Life in Metro

As usual, I was running late to the office. I booked a Rapido and started my way to the metro station. I paid the driver while reaching the station, jumped off, and ran inside without even thanking him.

On the platform, the display showed just one minute for the metro’s arrival. I stood in line, pulled my headphones from my bag, connected them to my phone, and opened Spotify.

The metro arrived, and the only good thing so far was that I found a seat. In the rush hour, that’s a rare win. My journey takes about 45 minutes every day, and getting a seat feels almost like a prize.

Music played in my ears as I scrolled through my phone. My feet tapped anxiously — I was running late, and my mind was already occupied with the presentation I had to give at the office.

Suddenly, the music stopped. At first, I thought it was a Bluetooth issue, so I reconnected. But nothing. Then I checked my phone — no balance left. I needed to recharge. *Perfect.* Another reminder that today wasn’t my day.

I took off my headphones and stared outside the window. At every station, some passengers got off while new ones stepped in. Absentmindedly, I began noticing people.

There was a girl in the corner scrolling on her phone. She wore a pastel pink floral kurta, and she looked beautiful in it. Who said women only look at other women with jealousy?

Nearby, a mother held two kids — one was still frantically finishing his homework. A young boy and girl shared a pair of AirPods, listening to music together. I wondered, *When will I have someone to share mine with?*

A middle-aged man looked tense, holding his phone to his ear while typing on his laptop. A woman took out her accessories one by one from her bag, maybe because she didn’t have time to get ready at home.

Two boys stood near the door, playing mobile games. A group of girls spoke in low voices, laughing together. I missed my college days — after college, it’s hard to make new friends and even harder to catch up with old ones.

Beside me sat a girl with pale skin and teary eyes, her fingers twisting nervously. I could sense something was wrong but didn’t have the courage to ask. Across from me, a well-dressed young man clutched a big file, scanning the compartment with tense eyes — maybe heading to a job interview.

And then it struck me — if I’d had network, I wouldn’t have seen any of this. I would’ve just closed my eyes, let the music play, and sunk deeper into my own worries. But without it, I was looking at the *real* world.

For those few minutes, I wasn’t thinking about myself — not about the presentation, not about the pending work. My feet stopped tapping. My mind wasn’t racing.

Instead, I appreciated a stranger’s outfit. I felt concern for a mother juggling her kids. I smiled thinking of my old friends. I blushed seeing a couple and prayed silently for the boy heading to an interview.

I realized it’s okay for kids to lose themselves in a game once in a while. It’s okay for a working woman to use her commute to get ready. It’s okay for me to pause, too.

An announcement came for my station. As I stood up, I felt lighter than when I entered.

The me who stepped into the metro was anxious and restless. The me who stepped out felt calm, connected, and strangely warm.

It’s not just me in this world — everyone is traveling their own journey. We’re all co-passengers of the same train called life.

So, be kind to yourself. And be kind to others.