I commuted to college in the local trains of Mumbai, back when they were not closed and air-conditioned. A window seat was a morning prize; standing at the door in the evening, the wind rushing against your face felt like a release.
Road traffic drifted below, and the rectangular windows in buildings became silent openings into residents’ lives. Each frame hinted at a story. Some I overheard in passenger conversations—mercifully free of mobile chatter—others I invented, stitching fragments into imagined lives.
A cheerful face waiting at the sill, a child’s hand waving wildly, or a shadowed scowl—all spoke of dramas unfolding in alleys I never entered. People working late at night were rare (no international hours). If someone was still around in office, it indicated a problem.
faces in windows
strangers become companions
for a fleeting ride
Creative Experiments and More 
a fabulous haibun Reena you recreate the atmosphere perfectly 🩷
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Thank you so much, Ange!
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🩷
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😀
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A window seat is always an added attraction on a journey.
‘ Some I overheard in passenger conversations—mercifully free of mobile chatter—others I invented, stitching fragments into imagined lives.’
It indeed gave a lot to your creative mind, I think, Reena.
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Undoubtedly, it did.
On a trip to Nainital in my schooldays, I heard a story about a sugar factory loan turning NPA because of the wrong machine being imported. I knew nothing about banking, nor had any intention of working in banks. But that is a case study I give my trainees even today about decision-making. Stories stay.
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A lovely Haibun, recalling those bygone days Reena. How different our world used to be then. Thanks for joining in.
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Thank you, Sadje!
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You’re most welcome
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“others I invented, stitching fragments into imagined lives.” Extra credit imagination.
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Thank you, Melissa! 😀 There is no way of knowing the real stories from a train view.
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Imagined people in windows, sounds like fun for an author.
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Yes, it is. 🙂
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