There is a strange comfort and stillness in the constant rhythm
of the train. My hand presses against the hard cover of the book that I want to read. Looking
outside the window I realize the scene outside changes constantly running from
one city to another, yet my world inside the train remains the same each day.
The seasons changed from lush green summer, to bright and beautiful orange of
fall to now this white sheet of snow marking the onset of winters. The faces
I see each morning are the same, just more layers to keep us warm. I do not have
to fight to get inside the train. I remember Mumbai where getting inside the
train is an art in itself. There are no gender related compartments. People
very politely give way yet there is no eye contact or acknowledgement of your
presence. Everyone carries their own world with them, yet we all merge so
comfortably every morning like a perfect jigsaw puzzle.
I hear people talking about their kids, their challenges
with their job or even make plans to meet for lunch and yet it’s very still and
quiet inside the train. I remember a blog I wrote couple of years back, where I
saw two friends who were speaking through sign language and how soothing it was
at that time against the noise of Mumbai train. Now, sitting in this train even
with everyone talking, I miss that constant commotion. Kids singing the latest Bollywood
songs, women selling vegetables, fruits, flowers and even clothes. Here, you
are all alone, in your own world.
Slowly the train moves to the last stop, Chicago down town,
train conductor shouts the same thing – Go make some money. Amazingly everyone
laughs, every day. Everyone forms a neat queue and quietly gets down giving
nods to the people you know and slowly as our worlds merged we go quietly go
our own way. Coming out of the station the fresh air of Chicago down town, the
river and lake hits my face. I take as much as I can inside my lungs and close
my eyes for a second.
That one second I am transported to a different time when
the wind used to dance in my hair. Once you get used to the constant commotion,
the smell of dried fish right under your nose and people sticking to you like
your second skin, you mathematically plan your move close to the door of the
train and the fresh air hits your face and you close your eyes for a second. In
that one second you can make out which station is approaching - fresh Parle-G
cookies being baked in a factory, the passing of Mithi River near Mahim or of
an approaching monsoon!
I open my eyes and I am brought back as the bitter cold wind wraps around me. I look around at sea of people they engulf me and urge me to move
forward. You don’t have to remember where you are going. Like a huge wave in
the sea, this sea of people guides you just like it used in Mumbai. It is
amazing how my life is from 12 years ago when I was in Mumbai and now in
Chicago, they collide yet remain the same.
While Mumbai provided the comfort for a young girl who was
just outside of college ready to take on the world, Chicago provides the exciting
new journey for a mother and wife eager to begin the day so she could head back
home to the warmth of being with family. Mumbai was hot and humid, Chicago is
cold and surprisingly fresh. Mumbai provided a dream which I am living today
engulfing me in a constant fog created by the warmth of memories from past and
fresh new beginning of present.
