Akash looked around. He stared at the crowd filling in and out of the station.
The ones who were hopping off, and the ones who were hopping in, you can’t tell which ones are getting more late. In Mumbai, wherever they are and whatever they do, they are always in hurry. Hurry to live, hurry to reach, hurry to achieve, maybe in a hurry to die too someday. More so around the local stations. There are just too many around everywhere, bending, strutting, cramping to fit in. To let go, is to let go of what Mumbai stands for. It never promises an easy life. It promises success yes maybe eventually, but a hell lot of struggle.
What if you struggle to fit in all your life and one day you succeed to stand out? And it suddenly seems so strange to you. What if the glory days were the days of your struggle, your attempts to fit in. What would you do then? Try to fit in with new set of people again? How ironical would that be. You find your identity in fitting in, is there anything left of you inside? Or are you just an extension of this one big mass of flesh and bones walking around like a zombie. These thoughts echoed in Akash’s mind.