Type “train” on Google, and the images that’ll pop out are all sophisticated, up to the state trains. Think China and Japan.


Type “India trains” on Google, and the images you’ll get are like this:




Which is so true ROFL.


Because that’s what I wanna talk about; India trains. Not that I’ve been in any. But one of the things in my “THE THINGS I’VE TO DO AT LEAST ONCE” list, involves the trains.


You see, I walk to JP Park almost every evening. There are 2 shortcuts to the park; the first one is surrounded by tall grasses and bushes. The second one would be the tarred road, with shops and houses on the sides.


I usually take the former path to go to the park, and the latter to go back home because it’s much safer since by that time the sun has usually set and it’s pitch black.


What divides the two paths is a railroad.

I draw lah.


There you go. Had I came up with more beautiful strokes, I’d have been an artist instead of doing medicine.


So! The problem with the tarred road is that the train always stops there. Always.  Not for 5 minutes, but for almost half an hour. Every bloody time. Train stops, path blocked, can’t go home.  So the cheesecake lah.


Most of the locals would go between the train compartments or under it. Which is dangerous!! If the train suddenly moves, how lah??? Those are the things my mum would have said had I done it as well. Because I don’t wanna get nagged by her on the phone, I usually waited and watched in envy. Macam best kan.


But the other day, I was in a bit of a hurry to catch Maghrib (ceh, padahal there was another half an hour), I decided to give it a go. So I panjat panjat between the train compartments and walah! I was already on the other side!!


One thing crossed off my “THE THINGS I’VE TO DO AT LEAST ONCE” list!



Drying off my money on the bed under the fan


And I came back home and did my laundry and forgot the money I’d withdrawn earlier in my tracksuit’s pocket. Rs 9000 ok (that’s RM 600). Kalau koyak, I menangis. Thank God they were fine! If not, there goes my house rent waaaa.


It’s like God trying to tell me,

“This is what you get for not listening to your mother.”