Metal on Metal

The boom barrier came down.

I was on the bike, waiting. Nothing to do but sit there.

Then the Rajdhani came through at ninety, maybe a hundred and twenty. The sound hit first — steel on steel, metal on metal, that particular roar you feel in your chest before your ears catch up. And then the horn. Loud, unambiguous, almost proud.

Not a warning. A declaration.

This is what I am.

It was over in seconds.

Five minutes later, a cargo train. Same thing. That mass, that energy, that sheer unstoppable momentum — and then the horn again. Both of them, one after the other, announcing themselves to anyone standing close enough to feel it.

I don't know what makes trains this beautiful. A hundred years ago nobody imagined this. And now here it is — machinery moving at impossible speed on two thin rails, wheels grinding track, power radiating off it like heat.

It makes you feel very small on a bike at a boom barrier.

Not in a bad way.

In the way that reminds you the world is still full of things that dwarf you completely. Things that know exactly what they are, and aren't shy about it.

Maybe there's something to learn from that.