On The Station Metro

It was the onset of winter, and the weather was cold. One could see the fog on the streets as far as one could see. The winter in the city was not as cold as in faraway places, where he was from, but one could feel it in the bones. It was bone-chilling. 
The train like on other days was on time. He was waiting for the train to arrive, but constantly wishing for it not to arrive. The platform was largely empty but people kept pouring on the platform slowly. He kept gazing at the people, trying to avoid what he was feeling inside. He wasn't feeling it for the first time but it was something in the cold that evaporated his feelings. But he kept ignoring the inner tempest that was raging inside him. Instead, he picked up his bag and sat on the empty bench of the platform, and kept looking at the lamppost, glowing in the distance. 

The announcement from metro officials announced a delay. He listened to it patiently—not giving the slightest reaction of anxiety. But some part of him wanted this delay to happen. He wasn't able to understand the dilemma going on inside him. He was a young man in his twenties, just blooming out of the bud of life. It was a few years ago when he had first set foot in this city. He had aspired for city life—the way life moves around here; the cars, the lights, the crowd, the people, and the constant buzz of life. It was something that had appealed to his senses, and after trying hard to convince his family, he had finally decided to say goodbye to home. He remembered the time when he last hugged his parents, and when his mother had not let him go. He remembered the tears in her eyes. All these thoughts had once again crept inside him, without any noise, after long deciding to not think about this anymore. One fellow at the office had advised him to not look back because it, as he had said, made him weak. And he didn't want to be weak. He didn't want to look back, that's what he had resolved but once in a while when he was alone or travelling, he was constantly trying to fill that gap inside him. Something or the other was always stirring up inside him. And he didn't know why. 

After coming to the city, he found a job, and he was somehow happy about it. He had even called his parents to share the news. But a part of him was not happy about it. The new city was entirely new to him. He had left his belongings at home. The only parts of them accompanying him were the memories. A baggage full of nostalgia.

Every morning when he would wake up, he would open that bag inside him, unconsciously, and stare at the abyss of it. Sometimes memories kept creeping out inside him without his indulgence, and many times, consciously, he chose to delve deep into them without realising it. And that fellow at the office had also advised him that these things would make him strong with time. ‘Strong’ was the word. It was the demand of the time. 

He remembered his first days at the office, and how he had looked different. It was not do something with colour or gaze, but something inside him felt different to the surroundings. He remembered the people chattering among them, and he, standing like a mute spectator, trying to be normal. Then he tried to become like them by going along the same lines, and in pursuit of doing that, he lost himself. Sometimes he was happy about it, and most times without knowing, he felt guilty about it. It was a sort of change that didn't have any physical attributes, but the change was largely hidden inside him. Closed. He did that with the hope of getting adjusted—trying to create his new self, but he was unaware of the thing that was lost. He felt different now.

He saw the city changing him in hundreds of innumerable ways.

He waited there on the platform for the train to arrive, and while he gazed around him, an old man was sitting beside him already. He didn't know how he had come to sit there. The old man was reading the newspaper, and his hair was white like snow. It made him remember the old man from his town who had died a month after he had come to the city. He had known him since childhood and was left heartbroken when the news of his death arrived. He tried to picture him with the old man sitting next to him, and saw the features mixing in front of his eyes and becoming one. For a moment, he somehow brought both life and death together. The old man glanced at him, and he felt caught by his eyes. The spark of life was gone from the old man’s eyes, he thought. Soon he would be dead, and he wouldn’t know. For no reason, he felt helpless in the city.

The train would be arriving on the platform in a minute, the announcement said. He looked around, and there were people around him. In the distance, the horn of the train could be heard. He felt dizzy about it. The people around him became stiff, adjusting themselves, and looked constantly toward the direction of the train. He didn't move a step. He didn't feel like going anywhere. He wanted to stay there as long as he could and talk to himself—to his every body part rebelling inside him, and the prime conspirator, his heart. 

The train sneaked past his eyes and stopped at a distance. The doors opened, and the old man who was sitting beside him ran and made his way amidst the crowd. He saw it and couldn't decide what to do. Should he stay or go home which was nevertheless not home? 

In less than a minute, his mind was blank again, and not able to decide what to do. It was getting late but he didn't care because there was no one waiting for him or he had no one to attend to. Within a minute, the passengers sat on their seats, and they were staring at him. He felt every gaze at him as if they were able to see through him. The doors closed back again, and the train rushed past him. He kept looking at the gone train until it disappeared from his sight. He was left alone on the platform once again. It didn't matter now. He felt at comfort with his lonely self. Something inside him felt familiar to it. After all, life is all about waiting, he thought. Now he felt accustomed to it.

(Mir Umar is pursuing Masters in English from Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi.)