The Bombay suburban trains – colloquially referred to as the ‘locals’ – are a fascinating experience.
A strange, harmonious-amidst-chaos world in this city that is little-harmony-amidst-massive-chaos. They are a legend unto themselves, an embodiment of this city, a symbol of its liveliness, anarchy, and beauty, an icon. Maybe it is the innate desire for journeys that endears them to us, maybe the perfect cultural and socio-economic pot pourri that they carry each day, or perhaps it is, bereft of imagination, just the convenience of travel they offer in a city that is too large for its own good.
Just like this poem here, the following is something that just erupted on a ride I took on the suburban rail today.
Hope you like it…
Calm down, and hold my hand,
Forget the world, forget tomorrow,
Take refuge in the truth, let us,
Hidden it is, let’s hide the lies,
And be, just be, for once,
Isn’t that worth everything?
Sell not promises of a future,
Nor dig up and revive yesterday,
Your scars, your tears, you,
Let’s wipe them with newer smiles,
And upon distant dreams, once again,
Let us build our realities,
Stretching today, accommodating,
And freeing ourselves. Forever.