The intense heat and stifling humidity are two things that a person like me who grew up in a temperate country is not used to, and Delhi is one of those cities where a strange combination of humidity, heat and smoke is concentrated, its effects are evident in everything, people, buildings, trees, streets, a mixture that breathes a strong breath of laziness, sluggishness and stickiness. All things look different in this city, the red sky, the old pale buildings, the trees whose branches hang loosely, tired and exhausted, the people who lie in the shade waiting for the antique buses, which come after a long wait, dragging themselves, stuffed to the last breath with passengers, and those who are standing hurry to insert themselves into them to drag themselves back again.Despite the breadth of the streets and the abundance of trees on both sides of them, it is uncomfortable, I do not know why, perhaps because of the thick layers of smoke that appear as thin shackles suspended in the air, and the reflection of the redness of the sky on the horizon, an atmosphere that invites numbness, relaxation, and sleep. ...

One month a year, that's what I used to tell myself. If I ever go back as a tourist, it will only be in this month, in between its foggy winter and its hot, humid summer, but now that I'm doomed to stay here, I think I should escape as quickly as possible to my "home town," twenty-two hours by train from Delhi. But now that I have been condemned to stay here, I think I must escape as quickly as possible to my "city" which is twenty-two hours away by train from Delhi. Distances here are measured in hours and days, as meters do not count in this "world", the vastness here is the dominant feature, the vastness of space, the vastness of time, the vastness of man, the vastness of what is, what will be, and what has been.Now that I have decided to return, I must get a train ticket as soon as possible, I went to the reservation office, which is a building next to the new station, where thousands of people were lined up in long lines in front of a small glass window and an electronic board, and above the window I wrote the train numbers, their times and the names of the lines that serve them, and a small board that read in English: "Sorry, the computer is down." "Sorry, the computer is down. The atmosphere of the booking hall has a unique characteristic, although it is very cold due to central air conditioning, an invaluable blessing in Delhi, there is a strange mixture of different odors, where the smells of hair oils of all kinds combine with the smells of powder and women's perfumes with chewing tobacco and the pungent smell of "paan", in addition to unpleasant odors of unknown origin. Wooden benches are lined with benches, some are on the floor, and groups of people standing leaning against the walls in circles discussing various topics, laughing at times, wondering at others, looking at the magazines and newspapers in their hands and winking at each other with meaningful winks.

I looked for an empty part of the wall and rested my back against it, meditating and thinking, and half an hour passed and the situation remained the same. Many people passed in front of me asking if I wanted a ticket "under the table," as they put it, but falling prey to the "black market" dealers made their offers uninteresting. Many people passed in front of me asking me if I wanted a ticket "under the table" as they put it, but my falling prey to the "black market" dealers made their offers uninteresting to me, and fortunately I found in my wallet some dollars, which is enough for a ticket, so I left the reservations building, this huge Indian civilization achievement in the Indian way, and headed to the station, specifically to an office on the second floor, whose door was written on the door "Reservations for foreigners and tourists". I entered the large room and found many foreigners with their long blonde hair, torn and very short pants, and overstuffed suitcases. The mere fact that I entered the room caused a sudden calmness that soon dissipated. Some of the employees were sitting at low wooden tables with old tourist magazines tied from their corners to the end of the table with thick string for fear of theft, while the foreigners present were looking at their own maps, leafing through guidebooks on tourist areas in India, and chatting comfortably as they fiddled with sophisticated cameras and showed them to each other. I sat in a short line waiting for my turn, which soon arrived, and found myself in front of a thirty-year-old woman with a small round red print on her forehead, a bright red line at her temple, and a thin sari that exposed her belly in a disgusting way. 

-"Yes, how can I help you?" she asked me immediately.

-"Yes, how can I help you?" she asked me immediately.

-"The truth is. I want a ticket to Bangalore," I said, caught off guard.

-"You're Iranian or Afghan, I think, aren't you? I recognize people, I've been in this office for a long time. . " she said without preamble.

I didn't want to disappoint her, so I kept quiet and paid her with my passport to make the transaction, I was embarrassed to disappoint her, but she tried to hide it, and within a short period of time I had paid the dollars and got the ticket with an ease that I didn't expect.

In the evening, at about seven o'clock, I was carrying my suitcase standing on platform No. (6) looking at the black railway with all the filth it carries, with rats running freely between its bars, and on the platform, piles of bags and iron boxes arranged in the form of pyramids, newsstands and refreshments of all kinds, and many bags obstructing the movement of hundreds of people walking back and forth with purpose and without purpose, individuals and groups, males and females of all ages, colors, languages, bodies, and religions. Fortunately, my wait was not long, as the train arrived at the station coming from the first platform and thousands of people got off it, scrambling among them, and dozens of porters with red clothes and a piece of copper tied to the arm rushed to pick up their customers. It is amazing to discover how much these slender bodies are able to carry and endure.After some time, the situation returned to normal, but the train was still sitting there on the tracks, with the doors open and the cleaners coming in and out, trying to finish their job before the train runs again.Soon, the inspectors came with very long lists of names printed on computers, and many people gathered around them trying to bribe them to get a bed or seat, but they ignored them with pride and disdain, and proceeded to the cars to stick on them from the outside the lists containing the names of passengers for each carriage, their bed or seat numbers, ticket type, direction, and other information.I tried to find my name in all the lists, but my attempts were unsuccessful, and the time passed quickly and the departure time approached, so I stood confused on the sidewalk with people pushing me on their way from all directions, and I said to myself that I must find my name if I look for it among the names that will get off in the city that I am going to I asked a little and knew that the locomotive I wanted was very close, so I rushed to the list of names and searched by the age and gender of the passenger on what matches my case, and I found my name defiantly and proudly on the floor of the white list, but its letters were hit by an earthquake or a computer, so I could not easily recognize it the first time.

I quickly grabbed my luggage and tossed it into the carriage, searched for the seat number and found it quickly, and moments later the train blew its whistle, signaling its departure, and after several long intermittent whistles, it pulled itself slowly out of the station while hundreds of people standing on and inside the platform waved their hands to each other. I sat on the bed-seat, which is a long seat that can accommodate four people sitting and when sleeping it turns into a bed for one person. I sat on it and it is in a center overlooking two open compartments without doors so that I can easily watch those in the two compartments and they are, and each compartment accommodates six beds in the form of three tiers on the right and another similar one on the left, the first floor is used for seating in the daytime, the second floor forms the back of the seat and is installed at night to turn into a bed for sleeping, and the third is high and climbed to it by a side ladder.

The train moved and I felt a great relief as I settled on my seat after a long search, not believing that "I" and no one else had this seat for me alone without all these people, I could not believe that I was here after I was threatened to stay in this city, something I could not imagine staying in Delhi for another period to return to the spiral of searching for a ticket and waiting again.

Delhi was preparing itself for the night as thick white smoke rose from the low mud buildings along the tracks, whose residents use dried cow dung as their only fuel for cooking and heating in the winter, these low mud buildings rest on the walls of high-rise buildings. and sprawling white mansions whose gardens contain swimming pools and ground tennis courts lit by electric lamps, and those sitting in the train can watch the players running after their little white balls, while a skinny old woman behind the fence tries to light her tanoura by constantly blowing into it. The night gradually began to spread its robe over the city and its lights became brighter, and the train continued to drive us inside Delhi until we reached the Nizamuddin station, where it stopped to pick up passengers and goods. "Nizamuddin" is a new old area that contains many beautiful Islamic monuments and the shrine of Sheikh "Nizamuddin", the famous reformer and preacher in the country of India, as well as the center of the "Tablighi Jamaat" in the world, and there is a new section that includes beautiful buildings in the modern style, and in this section the station is located.

A group of men carrying many large bags entered the game, followed by a porter overwhelmed by a huge amount of small bags and a bunch of mattresses on his head, a loud voice coming from outside knocking the men: "You motherfuckers, you sons of bitches, you delayed us from riding in this casket at New Delhi station and you want to keep us in this garbage heap, shake your machines, cow slaves, before this damn train moves ..." " . A bloated man with a bunch of green bottles under his armpits, sweat dripping from his tan forehead and wetting his white traditional dress, panting loudly and spewing profanities in all languages, no sooner had he reached the compartment on my right than he threw himself on the seat with all his might. until he threw himself on the seat with all his weight, and my eyes met his eyes, and he smiled in greeting, then rested his back on the armrest to catch his breath, while the men took their places and spread the bedding that they carry on the seats and a smile appeared on their faces indicating satisfaction and safety.

In the meantime, a huge Banjani with a great turban on his head, followed by a man of seventy years old, whose dress indicates that he is a Muslim sheikh, followed by a group of porters carrying a large burlap bag, then threw it in the center of the cabin on the north, while the two men stood arguing with the porters about the fare.

-"Mullah Sahib, you can now count the money in your pocket," Banjani addressed the sheikh.

-"Don't praise grapes until you feel their sweetness under your teeth," the sheikh replied, and Banjani smiled and took a seat across from him. Two men, two women and a group of children sat next to them on the two seats.

The train swayed back and forth all the time with an uninterrupted rumbling sound, passing over the old iron rails, creating a melody that the passenger soon becomes familiar with until it becomes the nature of things. The train journey is something that only those who have experienced it know, it is very similar to a steamer trip but in miniature, especially in India, where distances extend to thousands of kilometers and long hours, sometimes even days, are spent in the same carriage. People on the train eat, drink, sleep, talk, socialize, bathe if necessary, have fun, read, flirt, love, befriend, discuss, argue, sometimes fight, pray, sing, sell, play music.They are also sharpened in different ways, sometimes civilized and sometimes backward, a strange mixture of different personalities, different clothes, different languages, different features, different customs, often different, but somehow homogeneous as parts of a single machine, different but complementary, serving its purpose in the end.

The train traveled through many villages and towns until it reached the city of "Matura", a man, his woman and his young son boarded the train, followed by a lone man carrying a small travel bag wrapped in khaki cloth in the custom of the Indians, they chose a seat for them, so I invited them to sit with me, the man smiled and greeted me and they all sat down, he started by saying: "Thank you, nice of you, we will not burden you, we will stay in Agra city, have you visited it?"

-Yes, and who hasn't heard of the Taj Mahal and the famous Agra?

-Yeah, right. -Have you been to Matura?

-"Actually, no, I haven't heard of it."

-That's funny. All the tourists come here. You're a Muslim, aren't you? Matura is to us Hindus what Mecca is to you Muslims. I live here and meet many foreigners, including an Arab man from Saudi Arabia named Ibrahim Al-Azim, whose treatment I was supervising in the hospital, oh really, I forgot to tell you that I am a doctor and work in the government hospital. You're Iranian, aren't you? Or maybe you're Afghan."

-"The truth is, I'm an Arab"

-"You're an Arab? Why don't you wear a long white dress like Ibrahim al-Azim?"

I smiled and said, "Not all Arabs wear the same clothes, especially the young and educated ones. It seems that a special image has been formed in the minds of others about Arabs, and it is difficult to erase it."

-For example, I imagine Arabia as a vast desert where people travel on camel humps, where hot sand blows on their faces with every breeze, where they eat nothing but meat and dates, and where there are many harbors on the shores.

On the contrary, where I come from, we see beauty only as you see an elephant, on occasions, the weather is mild almost all year round, and the harbors are almost non-existent."