Between Rumblings & Grumblings – The Journey of Life, What We Hear, What We Become

It was early morning, and the usually busy platform of the tube station bore a deserted look. Besides me, there were 1 or 2 more souls waiting on the platform for their train. I glanced for the nth time at the digital display board; my train was 4^th in the queue. The last train had just left the underground station, and I could hear its rumbling sound for much longer in the morning silence before it grew fainter and ultimately died out. This rumbling will again start as the next train approaches the station. Between these rumblings of the trains, there was a strange blanket of silence that wrapped the whole environment in its shroud. At some point, this whole place will be filled with people and will be drowned in a cacophony of sounds that in itself would make no sense, yet will be filled with hundreds of small and big conversations, each one of which would have a story and a past.  

Life feels so much like this tube platform. We are all waiting to board our trains, either starting a new journey or continuing an old one. And even though sometimes we might be on the same train as others, our compartments are different; and even if we happen to be in the same compartment, our seats and situations aren’t the same. Each one is a passenger, each with their own joys, sorrows, resentments and anger.  Some who haven’t been able to find themselves a seat, or know that their journey is going to end or change very soon, choose to stand. Each one is in a different level of comfort and strife, each fighting their own struggles in life. Some can afford the luxury of first class, while others make their way to the general compartment. Some have a companion, some are lonely, while others choose to be alone. Some are chasing dreams, while others are ruing on missed chances. Some are too busy to talk; others are busy talking. Some are taking a chance; others are waiting for one. Some are curious about the possibilities; others are anxious about the impossible. Some have ear to the ground; others are floating above it. Some pay attention, while others go through the motions. Some get down too soon, while others go right up to the terminus. Some journeys turn out to be memorable and others forgettable. In the end, all journeys will end, and nothing will remain except those dying rumblings and grumblings. What then will matter is not the journeys as much as we carry what they have made of us; did we find our music in the rumble or lost our minds in endless grumble,  did we touch a soul, did we bring a smile, did we create a hope, did we reflect for a while, did we stop to support a stick, did we lend hand to one who is weak, did we wait for someone and did someone wait for us.

It’s less of how it started, more of how it ends, and what we do between the start and the end. And this is why some journeys are remembered while others are forgotten too soon, some inspire, while others feel like a helium balloon.

My solitude was broken once again by the thunderous roar of the approaching train, the 4^th train, my train. I have to leave now and begin another journey…