Sometimes reality is in fact stranger than fiction. Maybe its all in our heads. These feelings of insignificance in a world so enormous and self-confusing where strange winds blow when you least expect them to.
It’s about a quarter past eleven as I dust of all the filthy particles that have settled on my car, open the door and sit back in the dark listening to massive attack blazing on my headphones. I get a weird feeling which further consolidates the fact that the world is a strange place. And of course there was a girl.
As I went through the nitty-gritties of daily life today half-tripping half-pushing the hundreds of other pedestrians that accompany you through a normal ride in the Delhi metro, I stumbled upon a strange girl. She was too old to look like a girl, too young to look like a lady. The way she was dressed suggested she was a typical college senior way past her prime. She was probably not older than 21 but her eyes told a completely different story. They said she was 70, literally. There was a scar or two on her leg and I didn’t know what to feel. I had an issue here. Should I have felr pity for her droopy-eyed backhunch that clearly showed she was tired of doing the same thing everyday or should I have simply been impressed by the fact that she had a cute face and clearly the inner child was still hidden somewhere beneath all those layers of complexity?
I would have almost made up my mind by the time another layer of ambiguity hit me. Was I an asshole for not letting the poor girl sit by offering my seat to her? She was clearly flustered and extremely exhausted. Or was I right being a go-getter and still holding on to my seat with both hands. I felt a pang of guilt hit me. I clearly was being an asshole. But hey, competition does that to you, okay? It’s a big fucking country with like, a billion people clearly individuality and a number or two wouldn’t really make a difference. Or would it?
As luck would have it, some uber-hurried chum got up and vacated the seat next to me and she ended up sitting next to me. She scourged through her purse-like thing or langoti (or whatever the fuck it’s called these days) for something that clearly wasn’t there. I continued listening to my music and staring at my reflection in front of me with my trademark ‘i-got-kicked-in-the-nuts-look’. More silence. More chaos. I found myself constantly glancing just to see what the weird chick was upto since it’s obvious that getting a seat in the metro is always an achievement akin to climbing the mighty Mt. Everest!
Soon, she dozed off and drifted away somewhere..just as I was about two stations away from the station I get off at, the girl had a sudden sleep-breakdown and completely let go of her arms and turned into a sleeping human cotton-ball. I felt sad yet amused at the same time. I wish I could’ve just patted her on the back and said “it’s ok, we’re all tired.”.
Finally I got off the train when my station arrived and I found myself trying to catch one last glimpse before the train vroomed past and I couldn’t see her. And suddenly ai had the feeling I was being ‘watched’ somehow. It’s a creepy feeling.
I wonder where that girl is now. Maybe she feels good finally being home. I have no idea. But I shall never forget the torture ingrained in her eyes. The pure terror and feeling of horror you get when you realise you’ree doomed to repeat yourself for all eternity. It is real hell. And it was what she’s still going through, probably. Millions more, the same.
But all I can remember is I saw the girl who rocked back and forth and I shall never forget her.