After a few days of wandering the streets of Colombo, with our sweat-soaked clothes stuck to our skin, we finally decided to leave on what they call one of the world’s most scenic train rides, from Colombo to Haputale, deep into the mountainous tea plantation Hill Country.
When we sauntered into the train station one morning, we were greeted by a swarm of people of all ages, dragging luggage of all kinds and sizes.
We found a small spot to stand, perfectly straight and still, and as our train rolled in, we were like a shipwreck carried ashore by the waves of people. We were grateful to have only our backpacks to worry about.
My travel partner got carried into the middle of one of the carriages, and with the instinct of a claustrophobic, I cowered to the side of the wall next to the entry, refusing to get crammed into the carriage that now looked like a sardine can.
When the train chugged out of the station, I caught a glimpse of my partner, towering over everyone like a white lighthouse, and I gave him a nod.
Standing near the exit provided only a minor comfort of fresher air and faster escape in case anything happened. I was pressed flat against the wall, with my backpack between my legs.
As soon as I thought we could not add a single person to this train anymore, we rolled into a station, more people boarded, and more luggage was thrown in. Bags piled between my legs, my backpack lost amongst them, the cold wall pressed through my clothes.
I moved aside along with the rest of the passengers, rearranging ourselves into an ever-changing puzzle. The horn blared, and the train started rolling away, and those still running after to get on board receded. Our collective held breath released as one, and we settled in our new arrangement until the next station.
At one stop, I saw an older woman helping her frail mother up the steps onto the train. The crowd parted in silent reverence, and she got in. The woman pushed two of her young children up behind, presumably their grandmother. Then she threw a few pieces of luggage behind them. My body froze when I heard the horn, staring as the older woman retreated.
My eyes darted to the children and the old woman in front of me and back out to the open door. The woman was running after the train, screaming with her arms outstretched, and somehow she clambered onto the steps, but lost her second footing.
Her arm flailed, searching for the railings. I reached out, grabbed her, and pulled with all my might as she pulled me too. She fell in front of us onto her knees as the scenery outside turned into a line of blur.
She gasped for breath and then looked up — eyes wide, the scare still in them — and recognized me. I smiled and gave a nod.
After that, the space got wider. The noise turned to light chatter.
A guy, who was standing at the enviable position right in front of the door, beckoned me to come over. He stood aside to give me his place. I took a hesitant leap to the spot, my eyes meeting his.
Gesturing at my face, he said, “You—smile—beautiful”, and broke into a wide smile. Then he said he saw me helping the lady.
I looked him in the eye, feeling the blood rush into my cheeks. I turned back to the passing scenery and finally breathed in the cold, fresh air. The rolling lush green hills against the bright blue sky continued to stretch on forever.
