Daily Commute
Temperature is relative. The hot gusts of wind berating the grass are life-threatening to pines and conifers. It's the time of year when one prefers staying inside the house to coming out and greeting the sky. The sun shines like an omnipresent sink of energy and source of sweat. It wouldn't be on my bucket list to spend the days of my life getting tanned under the Delhi sun, but I like the feeling of burning its leaves.
When I look up at the sky, I can challenge the yellow (almost white) ball of fire to have a duel with me. It's an intense challenge to see who can last longer, which we both lose at the sight of the moon. I retire to my tiny room that I share with my roommate, and I think we all have a good idea of what happens to the sun. The routine is monotonous, yet every other morning we are back to our shenanigans, which might seem more pathetic on my part as I have more say in the matter than my competitor.
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I'm traveling back home after six long months of staying away from it. I'm at the strange age when I am old enough to travel on my own, but there aren't many people or places for me to visit. So I wait here, with my suitcase and backpack, waiting for the train to pick me up from my temporary home and take me to the permanent one. There's a kid on the railway platform, dressed in rags. He comes up to me and asks for the packet of chips I have kept aside to eat later. I usually pretend to not hear anything in such scenarios, but there's a tenacity and authority in his voice that makes me want to comply with his wishes. He doesn't ask for food; he demands to be fed. I wonder when the last time I stood up for my hunger was.
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Waking up in the morning, going for a run, coming back home, lying down on the bed, getting ready for work, and then to and fro from the office—that is my life now. A labor of capitalism reading Milan Kundera on the commute—imagine that. And then add a terrible fashion sense, tangled, unmanaged wavy dark hair, and an infectious sense of humor to the mix—that's me. Walking feels good. It's nice to see the scenes pass by. For once, I feel like I'm in the audience and not on the stage.
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