Train to paradise

Every hour, a train leaves Munich. The train is often deserted and it is easy to find a coach all to myself. By the time I usher myself to the best seat in the best row by the best window, the city of Munich has receded and the suburbs are beginning to fade.

For many miles, the interlude of hamlets keeps me company. As hamlet after hamlet falls behind, conscious thoughts drain from my mind. With the last hamlet that fell behind, the last thought drains from my mind. And that is where the pastures begin.

Draped in lush green, the pastures stretch till the horizon. Their green drape ridges smoothly like long wavy hair of a woman. Like her ribbon that has come undone, the desolate footpath lies sprawled with blithe disregard for the pasture’s beauty.

The meadows give way to woodlands lavishly sprinkled with snow. The Alps aren’t far now; snow is the harbinger of the Alps. In the woods, handsome pine trees stand tall. They appear miffed; perhaps in the solitude that was, before the train barged in, the breeze was confessing her love. Caught off guard by the train, the breeze seems to have concealed herself but romance is still in the air.

The train reaches the valley-town of Mittenwald at the foothills of the Bavarian Alps. Idyllic Mittenwald nestled in the womb of towering snow-clad mountains is my destination. This is where I get off the train. I walk down its winding stone-paved lanes. The gardens and houses on either side look straight out of a fairy tale. I walk up to the icy lake. By the banks of the lake stand majestic trees dusted with snow. Beyond them, the Alps stand ever so beautiful. Ushered by hallowed beauty and innocent romance, I reached the abode of eternal serenity.

Lost in time, while I stand there, she walks up beside me and holds my hand. In the palm of such bliss, time stands still. I am in paradise.

Every hour, a train leaves Munich. I have been on it many times but always with a return ticket. One day I will be on it with a one-way ticket.

-k-