I like watching people on my way
to work every morning.
For some reason I am obsessed
with those particular thirty minutes that I spend with them, watching them from
the glass window, and secretly being part of them for a moment. One cannot possibly
have a faintest idea of the stories of these people, How and where they are living, their sufferings, their joys and the moments they share with their families and with the people they know
and love, their problems and their thoughts.
Many of them seem like taking
kids to schools, Mothers with sleepy eyes and messed hair, running with their
kids in their most casual attire to help them reach schools on time, and others
are the fathers driving the kids, their sleeves folded up to the elbows, sweating and frowning at the traffic or other
careless passerby’s. Many are the children who just walk alone, yawning and
dragging their heavy bags and feet towards their schools at a snail’s pace. A
lot of them are on their way to their workplaces, some of them are waiting at
the bus stops, others are walking, some are driving themselves and others are
being driven by chauffeurs.
I like thinking about their
stories, how they might be with their families and loved ones. Little kids, how
beloved they must be to their parents and family. How this father must have
touched the tiny little fingers of the son, he is now driving to school. Poor
or rich, these people must have been enjoying the simple joys of life. Joys of
smiling at someone and being smiled at, joys of loving someone and being loved,
joys of the mother’s scold and father’s care, joys of friendship and trust,
joys of being alive and safe and surrounded by people who love and care about
you.
I wonder sometimes that how harmless they
look, how normal how peaceful. But the fact that every half hour a person is
killed in this city of lights has made me rethink my perceptions about these
people I meet every day.
Today when I watched these people on my
way, I just wondered if anyone of them has not been touched by the violence,
bloodshed and brutality that have engulfed our city and our lives. I doubted if
every one of them is harmless and non-disruptive. I kept wondering if none of
them has lost their loved ones, or may be parts of them in Blasts and Firing
incidents that happen in the streets every day.
Who are these people? are these people really harmless as they seem to be or they are one of "them" whom we fear, I asked myself again, if none of them will ever harm anyone, or ever have.. suddenly this long and emotional
acquaintance with these passerby's seemed vague and I felt myself as a victim
of a foolish, immature and unsafe emotion. How could these strangers be my
thought-mates? How could I feel sensitively attached to them and their
routines? They all can be harmful. I can
trust nobody here; Not trusting here is the right way to go, is the right thing to do and this is what I have to do and I am told
the same everyday when I leave for somewhere other than home.
I have trouble finding people harmless, I am having trouble trusting anyone around me. These are all mere strangers.. mere strangers.. mere harmful strangers. I seriously wonder if i am ever going to be able to trust and have my faith back. But i doubt it until this brutal bloodshed stops for good.
