An old man stands on the platform.
A train is moving in front of him.
He watches.
For a moment, I watch him.
Then I notice the train.
People are going somewhere.
Some have tickets.
Some have luggage.
Some know exactly where they are going.
Some are simply following the crowd.
The train leaves.
The old man remains.
I do not know his story.
Perhaps he has travelled enough.
Perhaps he is waiting.
Perhaps he has nowhere to go.
Perhaps he has spent too much of his life watching other people leave.
I have done that too.
Not at a railway station.
In other ways.
I have watched people move ahead.
New cities.
New work.
New homes.
New businesses.
New lives.
It is easy to notice the distance between where they are and where we are.
Much harder to notice the distance we ourselves have travelled.
The years of learning.
The people we met.
The things we tried.
The things we stopped.
The things we built.
The things that never became anything.
Perhaps movement is not always visible.
Perhaps a life can be moving long before anyone notices.
And perhaps a person can remain busy for years without really moving.
The train disappears.
Another one arrives.
I look at the destination board.
Different places.
Different directions.
And suddenly I am less interested in where the other trains are going.
I want to know where mine is going.
Not how far.
Not how fast.
Just where.
Because there is little use in envying someone else’s journey when we have not chosen our own.
The old man is still there.
The platform is still alive around him.
Another train is waiting.
For some reason, I find myself wondering:
If my train arrived today, would I know where to go?
Written and Photographed by Aniruddha Singh
ansiandyou® — A quiet place for attentive living.