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Friday, 16 December 2016

An Ode to Strangers

‘For me, you are the painting you paint, the sculpture you sculpt, the dream you, make me wish for the lie you tell as a truth. For me, you are what you at this moment’. People are walking down the road, which gave directions to the cement jungle. A thin road with trees planted on its sides and beyond those trees was the cement jungle.

Sitting in the bus, I saw people of various kinds, walking on the road. Some, walking without a reason; some in search of a goal; some rushing to their business and some standing in a corner; gossiping about others around them. They wore different kind of clothes and different kind of shoes. Some being fancy in the way they are dressed. We stopped at a stop and there were those who were in a hoard to board the bus. Standing ones are imagining about owning a car someday and the sitting ones looking outside the bus window planning their day out.

The bus went down the hill and there I saw the other batch of strangers, people who know a gazillion other people. Yet they are strangers to each other. Nobody knows about anybody’s’ past, talking about the world in silence, judging other people walking on the road.

I reached my destination and there saw strangers of all sorts. Some are sophisticated and some are just running late, very messed up and just waiting for the lift to arrive. Again there was a hoard to catch the lift. Some were too trying to fit in, sucking up their stomachs so that they just fit in the lift. I was standing on the back side of the lift, sticking to one corner. All the floor buttons were pressed. The lift stopped at each floor. People were standing neck to neck. There was no space to breathe. There was a sigh of relief as the lift stopped at each floor. It seems as if the mini box in which we all were packed, is going to ‘Kaboom!’ any second.

I reached my floor, by that time the lift got half empty. Walked towards my workplace and sat. Then there were another bunch of strangers with a smile on their face and greetings of the day. As the clock stroke 3, there was not a single soul visible on the floor. Everyone’s eyes were stuck to their laptops.

While I was coming back late at night, I saw the night owls, strolling down the streets, some smiling and some half asleep. Still, the city is awake. People are standing near the food trucks, some waiting for their food and some with a piece of food, talking about their days, some standing in the corner thinking about what will happen tomorrow.

Finally, I reached my home to see, another bunch of strangers, who stay in the society. It’s like a huge house, with separate houses. We live together; we stay in the same place. But, yet when I enter, everybody sees me as if I am new to the place.



Written by Ashna Garg
Ashna grew up in a jazzy town (where she felt she can never fit in), did graduation in economics (where she didn’t fit either) and she writes (where she finally started to feel like she fits in)



 
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