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I stood there in awe of the high-roofed colonial building, an auditorium of sorts with its sturdy foundation that has stood strong for over a century. A magnificent and historical architecture that has been reviewed by many tabloids over the years and captured the interest of world famous photographers. The train station was a bustling hub of activity, a whirlwind of movement, sights and sounds. People rushed past each other like waves crashing on the shore, their steps echoing off the walls of the cavernous hall. A large round-faced clock hung high solemnly in the middle of the station informing everyone the time they had to get to the platform to await the arrival of the trains they were embarking. The air was thick with the sweet scent of coffee and buttery pastries from the nearby cafes, mingling with the metallic tang of the train tracks.
As I stood on the platform, I felt like a small fish caught in a strong current, buffeted by the waves of humanity around me. The station seemed to pulse with life, a living organism with a thousand limbs and voices. Whirring of the trains added to the symphony, a steady bassline beneath the chaotic melody. I watched the sea of faces pass by. A cacophony of sounds from the shuffling and tapping of their shoes to the lively chattering of travellers was constantly filling my ears with their din.
Everywhere I looked, there were people hurrying to catch their trains, their faces etched with a sense of urgency. Some were dragging suitcases behind them, others clutched briefcases or backpacks. A few were scuttling like busy spiders running, their arms pumping as they dodged and weaved through the throngs of people in their way.
The noise was deafening, a constant hum of chatter and quick paced movement. Conversations blended together, a jumble of languages and accents that made it impossible to distinguish one from the other. The occasional burst of laughter or shout punctuated the noise, adding to the chaotic pandemonium.
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— Edited by Ms Sandra Gayatree
