Silence in motion

The silence moved with me. Pondering while I read of Ancient Evenings and of Distant Music from a slim little novel from happier times many light years away.  Kincaid and Francesca circled as moths around their flickering flames of yearning.

The Harbour line rakes whoosh in always behind the advertised time and whine away old and less shiny, stuffed with humanity as in an indifferent teddy bear. A little musty, well worn, and weary to the look, peeking from the open seams. Comforting though in a I-know-this-and-not-changing-anytime soon sort of a way. 

Reading about how "... in a universe of ambiguity, this kind of certainty comes only once, and never again, no matter how many lifetimes you live..." makes for a strange transport on a Saturday evening. The "Why"s of a giving swirl in a cranium stilled.

Peregrine spirit musing on sliver of memory. Beatitude. Wistful. A memory that weighs the heart.  

Given along with Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Experienced apart. Felt.

Parallels of Struggle

I was waiting on the platform at Dadar to get onto a local, when it struck me how similar it is to living and surviving in Mumbai. Strangely, none of stations where the local train runs witnesses that level of a fight as in Dadar station.

The crowd was electric in communication. We could sense that the train was going to rush in even before we even saw the train. The train was still a blur when these guys ran and merged to become a brief blur themselves as they flung and miraculously attached themselves onto the train. The throng starts fighting like a swarm of blind bees trying to get into the hive. There is plenty of space but there is a stampede as you feel and become part of the woosh of flowing through the bottle neck of the gate. We are in. A pause as everyone savours the victory on a still stationary train. Looking at the platform I see a face who just gave up expecting the next train to be a wee bit more emptier. That's when the similarity seeped into me like warm honey on a edge cindered toast of experience.

Everyone who comes, lives, or aspires in Mumbai gets somewhere. Some fight so hard that they get a eyelash-blink's worth of savage satisfaction. These are the blurs that jump onto a speeding train risking life, limb, and perhaps a great deal more. The great leveler of a city - Mumbai soon scythes them into the sea of 'others' as the rest get on the train. I'm sure the moment of triumph is worth it all. Else no one would do all that. Every three minutes. On every platform. As a train zips through like through the innards of a metronome.

The common denominator like me fights to get through the gate. We all reach where we want. In careers, hopes, and aspirations... And what else not. All in good time.

It's not like the one waiting for the next chance on the platform is left behind. He/she too gets there. Perhaps. By then, however, those who take the tide of opportunity have swept so far ahead, it is quite impossible to catch up. These unreachble specs will have reached the Borivali equivalents in what they seek from the city by the time the bystander takes the plunge.