Is it the gentle chugging of a steam engine or the speeding sights outside the grimy train window, or is it the myriad emotions evoked in multiple minds of the occupants, which makes a train journey nothing short of a miracle, let loose on the world by an invisible magical wand, if one were to consider it as such?

In compartment 3A, the pages in the book with the yellow colored cover fluttered in the gentle breeze while the slightly rickety, steam mammoth huffed and puffed with whitish grey smoke billowing from the centuries old chimney black with soot so thick one would need an atomic bomb to clear it, while the smoke rose softly into the evening skies. The pale evening skies darkened suddenly, blackness receding into the paleness and churning black grey clouds like a dark ice cream spread across the horizon.

The man in the brown suit turned a page of the book and continued to read, his head bent, his eyes scanning the words, with an urgency born of preempted intuition. The words jumped out at him, one word at a time, making lazy circles in the air in front of his eyes and slowly swirling into the gentle breeze, carried away towards the darkened night sky. The man peered outside, his thick eyebrows entwined, as a gentle tug indicated the onward motion of the ferrous mammoth towards its pre-determined destination. He peered at the disappearing words, as they mingled with the inky blackness, their golden tongues lashing out no longer.           

The train picked up speed like a soaring bird egged on by a supporting wind and seared through the darkness leaving a white grey tail in its wake. The man moved closer to the open window and pressed his face against the cold rain kissed iron grills, feeling the wind trying to push the creamy white skin on his hollow cheek towards his hairline. With a shudder, he realized, the wind had carried with it small droplets of water. Somewhere it had rained. He knew it. He felt it in his bones. He knew all about rains. He knew all about trains also. More than an inborn instinct, his beloved book had told him whatever he needed to know. He knew by the time the train reached its next destination, he would have consumed half of the contents of the book. In the apt sense of the word.   

Another page turned and the words hovered around the man’s head, slowly getting disintegrated in the warm and salty air filled in the populated compartment. All round him, people spoke in hushed tones, so softly that their voices made soft halos around their heads, touching one another when the owners were mentally close and at a considerable distance when the owners were just being friendly like how people often get friendly while sharing the cheap leather seats on a train. Sharing a common space often decimates the feeling of propriety over a few square inches of space and witnesses the demolition of personal space and inter merging of several space circles.   

The man swayed gently when the train took a turn over a river bend and the wind carried some harder water droplets that hit the man in his eyes forcing him to close and open them in quick succession in order to continue watching the lights glide by without losing their flow as the train picked up speed. The book’s pages fluttered wildly drawing the attention of the man to itself. He gently prised the pages apart, cooing mentally, softly caressing the words glowing, hovering over each page, running a long slender finger over the edges, emanating a gentle swishing sound with each turn.  As the man held the book in his hands, in a forty five degree angle, equal portions of the pages fell on both sides, the pages rustling, rearranging themselves, in a hurry, softly rustling repeatedly, the words gently moving across in order to share a secret meaning for the beholder, in that mildly lit compartment. The fan in the compartment whirred with a loud noise, the blades grating against the cover holding it up, on the compartment wall. The train came to a halt, at its next destination, letting out steam, like a tired parent at the end of a long arduous day. One by one, the people in the compartment alighted leaving the man with the book, alone.

The book glowed. A page turned from the right to the left, folding nicely over the other side, an image of a flower with pink petals and pale green leaves appeared, slowly getting darker as the light from the passing train fell on the pages. 

As the train chugged out, a young boy, of about thirteen years of age, got into the compartment and sat next to the man. The man looked up, distracted by the sudden stillness in the compartment preceded by the arrival of the new occupants. An old couple and a young woman wearing spectacles got in next and occupied the seats opposite to the man. The man looked keenly, observing, taking in the woman's shapely eyebrows and the curvaceous mouth that tilted slightly upwards. He allowed the pages to flutter, while his eyes took in the colour of her eyes behind her spectacles.   

The book closed abruptly. Thud! Startled, the man looked down. Abruptly, as before, the book opened up to page number 100. The words from the top left corner glowed. Fingers shivering slightly, the man ran them over the words making the words levitate and come up in a whirlpool over the book. With a swoosh sound, they floated out and softly hovered around the young woman, entering her lowered eyes making her eyes light up. Surprised, she blinked twice, softly first then blinked thrice, hardly closing her eyelids, bringing tears to her eyelashes. The man looked up and locked eyes with the woman, and handed over the book to her. She gently reached out and took the book from the man. An orange glow enveloped the edges of the book and fell in soft waves around them. Without moving her lips, the woman expressed her pleasure at being the chosen one. The man smiled and a soft light enveloped him, and he began to dissolve, getting pulled into the warm breeze, inch by inch.

The young thirteen-year-old boy leaned over and tried to take a look at the title of the book, making the young woman grin broadly.

‘What is the name of the book?’ He asked. 

‘The Boy Who Loved Trains’, said the young woman. A beatific smile lit up the boy’s face.

The book glowed.