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WoW: Romancing the window seat

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’ It’s my Sunday tale of the prompt, ‘Life by the window seat.’

WoW: Romancing the window seat

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An artist’s muse is to find inspiration through the lenses of the eyes. A city or village is about myriad emotions and identity formed by the people. Living a dream at high-speed or altitude that flits past the aesthetic taste has always made me dream and wonder about the human identity, the ordinary mortals and often less celebrated heroes and heroines. A therapeutic affair to flit past the beauty offered by the wide gamut of human emotions.

The window seat is my favorite in a bus, train or place that makes it mandatory before doing any booking. It offers an altogether unique world to my allegory senses and stoke alive the creative writer in me which often sinks into coma wearing the cloak of a living corpse. Counting stars at night during the flight, watching the dazzling skyline or simply the people squatting under the sun from the bus or train ride makes for an amazing sight. It is the celebration of life in all its forms and spirit.

The Goa trip or road to Taj Mahal in Agra as the bus stumbles its way near small villages and rural life brings so much joy in offering the simplistic and unique hum drum of life, a rare sight that escapes our reality. An elderly granny carrying kitchen wares or flowers in a basket on her head, coconut trees giving shade to a thatched house made of mud and hut or the chaiwala watching the train or bus that flits past his stall gently reminds us that the commoner has every right to dream or nurture aspirations that he or she will someday travel. Travel gives us a rare insight on how our worlds converge, the universe represented by the middle class or the downtrodden.

Sitting by the window is not just a seat that a wanderer like me pay for but the fulfilling of dreams, longing for the beauty and essence of life, an osmosis of sort that makes emotions, not tears shed but a prized asset captured eternally. It is a love story. A story where the trees run behind your train chugging at speed or the brush of wind that caresses the faces when two twin trains flip past each other. One of my favorites is when the train enters the dark tunnel at Lonavla and it’s the moment that I leave the window seat to stand by the door, admiring everything dark that makes the heart beat faster than the wheels.

A fairy tale spun in the heavenly bliss of cows grazing on the green pastures, counting stars in the sky and watching from the high altitude the magnificent view of city life with light moving in a fleeting manner. The favorite cushion has and will always be an obsession for me for I have changed my travel dates in the past because that seat was simply booked. It gives me a sense of comfort which speaks directly to the soul. Travel, in my book, is all about this space to watch the dance of life and turning into live camera that catches people in their move. Who needs a digi cam and a smart phone when you have eyes and a window seat?

I have an eternal and ongoing love affair with the window seat. The sheer passion and intimacy with this couch shall never wane with time or attention be shifted to an alternate direction. No wonder, I loved my hostel room in Mumbai that faced Marine Drive where the rare sight of Anil Ambani tailed by his Black cats commando or the breezy air that flew made my imagination travel to cherish every single moment of life.