(This is a short, practical exercise. An exercise with words. An exercise of observations.)

The scene at a railway platform:
For half a decade now, you have found yourself tethered to the iron arteries of the country, frequently traversing in trains from your hometown―the winter capital of Jammu and Kashmir to the heartland of central India. Each journey, though ostensibly similar, unfurls its own mosaic of events, akin to isotopes of the same elemental composition, yet uniquely distinct. The distance between the two cities is 1278 km, and it takes around 21-22 hours to complete the journey. Today, i.e. Sunday, Dec 19, 2021, you are returning to your institute after a fortnight’s stay at home. You are at the railway platform. The platform is populated with a variety of people. People swarm like bees, resulting in a cacophony as sharp as a bee’s sting. Patrolling police officers, cleaners, coolies, labourers, vendors, chai walas, ticket collectors, beggars and fellow travellers, all coalesce in a kaleidoscope of motion and noise.
As you stand there, observing the bustling scene before you, you’re struck by the sense of continuity—the continuity of time, of experience, and of memory.
The first time you began to write this was on Dec 19, 2021, and today it is Dec 15, 2022. It has been 361 days. The scenes have changed. The journey you undertake is not the same anymore.

The scene inside the train:
Your seat is side-upper, numbered 32 on the stainless steel train berth signboard, in the B1 compartment. The bogey has few people. The seats are the colour of a clear blue sky, and the floor is of the same colour interspersed with some chips of black, yellow and white colour, offering a mosaic of contrast. The railway workers make their rounds with various different items. First comes the chai wala, bearer of warmth in cylindrical form. In his other hand is a tower of paper cups. Then comes the Ticket Collector. A man decked in a black coat and pants, hair slicked back, probably in his 40s. He looks at you over his glasses, and without his asking, you speak, 32, Satyarth Pandita. With a swift tick of his pen, he marks your presence and moves on towards other passengers.

The scene outside the train:
The journey’s progression is not only measured by the dwindling distance but by the shifting tableau beyond the windowpane. Familiar trees, the structures of the houses, the changing license plates of automobiles frozen in time at the level crossings, and each signpost heralds proximity to home. After commuting for so many years, you now know by memory the stations that succeed or precede any station. Time itself seems to bend to the rhythm of the journey as if the very air carries the whispers of arrival. Soon, the yellow signboards arrive at the station. They are always yellow because they offer good visibility to the loco pilots. Yellow colour has a longer wavelength and brightness, offering a good contrast.
The language on the station boards or the shops begins to change. Initially, the signage displayed हिंदी and English. Subsequently, another language was introduced, resulting in signage that read English, हिंदी, ਪੰਜਾਬੀ. In your state, however, the signage comprised हिंदी, English and اردو. In the embrace of اردو there is a sense of homecoming, a recognition of the familiar in the midst of the foreign. You have seen it inscribed on the walls of shops, studied for some classes at school, and even your official documents bear its elegant strokes.
At times, you find yourself perplexed by the altered landscape due to ongoing development. Landscapes or landmarks that were once familiar have now disappeared, necessitating the formation of new memories associated with the new landmarks.
On the train, identities blur like a passing scenery. Are you a bibliophile? Or perhaps a slave to the digital realm, fingers tapping ceaselessly on the glowing screen? Or do you seek solace in conversation, engaging in tête-à-tête with fellow travellers? Or maybe you just like to gaze outside the window and let your eyes grasp as much as they can of the passing scenery.

Species of Spaces
You have a copy of George Perec’s ‘Species of Spaces and Other Pieces’. You love it. You have reread it many times. Every time it presents itself as a new book. You admire him and his experimental approach, finding yourself drawn to his ideas and the creative methods behind his writing. You begin to think like him. You try to write like him. But you know that you can never embody his unique style. Nonetheless, Perec’s influence permeates your thoughts, and you find yourself seeing the world through the lens of his ideas. In the blue night light of the train, in the broken seat tag, in the mundane azure of the seats and the floor, in short in everything that is too common or too banal to give a second thought about. The things he called the ‘infra-ordinary’. Perec, a master of the commonplace, imparts the art of observing with tranquil eyes. He is a waking subconscious. He never misses the instances that a waking consciousness would miss. Instances such as accidentally overheard remarks, passing glimpses of people and things etc. His works consider experiences unimportant from the view of waking consciousness. In his sage guidance, Perec prompts an exploration of the streets, urging you to methodically scrutinize the banal. “Note down what you can see,” he beckons, urging you to discern the noteworthy amidst the seemingly trivial. In one chapter he writes:

“Observe the street, from time to time, with some concern for system perhaps… Note down what you can see. Anything worthy of note going on? Do you know how to see what’s worthy of note? Is there anything that strikes you?

Nothing strikes you. You don’t know how to see.

You must set about it more slowly, almost stupidly. Force yourself to write down what is of no interest, what is most obvious, most common, and most colourless.”

By now, you’ve grasped that observing the “infra-ordinary” is not a simple task—it’s akin to a form of meditation. It requires training your eyes and mind to discern the significance in the mundane. Despite your efforts, you’ve only just begun to capture the essence of the everyday ordinary.

Homecoming:
And so, as the train pulls into Jammu, the city of temples, you are enveloped in the embrace of familiarity. Home, with its myriad comforts and idiosyncrasies, awaits your return, a sanctuary amidst the ceaseless flux of the world beyond.

…

Satyarth Pandita is a Junior Research Fellow at the National Institute of Mental Health and Neuro Sciences, Bengaluru (NIMHANS).  He completed his dual degree of Bachelor of Science and Master of Science in Biological Sciences (major) and Humanities and Social Sciences (minor) from the Indian Institute of Science Education and Research Bhopal (IISERB). His works have appeared in various newspapers and periodicals, including The Quint, Outlook India, Madras Courier, Borderless, and Kitaab, among others.

Links to Satyarth’s published works, email address and social media handles can be found here.