Da Bronx

​Sitting on a rhythmically rocking train from Manhattan, I take a deep breath and allow myself to settle into the stiff embrace of a plastic passenger seat. An almost welcome change from the lumpy awkward sofa. A different sort of discomfort.
 
The rush of conversation, complication, contradiction, and confusion starts to recede. Finally, there is some semblance of space in my mind for freer thought, for observation rather than reflexive response.
 
At the far end of the carriage sits an elderly black man, dressed as if for church or something even more formal. His cufflinks catch the fleeting lights on the tracks and seem to sparkle in a discordantly flashy way. His beige suit is immaculate.
 
Between his knees sits an equally dignified, elderly, black dog. The man’s skin is dark and smooth and lustrous. The dog, in contrast, has a slightly moth-eaten appearance with rough grey patches and small random spots of hair-loss. 
 
As incongruous as they appear, they are clearly two halves of one whole. The man is blind. The dog has blind faith. Without one another, each would flail and fail. Together they are complete and indestructible.
 
As we travel north, the colour palette shifts. Hues go from white to yellow to brown to black, but the mood remains reserved: each passenger on an individual trajectory—mentally and physically. 
 
Many stare into the bewitching gaze of their phone screens. There, infinite universes unfold, from the mundane to the magical. These people are making two simultaneous trips. The virtual one distracting them from the physical. Which one is more ‘real’?
 
Buildings and bridges jerk past. Sky, water, brick, metal – they all seem to blur on a red-brown canvas. Stations are announced but in such a muffled way that one has little hope of recognising the name until it is too late.
 
Luckily, my final destination is also that of the train. So I am free to watch the mothers and children, the co-workers, the shoppers, the travelers with no apparent terminus and perhaps no clear origin either. So many stories- all sitting side by side. An over-flowing library of life.
 
Finally, the train lurches into its berth. We have reached the end of the line, and all disembark at our respective speeds.  I pause to look back at the train, a treasure chest teeming with experiences, ideas, disappointments and dreams. Then I walk down the stairs to explore my own new life in da Bronx.
 
 
1Aug 2017