Writing from the fast train from Malad to Churchgate. Before I climbed on, I walked up to a little newsstand at the station to get something to read on the way downtown. There are at least two newsstands at every station offering magazines and newspapers in multiple languages--Hindi, Marathi and English.
Tonight, I tucked my head underneath the magazines hanging from the front of the stand to look for my favorite time pass, and before I said a word, the proprietor had pulled out the newest issue of Time Out Mumbai. I've only bought the magazine 2, maybe 3, times from this stand, so I was surprised.
Even when you are the only stalk of white asparagus growing on acres of green asparagus fields, it's easy to feel unnoticed. Mumbaikers share a quality with New Yorkers--we are all on a singular mission and unless something physically impedes you, you continue on your path. Other Indian cities cannot boast the same blase attitude. A dish-water blond in Delhi or Calcutta or Hyderabad would very likely feel penetrated by curious eyes.
The point is, I usually feel different from my fellow man, but always unknown.
Tonight I felt known. Recognized. I smiled genuinely. He smiled back and counted out my change.
Sent from BlackBerry® on Airtel
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