I am a person.
I go around my work everyday, around the city.
My car eats up the miles to get from A to B. Everyday. Every single day. Except for Sunday.
As i traverse the length of the city, which even after two years of being a part of it , still seems alien...i remember my hometown, my city...simpliCITY. life is too fast here. Days are long and tired. Exciting, boring.
As the driver veers the vehicle, stops at signals...i sigh if i'm getting late...and sometimes am even glad that i am getting late for an event i am not looking forward to.
I make faces at the black smoke whooshing out of the exhaust pipes of the various rides. I worry about the environment. Then i roll up my window and switch on the a.c
I like feeling the sunlight on my face...in winters. In summers, i scoot towards the shadows.
The bump of the car...the sudden breaks as it screeches to a top...sliding on my seat, i swear.
I watch the beggars whine and cry at windows of passer-bys. Some give...others insult and shoo.
I watch the people rush about, jostling each other in the mad race to catch time...and haul in money.
They look like ants. Scurrying across the anthill, to reach a supply of victuals...to feed themselves and theirs this day.
Toil to earn their daily bread.
Hawkers scream their wares. People raise their hands like a remote control to stop buses.
Heavy cars screech and their tyres roll over the asphalt. Sunny, windy , wet and cold. All year.
A park comes. The greenery, the foliage...the splash of colours...it outdoes every attempt of the municipality to artificially promote nature. I push my nose out of the window to enjoy the running away bit of green. My hometown has more trees than man- mades. Vice versa here.
Even the trees don't look like they enjoy much...their trunks painted and their bodies bound in a cement border.
Crows, sparrows, mynahs scramble around, indomitable. Stealing, bullying. Pigeons fly...but they don't have space to.
A lot of corners come which we turn and which we don't turn.
I feel...that i too am nameless, faceless, as all the people on the road today.
The market area stinks of fish. A strong stench comes from passing the dumps and garbage pits. Yet they wear gloves and bravely plunge in...to clean our city. Walking emaciated ragged bags of bones walk around to salvage what they can. Garbage is gold to some.
Children rush to school, the parents herding them...a quick reminder of how to top the exam. Marks. Scores.rat race.
Tuition goers. People marketing. Haggling over the inflated prices. Taxi drivers fighting with customers for change. Shrill voices.
FM radio sounds soothe the ears as a car with an open window halts beside mine at the red light.crowd runs across the zebra crossing.
The watch. It runs people.
The coins and notes. They run people. They run me. They run our lives and our stomachs.
Advertisements and hoardings...colorful marketing...promotion.unreal, tempting, tantalizing...probing purchase.
The traffic police,...whistling unconcernedly in the face of the oncoming traffic.
And then i reach my office. A long day of work. A day to prove and be productive.
Take the lift. The little boy with bare feet who supplies tea to everyone at intervals also sneaks in with furtive looks feeling intimidated, and forbidden by the people in the lift in suits and ties and splendid phones. A future he will never reach.
Its strange. How people get a chance to live the high life and some don't have a chance at all. Who decides it? poor and rich? The have nots and who have too much? Or the people stuck in the middle and striving relentlessly for the better? Office politics. Tiresome.
The elevator dings, and i reach my destination. some people get off at the wrong floor and its funny when they swear and catch the next one up or down. gravity pulls as we ascend
Files...and the computer. Daily cares. Deadlines and agendas. Dark prints.
I sometimes badly wanna print smileys on all the official documents. Change colors and decorate the stern black print and starched whiteness of the official documents. play some music while i work...it would revolutionise the formal facade. The boss' countenance might not be too agreeable if so.
Interesting work...motivating, monotonous and challenging. Productive. Success.
the dark pall of eve falls. streetlights glow. headlights sear. the night is not quiet. the city heads home. the press heads to work.
The best part of the day is going home to my parents.
I walk out of my office and stand on the pavement, while the driver brings the car around from its parking. New smells, old roads, travelling again on them. To bed...home...sleep.
Who says the journey is not important?
i dont particularly know why i wrote this. but i hope you guys might like it. do tell me if so.😛
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