7 October 2026 — The Stories I Find on the Way
Every Journey Has a Story
Today begins another new day.
At first glance, it may seem like an ordinary day, just like the many days that have passed before it. The time I wake up remains almost the same. The railway station is familiar, the trains are familiar, and the journey from Nagaon towards Guwahati has slowly become a part of my everyday life.
I have travelled this route so many times that many of its scenes no longer surprise me. I know the early-morning darkness, the familiar railway platforms, the movement of passengers, and the feeling of waiting for a train that will take me towards my university. I know how the journey begins and how it usually ends.
Yet, despite all these familiar things, I never feel that I am simply repeating the same day.
Every morning carries the possibility of something new.
The train may be the same, but the people travelling in it are different. The railway station may be familiar, but the crowd changes. The weather may be similar to yesterday's, but it creates a different atmosphere. Even when nothing unusual happens, I find myself noticing something that I might not have noticed before.
That is what makes me excited about my everyday journey.
Whenever I wake up in the morning, one thought often comes into my mind:
What new story will I discover today?
It is a simple question, but it has gradually changed the way I look at travelling. Earlier, I might have thought of a journey mainly in terms of distance, time, and destination. I had to reach Guwahati, attend my classes, and return home. The train was a means of transportation, something necessary for completing my daily routine.
But now, my journey means much more to me.
I no longer see the hours spent travelling as empty hours between home and university. Instead, I see them as an opportunity to observe life as it unfolds around me.
I have begun to understand that even an ordinary day can contain something worth remembering. Sometimes, the smallest moments leave the deepest impressions. A stranger's expression, a conversation between two passengers, a person searching desperately for a seat, or someone quietly looking through the window can make me curious about the life that person is living.
I often wonder what brings people together inside the same train compartment. They may have come from different villages, towns, and cities. They may speak different languages, follow different routines, and carry different responsibilities. One person may be going to work, another to college, another to meet a relative, and someone else may simply be returning home after completing an important task.
For a few hours, however, their separate lives become part of the same journey.
They sit beside one another. They stand together in crowded compartments. They exchange a few words, share a little space, and sometimes help one another without knowing anything about each other's lives.
Occasionally, complete strangers begin talking as if they have known one another for years. A conversation that starts with a simple question can develop into a discussion about work, family, education, money, or the difficulties of everyday life.
I find these moments fascinating.
I like observing people's faces, their expressions, and their behaviour. I am interested in the stories that might exist behind their ordinary appearances. I know that I cannot understand a person's entire life simply by looking at them, but I enjoy wondering about the experiences they may have had and the destinations towards which they are travelling.
Every face belongs to someone with a life of their own.
Every person has something they are trying to achieve, something they are worried about, something they remember, or something they are looking forward to. Most of these things remain hidden from the people sitting around them.
And yet, for a brief moment, our lives cross paths.
Perhaps we will never meet again. Perhaps we will forget one another as soon as we leave the train. But that does not make the meeting meaningless. Sometimes, even a brief encounter can leave behind a thought that stays with us long after the journey has ended.
This is what I have come to love about travelling by train.
The train does not merely carry people from one destination to another. It carries countless stories, most of which remain unknown to the world.
And I have slowly developed a habit of looking for those stories.
On 7 October 2026, I began another journey with that same curiosity. I did not know what the day would bring. I only knew that I had to reach my university, and that somewhere along the way, there might be something worth remembering.
The Morning That Began in Darkness
My alarm rang at 4:00 AM.
It was still dark outside. The world around me seemed quiet, as though the day had not yet decided to begin. At that hour, many people were probably still sleeping peacefully, unaware of the early-morning activities already beginning elsewhere.
For me, however, the day had started.
Waking up at four in the morning has gradually become a familiar part of my routine. It is not always easy. There are mornings when the warmth of the bed makes it difficult to get up, especially when the air feels colder than usual. The mind sometimes tries to find reasons to remain where it is, asking for just a few more minutes of rest.
That morning was no different.
For a brief moment, I did not feel like leaving my bed. I wanted to remain there a little longer, enjoying the quietness before the responsibilities of the day began. But I knew that if I allowed myself too much time, the rest of my schedule would be affected.
My university was waiting, and the train would not wait for me simply because I wanted to sleep a little longer.
Eventually, I got up.
As I looked outside, I noticed a little fog beginning to settle over the surroundings. The atmosphere appeared different from what I was accustomed to seeing on an ordinary morning.
Everything seemed quieter.
The darkness had not completely disappeared, and the fog gave the surroundings a soft, mysterious appearance. It felt as though the world was slowly hiding itself behind a thin curtain, waiting for the sun to arrive and reveal everything again.
The morning air felt colder than usual. There was something about the atmosphere that made me pause for a moment and observe it rather than immediately continuing with my routine.
I have often noticed how differently the same place can appear under different conditions. A road that looks ordinary during the afternoon can feel completely different in the early morning. Familiar surroundings can seem mysterious when covered by fog. Even the journey to the railway station can acquire a different feeling depending on the weather and the time of day.
Perhaps this is another reason I enjoy travelling.
The journey does not begin only when I board the train. It begins from the moment I wake up, look outside, prepare myself for the day, and step into the world beyond my home.
Every small detail becomes part of the experience.
After getting ready, I left for Haibargaon Railway Station to catch my usual train, the Mairabari–Guwahati Passenger (55604).
I was familiar with this early-morning routine, but familiarity did not remove the sense of anticipation I felt. I was heading towards Guwahati once again, carrying the same responsibilities and expectations that accompanied my previous journeys.
Still, I could not help wondering what I would encounter that day.
Would the train be crowded? Would I find a seat? Would I meet someone interesting? Would I notice something that would give me a new perspective on people or life?
I had no answers.
All I could do was continue my journey and remain observant.
An Unusually Crowded Railway Station
When I reached Haibargaon Railway Station, I immediately noticed that something was different.
There were far more people than I usually saw there at that time of the morning.
The station, which had become a familiar part of my everyday life, seemed unusually busy. More people meant more movement, more activity, and more uncertainty about what the journey ahead would be like.
At first, I wondered what could have caused the crowd.
Then I remembered that 6 October had been voting day.
That thought made me curious. I began wondering whether many of the people at the station had travelled from different places to cast their votes and were now returning to their usual destinations.
Perhaps some had come home to fulfil their responsibility as voters. Perhaps others were returning to their workplaces, colleges, or families after spending time away. I could not know their reasons simply by looking at them, but the possibility made the crowd more interesting to me.
A railway station is a place where the private lives of countless people briefly become visible to one another.
People arrive carrying bags, searching for information, checking their phones, speaking to companions, or looking towards the tracks in anticipation of their trains. Some seem relaxed, while others appear worried about time. Some travel alone, while others remain close to family members or friends.
Everyone has a reason for being there.
And although their reasons may be different, they share a common concern: they need to get somewhere.
That morning, I was one of them.
I had my own destination and my own responsibilities. I needed to reach Guwahati in time for my classes. The crowd around me might have been travelling for entirely different reasons, but for that moment, we were all part of the same railway station and waiting for our respective journeys to continue.
I found myself thinking about how much life unfolds in places like this.
A station is not simply a place where trains stop. It is a place where journeys begin, journeys end, and different paths cross. People arrive from one place and leave for another. Some are meeting someone, while others are saying goodbye. Some may be excited about what lies ahead, while others may be tired and eager to return home.
There are thousands of possible stories in a single crowd.
Most of them will never be known to me.
But I enjoy the thought that each person I see has a life beyond the few minutes during which our paths cross.
Soon, my attention returned to the train I was waiting for.
I knew that the crowd might make the journey difficult, but I still hoped that I would somehow find a little space inside the compartment.
When the Mairabari–Guwahati Passenger finally arrived, I understood that the difficulty was going to be greater than I had expected.
The Search for a Little Space
As the train arrived and passengers began boarding, the crowd became even more noticeable.
I stepped into the train and looked around, hoping to find an empty seat or at least a small space where I could stand comfortably.
But there was nothing.
Every seat appeared to be occupied. The compartments were filled with passengers, and even the spaces where people usually stood were crowded.
For a moment, I tried to work out where I could go.
Perhaps another part of the compartment would have a little room. Perhaps someone would get down at the next station. Perhaps I could find a place to stand without disturbing anyone.
I moved from one part of the train to another, looking for any available space.
A seat?
Nothing.
A little room to stand?
Nothing.
Another compartment?
Still crowded.
The situation was almost amusing in its simplicity. I had boarded the train with the ordinary expectation that I would find somewhere to sit or stand, but that small expectation had become a challenge in itself.
I kept looking around, trying to find a place where I could settle down for the journey.
But the train was simply too crowded.
Eventually, the train started moving towards Chaparmukh Junction.
As the familiar movement of the train began, I accepted the situation. There was little point in continuing to search endlessly for a comfortable place when the entire compartment was full.
Today was going to be one of those journeys.
I would have to adjust.
That is one of the things travelling teaches us, although we may not always notice the lesson while it is happening.
We make plans according to our expectations. We imagine how a journey will proceed, how much time it will take, and what conditions we will encounter. But reality does not always follow the plan.
Sometimes the train is late. Sometimes there are no seats. Sometimes the weather creates difficulties. Sometimes a small change in circumstances forces us to reconsider everything.
In those moments, we have a choice.
We can spend the entire journey becoming frustrated because things are not happening as we expected, or we can accept the situation and try to make the best of it.
Of course, accepting discomfort does not mean that discomfort suddenly disappears. Standing in a crowded train is not the same as sitting comfortably beside a window. It can be tiring, inconvenient, and frustrating.
But I am learning that not every difficult experience has to ruin the day.
Sometimes, the best thing we can do is accept what we cannot immediately change and continue moving forward.
As the train travelled towards Chaparmukh Junction, I remained part of the crowd. Around me were people who had also boarded the train with their own plans, expectations, and destinations.
I did not know their stories, but I could see that we were all adjusting to the same circumstances in our own ways.
Perhaps some were accustomed to this crowd. Perhaps others were experiencing the same difficulty as I was. Whatever their situations, the train continued carrying all of us towards our destinations.
The journey was uncomfortable, but it was still a journey.
And I had learned long ago that an uncomfortable journey could still become a memorable story.
Chaparmukh Junction: Another Part of the Journey
When the train reached Chaparmukh Junction, I got down.
For me, Chaparmukh was not merely another railway station. It had become an important part of my travel routine because it offered an opportunity to continue my journey towards Guwahati by another train.
My destination remained the same, but the journey could change depending on the trains available, their timings, and the conditions of the day.
After getting down, I waited for the Kamrup Express (15960).
I was familiar with this train, and I usually enjoyed travelling on it. Compared with the passenger train, the Kamrup Express was faster and had fewer stoppages. It often allowed me to cover the distance to Guwahati more quickly.
Whenever I managed to board it, I felt that a considerable part of the journey had become easier.
That was why I had a certain expectation when I waited for it that morning.
The crowded passenger train had already made the first part of my journey uncomfortable. I hoped that the Kamrup Express would offer a little relief.
After some time, the train arrived.
I boarded it and began the next part of my journey towards Guwahati.
For a moment, I thought the situation might improve. I had changed trains, and I was now travelling on the express that I usually preferred.
But the day had another experience waiting for me.
The Kamrup Express was packed as well.
When the Expected Comfort Never Arrives
Normally, I associate the Kamrup Express with speed and convenience. Its fewer stoppages make it an attractive option when I need to reach Guwahati within a reasonable time.
But on this particular morning, the train was far more crowded than I had expected.
There were so many people that I had to stand almost all the way to Guwahati.
The comfort I had hoped for did not arrive.
After already experiencing the crowded passenger train, I now found myself standing in another packed compartment. It was not the kind of journey I would have chosen if I had been given the option.
I had expected the change of trains to make things easier. Instead, the crowd followed me into the next part of my journey.
There is a particular feeling that comes when an ordinary expectation fails to match reality. It is not necessarily a major disappointment, but it reminds us how little control we sometimes have over the details of everyday life.
I had selected the Kamrup Express because I usually found it convenient. I knew its route, understood its advantages, and had travelled on it before. Yet none of that guaranteed that the journey would be comfortable on that particular day.
A train can be fast and still be crowded.
A journey can be familiar and still be difficult.
A plan can be sensible and still fail to produce the result we hoped for.
As I stood in the compartment, I began thinking about how often the same thing happens outside railway journeys.
We sometimes believe that experience will protect us from every difficulty. If something has worked well in the past, we expect it to work well again. If we make a careful plan, we hope the day will proceed according to it.
But life is rarely so predictable.
We may prepare for something and still encounter an unexpected problem. We may choose what seems to be the best option and discover that it is not as comfortable as we imagined. We may follow the same routine for months and suddenly find ourselves dealing with circumstances we have never faced before.
The challenge is not always to avoid these situations.
Sometimes, it is to learn how to respond when they arrive.
I would have preferred a comfortable seat that morning. I would have preferred to enjoy the journey rather than stand through most of it. There was no reason to pretend otherwise.
But even while the journey was uncomfortable, I could still observe what was happening around me.
People were talking. Some were looking for seats. Others were moving carefully through the crowded compartment. Passengers were getting on and off at different stations. Someone might be carrying a large bag, while someone else was trying to make room for another passenger.
The compartment was filled with movement, voices, and the small difficulties of travelling together.
Everyone was trying to complete their own journey within the same limited space.
I began to think that this was one of the reasons I enjoyed trains so much. Even when I had nothing particular to do, there was always something to notice.
A train compartment is a small world in motion.
For a few hours, people with different backgrounds, responsibilities, and expectations occupy the same space. They may never learn each other's names, yet they share the same delays, the same crowd, the same stops, and the same movement towards a destination.
They are separate individuals, but for that brief period, their experiences overlap.
I had boarded the Kamrup Express hoping for comfort, but the train offered me another opportunity to observe life.
Perhaps that was enough to make the journey worthwhile.
After all, I had never begun this habit of observing people because every journey was comfortable. I had begun because people themselves interested me. Their behaviour, their conversations, and the situations they encountered made me curious.
And that curiosity did not disappear simply because I had to stand.
Eventually, the train continued towards Guwahati, carrying the crowded compartment and all its passengers with it.
Guwahati: Reaching My Destination
The Kamrup Express reached Guwahati at around 9:00 AM, a few minutes later than scheduled.
After spending much of the journey standing, getting down from the train felt like reaching the end of a difficult chapter. The crowd, the lack of space, and the discomfort of the journey were now behind me.
I had finally reached Guwahati.
But reaching the railway station did not mean that my day was over. My university was still waiting, and I had classes to attend.
I got down and started walking towards the university.
The familiar purpose of my journey returned to the front of my mind. Whatever experiences I collected along the way, my education remained an important reason for travelling to Guwahati. I was pursuing my studies, and every day I made this journey to fulfil that responsibility.
Sometimes, the routine could feel tiring. Waking up at four in the morning, travelling between towns, changing trains, dealing with crowds, and attending classes required time and patience.
Yet the journey had become more than a responsibility.
It was also teaching me to observe.
I was learning that education does not take place only inside a classroom. A classroom provides knowledge through lessons, discussions, and the guidance of teachers. But the world outside the classroom offers other kinds of learning.
A railway station can teach patience.
A crowded compartment can teach adjustment.
A missed connection can teach flexibility.
A conversation with a stranger can introduce a different perspective.
And a long journey can give us enough quiet time to reflect on our own thoughts.
These lessons do not come with certificates or marks. They are often small and easy to overlook. But over time, they can influence the way we understand the world around us.
That morning, I had already experienced the discomfort of two crowded trains before reaching my university. I had encountered circumstances different from what I had expected, and I had adjusted to them.
Now it was time to focus on my classes.
That day, we had only two classes, and they finished at around 12:00 PM.
Compared with the long hours I had spent travelling, the classes seemed to pass quickly. Before long, I found myself thinking about the next part of my day.
The journey home.
The Calculation That Changed My Return Journey
Whenever my classes finish, I begin thinking about how I will return home.
The return journey is an important part of my daily routine because it determines when I will finally reach home and how much time I will spend travelling.
On some days, I return by train without giving the matter much thought. On other days, I consider the available options and try to decide which one will be more convenient.
That afternoon, I began doing a little calculation in my mind.
If I waited for the train, I would probably reach home at around 8:30 PM.
The thought made me reconsider my plan.
I had already started the day at four in the morning. I had travelled through a foggy morning, dealt with an unusually crowded railway station, and stood for much of the journey to Guwahati. After attending my classes, I did not particularly want to spend several more hours travelling before reaching home.
I wanted to return earlier if possible.
So I considered another option.
The bus.
I usually preferred the ASTC bus travelling from Guwahati towards Nagaon because it was convenient for me. I often took the bus around 1:00 PM, and I was familiar with this alternative to the railway journey.
After thinking about the time, I decided that I would return by bus that day.
It was a small decision, but it changed the nature of the second half of my journey.
In the morning, I had travelled by train because that was my usual way of reaching Guwahati. In the afternoon, I chose the bus because I wanted to get home earlier.
The destination remained the same, but the experience of travelling would be different.
I bought my bus ticket and went to catch the bus.
As I made this change in my plan, I realized that daily routines do not always have to be followed in exactly the same way. A routine can provide structure, but there should also be room for practical decisions when circumstances change.
I enjoy train journeys, but that does not mean I must always choose a train regardless of the situation. Sometimes, convenience matters more. Sometimes, saving time matters more. Sometimes, the best decision is simply the one that allows me to complete my responsibilities without making the day more difficult than necessary.
Choosing the bus did not mean that I had lost my interest in trains.
It simply meant that, on this particular day, I had another reason to travel differently.
Seat No. 17: A Different Kind of Journey
I boarded the ASTC Bharat Benz A/C Seater (2+2) bus and found my seat, Seat No. 17.
After the crowded trains, settling into my seat felt like a welcome change. I no longer had to search for a little space in which to stand. I could sit down and allow the journey to continue without the same physical discomfort I had experienced earlier.
The bus began moving towards Nagaon.
I looked at the journey differently now.
In the morning, I had been surrounded by the movement and uncertainty of crowded railway compartments. I had changed trains at Chaparmukh Junction and travelled standing in the Kamrup Express. Every part of the journey had required some adjustment.
Now I was seated on a bus, returning home by a different route of transportation.
There were other passengers around me. Each person had their own destination and their own reasons for travelling. Some might have been returning from work, while others could have been travelling for personal reasons. I did not know their individual stories, but I knew that every passenger had a life beyond the seat they occupied.
The bus was not empty or without activity. People were present, and the journey continued around me.
Yet I felt that the atmosphere was different from the atmosphere of a train.
I have often noticed that I do not experience bus journeys in quite the same way as train journeys. Although both carry people towards their destinations, the feeling they create in me is different.
On a train, I find myself paying attention to the compartment, the movement of passengers between seats, the changing crowd at different stations, and the unexpected conversations that sometimes begin between strangers.
There is something about railway travel that makes me especially curious.
Perhaps it is the longer journey. Perhaps it is the different kinds of passengers who share the compartments. Perhaps it is the railway stations, where people arrive and depart in a constant flow. Or perhaps it is the simple fact that I have become attached to travelling by train through my everyday experiences.
I cannot say that one reason explains everything.
Maybe my interest has developed gradually, through all the journeys I have taken and all the small things I have noticed along the way.
When I first began travelling regularly, the most important question was how to reach my destination. I had to consider the train timings, the available routes, and the time required to reach Guwahati.
Over time, however, I began noticing the people around me.
I became curious about the conversations I heard and the different ways people behaved in the same situations. I started paying attention to the small incidents that might have seemed ordinary to someone else but remained in my memory.
Eventually, the journey itself became interesting to me.
I began looking forward not only to reaching Guwahati but also to discovering what might happen between the beginning and the end of the journey.
The bus ride reminded me of that difference.
I was still travelling among people. I was still sharing the journey with strangers. Yet I did not feel the same sense of curiosity that I usually experienced on the train.
Perhaps that difference existed partly because I had grown familiar with railway travel. Perhaps I had developed a habit of watching the train compartment more closely than I watched other places.
Whatever the reason, I knew that my connection with train journeys had become something personal.
It was no longer only about speed, distance, or convenience.
It was about the experiences I associated with them.
Why I Keep Returning to the Train
As the bus continued towards Nagaon, I found myself thinking about the difference between travelling by train and travelling by bus.
Both serve a purpose. Both allow people to reach places they need to go. Both bring together strangers who may never have met otherwise.
And yet, for me, they create different experiences.
When I travel by bus, I often think mainly about reaching my destination. I settle into my seat, watch the journey unfold, and wait until the bus arrives.
When I travel by train, my attention seems to move in many directions.
I notice the people standing near the doors, the passengers looking for seats, the conversations taking place across the compartment, and the changing atmosphere as more people board or get down. I find myself wondering about the reasons behind their journeys and the lives they return to when they leave the train.
The railway journey gives my mind more than a route to follow.
It gives me things to notice and questions to consider.
Why is that person travelling today?
What might that passenger be thinking about?
Where is that family going?
What kind of day are the people around me having?
Of course, I cannot know the answers to most of these questions. I do not want to pretend that I can understand strangers simply by watching them. Their lives are their own, and much of what matters to them remains beyond my knowledge.
But the questions themselves make the journey meaningful.
They remind me that the world is much larger than my own experiences.
I have my own responsibilities, concerns, ambitions, and expectations. The people around me have theirs. For a brief period, our lives occupy the same space, even though our paths may soon separate.
There is something quietly fascinating about that.
A person sitting beside me may be thinking about an examination, a job, a family problem, or an important decision. Another may be excited about reaching home. Someone else may be tired and simply wishing for the journey to end.
I may never discover any of these things.
Still, the possibility that such different lives exist around me gives the journey a special meaning.
The train reminds me that every person has a story, even when that story is not visible.
And perhaps the more closely I observe the world, the more I realize how little I know about the lives of others.
This realization does not make me less curious. It makes me more interested in paying attention.
I do not need every journey to contain a dramatic incident. I do not need every stranger to tell me their life story. Sometimes, observing an ordinary situation is enough to remind me that life is unfolding everywhere, often in ways we never notice.
That is what I value about travelling by train.
The stories are not always told aloud.
Sometimes, they are simply present in the atmosphere, in the behaviour of the passengers, and in the circumstances everyone shares.
The Journey Home
The bus continued towards Nagaon, gradually bringing my day closer to its end.
When I thought about the hours that had passed since I woke up, I realized how much the day had contained, even though nothing extraordinary had happened.
I had begun the morning in darkness, with the alarm ringing at four. I had noticed the fog settling over the surroundings and left for Haibargaon Railway Station. I had arrived at a station that was unusually crowded, perhaps because people were returning after voting day.
I had boarded the Mairabari–Guwahati Passenger and struggled to find a comfortable place in the packed compartment. At Chaparmukh Junction, I had changed trains, hoping that the Kamrup Express would make the journey easier.
Instead, I had found myself standing in another crowded train.
Eventually, I reached Guwahati at around nine in the morning and walked towards my university. I attended my two classes, which finished at approximately noon.
Then I made a decision that changed my return journey.
Rather than wait for a train that would probably take me home around 8:30 PM, I chose to return by bus. I found my seat, number 17, and began the journey towards Nagaon.
The bus eventually reached its destination at around 4:00 PM.
My journey for the day had come to an end.
When I looked back at the day, I could not point to a single extraordinary event that had made it memorable. There had been no great adventure, no dramatic encounter, and no unexpected incident that completely changed the course of my day.
It had been an ordinary day of travelling and attending classes.
But I had enjoyed it.
And that feeling made me think about how differently I had begun to understand my everyday life.
In the past, an ordinary day might have seemed like something to complete before moving on to the next one. Wake up, travel, attend classes, return home, and prepare for the following morning.
The routine could easily become repetitive.
But when I started paying attention to the details, the days no longer felt exactly alike.
The same route could produce a different experience. The same station could look different under different weather conditions. The same train could be comfortable one day and crowded the next. A familiar journey could remind me of something new about people, patience, or the way I looked at the world.
I began to understand that a day does not have to be extraordinary to be worth remembering.
Sometimes, the value of an experience lies in the way we observe it.
What the Journey Taught Me
As I reflected on the day, one thought became clearer to me.
I had not enjoyed every part of the journey. The crowded compartments had been uncomfortable, and standing for so long had not been what I wanted. I had hoped for an easier journey on the Kamrup Express, but my expectation had not been fulfilled.
Yet the discomfort had not made the entire day meaningless.
I had adjusted to the circumstances, completed my journey to Guwahati, attended my classes, and made a practical decision about returning home.
There was a lesson in that experience.
Life does not always become easier simply because we know what to expect. We may follow a familiar path and still encounter difficulties. We may make a sensible choice and discover that the result is different from what we imagined.
But a difficult moment does not have to define the entire day.
We can acknowledge that something is uncomfortable without allowing it to take away our ability to appreciate everything else around us.
That morning, I could have spent the entire journey thinking about the lack of seats and the discomfort of standing. Those things were real, and I had every reason to wish that the journey had been easier.
But I could also notice the people around me, think about the different lives sharing the same compartment, and reflect on how much I had come to value these ordinary experiences.
Both things could be true.
The journey could be uncomfortable, and it could still be meaningful.
Perhaps that is one of the lessons I am slowly learning through my everyday travels: life is rarely made up of only pleasant or unpleasant experiences. Often, both exist within the same day.
We may feel tired and curious at the same time. We may be disappointed by one part of a journey and grateful that another part has gone well. We may wish that circumstances were different while still finding something worthwhile in the situation we have been given.
Learning to recognize these different feelings makes our experiences richer.
It also reminds me that I do not have to wait for something remarkable to happen before I begin paying attention to life.
Life is already happening around me.
It is present in the early-morning darkness, the fog over familiar surroundings, the crowd waiting for a train, and the passengers trying to find a little space for themselves. It is present in the decisions we make when our plans change and in the thoughts that come to us while travelling from one place to another.
The challenge is to notice it.
Tomorrow, Another Story
By the time I reached home at around 4:00 PM, the journey that had begun before sunrise was over.
I had travelled through the morning darkness and fog. I had experienced the unusual crowd at Haibargaon Railway Station. I had searched for space in the Mairabari–Guwahati Passenger, changed trains at Chaparmukh Junction, and stood through much of the Kamrup Express journey.
I had reached Guwahati, attended my classes, and chosen a bus instead of a train for my return.
Every part of the day had become another piece of my everyday experience.
And as the day came to an end, I found myself thinking about the next morning.
The alarm would ring again. I would wake up early, prepare for the journey, and make my way towards the railway station. The same familiar route would be waiting for me, and there was a good chance that I would board a train I had taken many times before.
From the outside, the next day might look almost identical to this one.
But I knew that I would not experience it in exactly the same way.
The people would be different. The atmosphere might change. The crowd might be smaller or larger. The train might arrive on time, or something unexpected might happen. Perhaps I would hear an interesting conversation. Perhaps I would observe a small act of kindness. Perhaps nothing unusual would happen at all.
I could not predict the next story.
And that was precisely what made me look forward to it.
I had gradually developed an attachment to the railway journey because it offered me something beyond transportation. It gave me a reason to observe the world, a place to think, and an opportunity to discover how much could be found within ordinary moments.
When I travel by bus, I usually think about reaching my destination.
But when I travel by train, I feel as though I am travelling through stories.
The train gives me faces to observe, conversations to wonder about, unexpected situations to experience, and questions that remain with me long after the journey has ended.
Sometimes, it gives me lessons about patience and adjustment. Sometimes, it reminds me that every stranger has a life I know very little about. And sometimes, it simply allows me to appreciate the fact that so many different lives can cross paths for a few hours.
I do not know how many of these stories I will remember in the years to come.
Perhaps some will fade from my memory. Others may remain because of a particular moment, a thought, or a feeling that I cannot fully explain.
But I want to keep observing.
I want to keep noticing the small details that make each journey different. I want to continue learning from the people and situations I encounter. Most of all, I want to preserve these everyday experiences before they disappear into the ordinary passage of time.
Because one day, when I look back at this period of my life, I may realize that these were not merely journeys between Nagaon and Guwahati.
They were also journeys through my own thoughts.
With every early morning, every crowded compartment, every changing plan, and every familiar railway station, I was gradually learning to see the world a little differently.
I was learning that a destination is important, but the path towards it can teach us just as much.
I was learning that ordinary people can make ordinary journeys meaningful without even realizing it.
And I was learning that the stories we discover along the way are sometimes the very things that make us look forward to travelling again.
Tomorrow, the same alarm will ring.
The station will be waiting.
The train may arrive as usual.
But somewhere between Nagaon and Guwahati, another story will be waiting to unfold.
And I will be there to discover it.
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