Delhi junction railway station, busier than the busiest roads. The platforms jammed with people waiting for their trains. Announcements happening now and then. This railway station is in the heart of Delhi, with railway tracks connected to all the major cities in every direction. The honking sound of the locomotives piercing through my ears.

My eyes squeezed before everything in my book looked very small. I unburied my face from the book that I was reading for the last 5 hours “I can’t complete it”, I thought as the author was very rude and he kept judging people he met while traveling across the world. This book I picked thinking that I will get to read some great stories about the places where I have not been to, yet. But it was exactly the opposite.

I closed the book and found myself side-by-side with the locomotive. The ears were still making the beep sound and everything seemed quiet for a second. “I should go away from it”, I walked, taking my bag and book. The platform was filled with people from all over India. South Indians were complaining about the train being late, north Indians (Upper states) were complaining about how hot the weather was, and the east Indians were missing, nowhere to be found. Everybody was complaining about something but I had not given “complaining” thought because I was desperate to sit somewhere and finish my book which I had bought 5 hours ago from the Sunday Book market near Delhi Gate for less than half of its original price. But the platform was so densely packed with people that I could hardly see any empty seat.

I could hear a couple giggling over something, a kid urinating on the tracks with his mom holding his pants down. Huge black mice running here and there on the tracks in the search for food that is left behind by thousands of passengers every day. Koolies carrying big suitcases on their head followed by big fat families, still bargaining with the coolie over 50 rupees. And their kids with a packet of snacks in one hand and the other holding their mothers’. It was all like a great bazaar but on a railway station.

The lines for tickets were long, people were desperate. A man came from behind and stood right in front of the counter, breaking the line. And then a fight broke and taking advantage of the fight I got my ticket, skipping hours of wait and still had hours before my train arrives. I didn’t tell you but I missed my last train because I was busy observing what was happening around me.

People were desperate to get into the trains, some got in through the doors, obviously, and some from every remaining place, be it a toilet window or a emergency window. They were all fighting for a seat, some for themselves and some for their families. And another fight broke inside the train over a window seat, why we Indians fight over little things? Anyway, at least I got something to see.

I still had 3 hours until my train so I took out the book again. Taking a deep breath I gathered some sense and gave the book another chance. He, the author, was rude at first but as the book progressed it became interesting and the sound of people talking and shouting became the soothing voice of a bird…I am joking, they were still annoying. And who in the world quarrels so much that it becomes a common sight for even a first-timer. I am not complaining but still, it was annoying.

I thought of the city, Delhi. I love it even though I don’t like noisy and crowded places. But Delhi has its charm, the beautiful monuments, the architecture, the forts, everything is beautiful. The city has its image hard coded in my mind.

Old Havelis and their broken entrance gates, names of love birds scratched on the walls with plants growing on the chajja. But still, they were beautiful. I would like to know what life was like when the city was ruled by the kings. How they lived their life so grand that even after hundreds of years people are astonished by their presence. The brilliant architecture shows tha the engineers at that time were experts in their field. Folk singers at that time were brilliant in the art of music. Still, a few folk singers are remaining and you could find them at some of the fort entrances, singing their heart out just for a few rupees. It’s sad to see the real artists begging for a small sum of money.

And it’s very different when you visit a bazaar. The shops are everywhere you see, as far as your eyes go. You can buy anything at any famous bazaars in Delhi. They are crowded, of course, filled with local people and thousands of tourists from all around the world. Some vendors have tiny mobile shop that they carries around his waist and follows every passer by to sell something, and if you show even a slightest interest then get ready to be followed by them for several hundered meters.

The sun had come down and the sky danced on its last remaining light. The street lights were flickering, people came and go. Some of the poor families were spreading their sheets on the platforms, opening their huge lunch boxes that were maybe packed for the night. The scene was pretty much the same but the noise was lesser now. As the night approached, the platform became empty and silent. Some youngsters were now roaming on the platforms, taking selfies everywhere they sat and kicking empty soda cans until they met with the tracks, and there a rag picker was picking them up. His bag was filled to the brink and still he was adjusting.

The dogs were barking in the distance. And as I closed my book, my train came, almost empty. Some people were sleeping, some were on their mobile phones. And I had a “not so good” book in my hand.

And like that, I left The Great Railway Bazar behind.