One's Reality, Another's Dream.

Source

Our local trains have a lot of stories happening at the same time, if you have the curiosity to listen. And given our tendency to poke nose in other's business as if we make profits out of it, we have a lot falling on our ears. You need not get involved in anything, but just listening to the conversations of people commuting along, has so many perspectives to offer, again, only if you are willing to perceive them. There are ways of looking at it. Either you are tired and commuting the long distances everyday or you are a part of some observer's story.

As a writer, constantly looking out for story ideas to build on, railway trains are no less than a library! Of daily fights, name-calling and stuff, this one made me think. It fueled much thought on something so very regular. 

It was a 2 hour train journey. I was on my way to a trip. I had no company till the time I reached my destination station Kasara. Going for a trip, I had to save my battery, so music was not a choice. In fact, it was a choice I purposely avoided. I had got a window seat, the sun was setting, there was a typical rural sight in front of me. Open fields with mountains marking the boundary. In places like these, even the atmosphere is cool. The windy weather was adding a pleasant feeling.

The train was fairly crowded, when 4 small girls entered. They were selling Karvand (Karonda or Bengal currant). Their baskets were too big for their size, but they managed to get through all the ladies blocking the door. Dividing themselves in groups of 2, they went on each side of the compartment to carry on their selling. Hardly 10 mins later, they wrapped up their baskets, shoved them under the seats and stood to carry on ahead. One of them got down. The other 3 were in the same bay where I was seated. They asked around for seats to others. I realised that they too had to get down at the last stop. They were talking in some local language. I was observing them... mismatched kurta-pyjama, little torn but stitched to cover, each one adorned with long earrings, a thread around their necks, a plastic bag with the eldest searching for a place to keep it. She was short to keep it on the rack above. 

But eventually, they got their seats. They sat beside me and one sat in front. Opposite me there was a grandmother, travelling with her 2 grand-daughters. One sat with her mother on other seat. They were going back from her house and grand-mom was accompanying them, the mother was seated in another bay. This family had their play going on. The little one kept adjusting her hair, undoing her hair clip every 15 minutes. They had bought some snacks from the train itself and kept on munching. The girls were going back home from their summer vacations at grandmother's house. Oh the nostalgia it struck! The grandmother had started a conversation with these seller girls...

Soon there was a total contrast playing out. The girls had this smile of having engaged in a conversation with someone. The eldest one spoke on behalf of all three. So one of them was in her 9^th grade. Other was in 7^th and the youngest one did not attend school. 2 of these were real sisters and the eldest one speaking was the maternal cousin. These 3 go upto Byculla from Kasara every morning to sell karvanda in the market. They have their small farm from where their parents pick out the fruits. These girls then go to sell it. While she spoke of it, she looked disappointed, though her smile intact. Today they were unable to sell the lot, because in Byculla they were moved away by the BMC people apparently. While she was talking about it, the grandmom mentioned how she too had bought the fruits from them. But the girl quickly said, “It was not from us, not our farm. It was from other girl who had come in.”

She later went on to say how the father toils all day, mother takes care of the household and they travel everyday to get a few dimes. While all this was ongoing, the sun was setting too beautifully outside. It formed a silhoutte which I couldn't help but capture on my phone. Because our generation is so obsessed right? The minute I did, the one beside me was curiously looking how I was clicking the picture. I showed her. Her sister in front too smiled. I went on click 2-3 more, and the one beside me was smiling to herself. Well, of course she was witnessing this scenic pasture everyday. I was the one new here.

While I was doing what I was, the two grand-daughters had now found their own toy. Their accompanying mother's smartphone. Ugh. Those two sisters were busy clicking selfies. Giggling, deleting the bad pictures and taking new ones again. Applying filters. It was a worst contrast to witness. I realized I should have kept my phone inside.

While the 3 girls beside me presented their reality of life to a grandmother, her own granddaughters were masking their real faces with filters. 

I was a third person, developing this story right in front of me. So helpless. Who was at even fault here? The kids with the smartphone being silently mocked by the those not even dreaming of a phone to converse. They travel long distances, carry study digests with them in train, sell their produce and yet have a content smile of finding someone who wants to know more about them.There was a little more of this conversation which continued. The girl telling their story, the grandmother narrating hers. The train slowed down, I wonder if it was even a station. But these girls quickly picked up their baskets and left. There was no fear of cross tracks here. Each one of them picking their basket over their head, jumping around and laughed away as they left. The silence around, I could hear them giggle. Maybe they were laughing at the civilization they'd just noticed. My train was chugging away, and my sight was still on them as far as I could see them. 

Such is life. The contrast it presents. Distinct realities. Me absorbing all of it to understand where exactly do I fit in. Which generation? The everything available at ease, one struggling to shape the future, one hungry to learn more of others, or one silent about it all. 

I thought if these girls would go and share with their mother how they'd met a grandmother and her 2 granddaughters. The mother might listen or just ask about how much did they earn today. Again they will prepare themselves to go and work hard tomorrow. Also will they mention a modern girl who was silently sitting beside? Now penning it down as a story. Would they?