There were not many people there on the platform waiting for the train. The sun had not risen yet and the sky was only starting to become deep blue, hinting the presence of a sun somewhere. I was waiting for the station to open outside the huge gate which was locked to ensure no one entered the station in the middle of the night when no trains came or went. I was sitting outside on the stairs. It was cold. The wind was punishing. The only sound was that of the occasional car that went hissing past on the highway next to the station. I was tired. But I couldn't sleep.
I walked through the stairs leading to the inside of the station, following the people hoping they were all going to get tickets before getting on a train. I managed to find the ticket counter and bought a ticket to New Delhi.
The image of a clean vehicle appeared far ahead as it came racing forward on the tracks towards the people eagerly waiting to reach the warmth of their destination. Everyone rushed into the air conditioned and well lit metal container once it welcomed them by opening its doors.
There were not many people inside the metal container. I managed to find a seat. I still didn't know what was happening to me. Not right now, not anytime in the future. A female voice kept announcing which station I was about to reach. I looked at the red dot on the map above the door move as the train progressed.
A man sitting next to me was intently reading a book. I looked at him for a while. I felt sort of offended. What is it that he could be reading with so much interest? Why would it be so important? What kind of pleasure did he get from it? As my mind was overflowing with such questions, I spoke out, "What is it that you are reading?" I words sounded so far away, to myself, spoken with so much effort. I was really tired.
The man looked at me.
He was reading about some of India's policies and he told me about how he needs to updated about the country's affairs since he was a reporter. He explained to me about how the country's trade and foreign policies affect the living of the people to a large extent. He told me about the kind of responsibility he has to assess the situation of the country and make sure the people receive that knowledge. He told me everything about what he has to do as part of his job.
He asked me what I wanted to be, what I wanted to do with my life and when I told him about my dreams of becoming a film maker and someone who would protect the environment, he appreciated the attitude.
When I mentioned the fact about creating a sustainable living for the next generations, he reminded me how bad the current situation is and how the present generation itself needs saving.
Soon the conversation had to come to an end as the train slowed down as it approached the platform of a station where this companion was about to get down.
He stood up, I asked him which station he was getting down at. He said it was the one where the train had just stopped and walked out.
It seemed to hard to see a really useful conversation to end. It's not like you meet such people everyday and talk about things that matter.
In another one of these travels through the city in a metro, I had met another interesting character.
I was trying to read the book Animal Farm for a while. After reading 1984, I really wanted to read more of George Orwell's work. For about two or three times, whenever I took the book out, I just ended up staring at the graphics on the cover and never opened the book and read a word out of it.
In the metro again, just as took the book out and looked at the cover, a voice beside me asked, "Is that a horror story? Because the cover looks quite scary." I said, "yes, it does look quite scary but this is not a horror story." I told him about what the Animal Farm was about and he asked me where I came from, where I worked and how I was in Delhi. When I mentioned that I had come to Delhi for a friend's marriage, he showed the two bags he was carrying among which one of them was had a suit and told me that he had also come to Delhi for a friend's wedding. When I asked him where he was from, he told me that he was from UK and I was thinking if he had just visited United Kingdom and he went on to explain that he was from the state of Uttrakhand, which people have started calling UK. He also told me about how a sardarji once made the same mistake of thinking that he was from the United Kingdom.
Every pleasant conversation has to end. It was like two brothers catching up after a long time. He was a good companion. But I had to get down at the New Delhi metro station.
It is surprising that strangers could leave so much impression.
In another one of these journeys in a metro, a bearded guy saw the guitar I was carrying and asked me if I was a musician. I told him that I could sing and play some songs on the guitar. He was intrigued. He explained how passionate he was about music and how very few people have the voice that could sound good. I tried to argue that it wasn't the case and that any voice could sing given enough training. He disagreed. He asked me if the songs I sing were sad. I was quite surprised. Because most of the songs I sing are extremely sad and I feel that sad songs are the ones that have most feel. He told me how it is that it is only through the sad songs that great singers could express themselves. I was grateful he said that. But then he also started asking me some disturbing questions. He asked me if had tried to do something about becoming a professional musician, like take part in reality shows and if I ever tried to be a part of the music industry. I couldn't really explain to him that I wanted to be in a band, be an independent musician. But then I also felt bad that I was still not doing anything about becoming a real musician, like recording albums and stuff. This conversation really got me thinking.
I almost forgot to get down at the station where I had to and had to run towards the door pushing people aside and pulling my guitar through the crowd as I finally made it out on to the platform through the open doors.
I walked up the stairs, reading the signs that directed me towards the exit. There was a thin person standing sincerely at the exit of the station holding a tin container with a slit cut on the top and a label stuck on it that read "Donate for cancer patients". It looked legit to me and after thinking about it for a moment, I took a ten rupee note out of my pocket, folded it twice and stuffed into into the slit of the donation box with some effort. The person murmured some words. I assumed that he was thanking me and moved on.
I walked through the stairs leading to the inside of the station, following the people hoping they were all going to get tickets before getting on a train. I managed to find the ticket counter and bought a ticket to New Delhi.
The image of a clean vehicle appeared far ahead as it came racing forward on the tracks towards the people eagerly waiting to reach the warmth of their destination. Everyone rushed into the air conditioned and well lit metal container once it welcomed them by opening its doors.
There were not many people inside the metal container. I managed to find a seat. I still didn't know what was happening to me. Not right now, not anytime in the future. A female voice kept announcing which station I was about to reach. I looked at the red dot on the map above the door move as the train progressed.
A man sitting next to me was intently reading a book. I looked at him for a while. I felt sort of offended. What is it that he could be reading with so much interest? Why would it be so important? What kind of pleasure did he get from it? As my mind was overflowing with such questions, I spoke out, "What is it that you are reading?" I words sounded so far away, to myself, spoken with so much effort. I was really tired.
The man looked at me.
He was reading about some of India's policies and he told me about how he needs to updated about the country's affairs since he was a reporter. He explained to me about how the country's trade and foreign policies affect the living of the people to a large extent. He told me about the kind of responsibility he has to assess the situation of the country and make sure the people receive that knowledge. He told me everything about what he has to do as part of his job.
He asked me what I wanted to be, what I wanted to do with my life and when I told him about my dreams of becoming a film maker and someone who would protect the environment, he appreciated the attitude.
When I mentioned the fact about creating a sustainable living for the next generations, he reminded me how bad the current situation is and how the present generation itself needs saving.
Soon the conversation had to come to an end as the train slowed down as it approached the platform of a station where this companion was about to get down.
He stood up, I asked him which station he was getting down at. He said it was the one where the train had just stopped and walked out.
It seemed to hard to see a really useful conversation to end. It's not like you meet such people everyday and talk about things that matter.
In another one of these travels through the city in a metro, I had met another interesting character.
I was trying to read the book Animal Farm for a while. After reading 1984, I really wanted to read more of George Orwell's work. For about two or three times, whenever I took the book out, I just ended up staring at the graphics on the cover and never opened the book and read a word out of it.
In the metro again, just as took the book out and looked at the cover, a voice beside me asked, "Is that a horror story? Because the cover looks quite scary." I said, "yes, it does look quite scary but this is not a horror story." I told him about what the Animal Farm was about and he asked me where I came from, where I worked and how I was in Delhi. When I mentioned that I had come to Delhi for a friend's marriage, he showed the two bags he was carrying among which one of them was had a suit and told me that he had also come to Delhi for a friend's wedding. When I asked him where he was from, he told me that he was from UK and I was thinking if he had just visited United Kingdom and he went on to explain that he was from the state of Uttrakhand, which people have started calling UK. He also told me about how a sardarji once made the same mistake of thinking that he was from the United Kingdom.
Every pleasant conversation has to end. It was like two brothers catching up after a long time. He was a good companion. But I had to get down at the New Delhi metro station.
It is surprising that strangers could leave so much impression.
In another one of these journeys in a metro, a bearded guy saw the guitar I was carrying and asked me if I was a musician. I told him that I could sing and play some songs on the guitar. He was intrigued. He explained how passionate he was about music and how very few people have the voice that could sound good. I tried to argue that it wasn't the case and that any voice could sing given enough training. He disagreed. He asked me if the songs I sing were sad. I was quite surprised. Because most of the songs I sing are extremely sad and I feel that sad songs are the ones that have most feel. He told me how it is that it is only through the sad songs that great singers could express themselves. I was grateful he said that. But then he also started asking me some disturbing questions. He asked me if had tried to do something about becoming a professional musician, like take part in reality shows and if I ever tried to be a part of the music industry. I couldn't really explain to him that I wanted to be in a band, be an independent musician. But then I also felt bad that I was still not doing anything about becoming a real musician, like recording albums and stuff. This conversation really got me thinking.
I almost forgot to get down at the station where I had to and had to run towards the door pushing people aside and pulling my guitar through the crowd as I finally made it out on to the platform through the open doors.
I walked up the stairs, reading the signs that directed me towards the exit. There was a thin person standing sincerely at the exit of the station holding a tin container with a slit cut on the top and a label stuck on it that read "Donate for cancer patients". It looked legit to me and after thinking about it for a moment, I took a ten rupee note out of my pocket, folded it twice and stuffed into into the slit of the donation box with some effort. The person murmured some words. I assumed that he was thanking me and moved on.
