turned on noise cancellation, and got ready to disappear into my own little world
Just as I started settling in, An old lady, In a loud voice mixed with hand gestures nd thick village slang, said, “The sun will slap ur face there!”. she pointed to the seat next to her. I unwillingly left the window seat nd sat near her.
She asked me (still so loud wth a sign language) where I was going. I was confused, why she is acting weird like I can't hear anything, Then it hit me~ she probably thought I was deaf. My earbuds were hidden behind my hair. So to her, I looked like a quiet girl staring into the void, not hearing a thing. Huh...
She told me she was visiting her pregnant grand daughter-in-law. No one asked, but I admired the enthusiasm. In just a few minutes, she was deep into her life story, stopping only to breathe or adjust her saree. I sat there thinking, Do I know this woman before ? But it’s a very Indian thing—especially for people of her generation to start long conversations with strangers. Before smartphones, people had no choice but to talk.
Her husband, sitting at her opposite, woke up from a travel nap and looked at us like we’d just reunited after a decade. She leaned toward him and whispered (loudly murmured), “Look ! She looks just like our Thangam (name or maybe Nickname of someone)
He put on his glasses, gave me a suspicious stare and then said, “Yes she is !”
I was like, Thangam ??
He pulled out an old wallet and handed me a small pic of a girl — their late granddaughter. Honestly, the only things we had in common were skin tone nd a similar face shape. But in their eyes, it was like they were seeing someone they deeply missed.
It reminded me of my own grandpa. When I lived away from him during school, he used to call me nd say, “I saw a girl today who looked just like you!” I’d get excited and ask, “Really? Exactly like me? ” nd he’d say, “Yes ! She wore a pretty little gown, had two ponytails, and talked to her dolls like they were real.”
I’d roll my eyes and say, “Grandpa, I’m a big girl now. I don’t wear ponytails or talk to dolls anymore” And he’d laugh softly and say, “But u used to ! That's all I remember like yesterday”
I’ve realized since—it’s not about what we see that reminds us of the ones we’ve lost or loved. It’s something softer, something stitched into memory. Something in the heart convinces the eyes: there they are. In a smile, in a voice, in a stranger on a train. Our heart will search pieces of them in everyone we come across. We may sometimes look for faces we've never seen before in faces we think are beautiful♡
We find whoever we love in whatever we find beautiful
That day, the train didn’t just carry me to my destination. It carried me through a story, through nostalgia, through someone else’s memories nd somehow, back into my own.
The oldlady, she was beautiful, with her dark skin tone and a messy hair bun adorned with flowers. She wore aesthetic jewelry, but one piece in particular caught my eye ~ a sparkling ornament called "koppu" or "bugadi"
She showed up like a snack delivery service wth bags full of homemade treats and organic fruits for her granddaughter-in-law. Then, she gently (well, she thought it was gentle) hit my cheek with her folded fingers ~ a playful village gesture, smiled and said, “Eat well and get chubby! Don’t stay skinny like our Thangam”
I was still recovering from the cheek assault, it felt like my teeth almost broke. I kept wondering what she eats to have that much strength in her fingers.
Then she handed me some mangoes, some crunchy treats, homemade sweets, all with so much love (nobody can tell me tht I can't get anything from strangers from now on)
She got off the train, said 'Get home safe,' gave me a cheek pinch nd a kiss, nd took my whole heart with her
Yup Its my heart !
