The Metro. We are sharing the same compartment.
You stand on my right, a few feet apart.
I can feel your glances measuring me like a piece of art.
People walk in, a few walk out. I am fixated, but I want to shout.
Mixing memories with desire, I spin back the time to the phoenix and the bard. When the world was a better place and my days weren’t so hard.
Holding you tight was a need and walking miles with you a desire,
But on her day the Phoenix had to burn in her pyre.
The compartment is compressed with our inability to let go.
Us? Had we not done that years before with a grand show?
The sweat beads on your forehead speak of my undesirable presence.
Yet I know there are unexpressed emotions caged in us both, desperation and destruction is their essence.
The door slid open, I walk out.
I was free. I was unaffected. I was without a snout.
A man never steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man. People change with time and that too at the very speed of our thoughts. I am different from the individual I was as a child, different from the individual that I was in college; I am different from the person that I was yesterday. I have evolved with every spec of space, time and culture that has ever been thrown at me! But amazing it is to comprehend the fact that life is nothing but rail journey on the tracks of those three. We stop at stations, meet people, decide to stay with a few, but not long after we blow the whistle and again it’s all in a different hue. School and parents, college and competition, job and money, marriage and love; how we grow up to be responsible. Having faced combinations of incidents and situations we come to learn how to behave, how to react and how to prepare a face for the infinite faces we meet. But there are always a few faces we can never forget . And we realise that those have been etched in stone. In our vacant time, in pensive mood we can’t help but scratch those, feel an urgency to rush back to them, to those days and memories that make us feel warm and wanted. University days were fun. The gang codes, the group studies, the silly jokes; I used to look for you when you entered the class, be excited all day for our literature lectures together and wait for the next programme to perform with you on. But it just fills a few pages of stories for me now. Because I am on a train that couldn’t let all of that last long. The people I was so dearly fond of had to be left behind, I had to move for another station far away, and yet again, I could no longer be the same person I was yesterday.
Photography By: Simran Bakshi