My eyes scour the place for a seat. But let’s face it – it’s rush
hour. Millions of people take up this journey in this city, with the hope of
earning their bread. It doesn’t matter who hails from where. It doesn’t matter
what the profession is. Here, all were alike. Pensive passengers lost in
translation. There’s no difference once you board this train - the train of
hopes and possibilities.
I finally spot a place to sit. Once I land on the seat, all the
other eyes focus on me and scan me from head to toe. Just like how a new animal
entering an old territory is examined. I ignore the gazes and adjust myself in
my seat. Even though it’s a short journey, every passing minute seems precious.
The stranger eyes return to whatever it is that they were doing prior to my entry. I feel relaxed as the spotlight is now off me. But my gaze starts its search among the crowd looking for answers behind every face.
She holds close to herself and looks out of the train. She finds
the passing scenery cool and relaxing and hence decides to snooze a little. The
book on her lap lies open and dog-eared on a page. She seems to be a student studying
hard to accomplish in her exam. Maybe these few moments of siesta will help her
focus better. I wish her an ‘All the best’ in my heart and look on for another
story.
She seems rock hard on the surface what with the stern face and carefree
look. She opens her bag and takes out a paper. Once she is done reading it, she
folds it half way through. The upside down words read out – ‘Time Table for
Half Yearly Examinations’ and I quickly figure out her profession. She snorts a
breath and packs the sheet. As the train approaches the next station, she grabs
her bags and vacates the seat.
My eyes fall on a married woman next who seems petite and scared.
She twitches the handkerchief between her fingers as she looks out of the
window. The cool breeze and the rain drops from outside seem to keep her amused
but her eyes recite a different story. She wells up and swallows a lump in her
throat. But neither I nor the others in the train are capable of unraveling the
mystery in her life or the tears in her eyes.
The last woman I notice is a lot older than the others. She
rotates the rosary beads in her hands and I quickly glance at her face. Her
poise and tranquility make me envious. How can a person seem so happy? And then
my eyes fall on her lap which holds a brochure for an old age home. Happiness does
rely on the perspective of the beholder. She happily alights from the train and
walks to her destination – either to help others or to help herself from her
entire family.
As for me, my station arrives and I am ready to leave this small mobile
world where everyone has a different story to recite and a different day to
live through.
**This is just a recount of my experience while traveling by train. The above is a streak of my imagination.**
**Linking to the Ultimate Blog Challenge for July 2014 and BlogHer - NaBloPoMo**
Beautifully observed and narrated :) Each one of us has our own story, but not everyone sees or tries to find them. Especially liked that last observation. Happiness relying on the beholder's perspective. Strange, but true. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks Leo. Glad you liked the post. :)
DeleteSo beautifully written. One of my favorite things to do is people watch and make up stories about their lives based on the clues they give off, so I really appreciated this piece!
ReplyDeleteThanks Cindy and welcome here :) Glad to know we share the same interest.
DeleteAwesome post
ReplyDeleteThanks Pixie :)
DeleteHello! Nice post, I was told a lot about experience aboard Mumbai trains and also watched a documentary on the same sometime back...
ReplyDeleteHi ! Welcome here :) Yes Mumbai trains do provide a lot of experiences to write about.
DeleteI have a similar habit of observing people when I am traveling, trying to guess their background and story. It was interesting to read your observations. Sometimes we just blindly believe what we see, but the inside story is different altogether.The woman going to the old age home is a testimony to that.
ReplyDeleteYou are right, Vinodini. We believe what we see, but always fore look the hidden facts.
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