That One Train Ride That Changed Everything

That One Train Ride That Changed Everything

Behind every face is a story — a tale of grief, love, struggle, or joy. We walk past strangers every day, unaware of the emotional rollercoasters they carry quietly within. But it was on one particular Mumbai local train ride that this truth hit me like never before.

Mumbai locals aren’t just trains — they are lifelines, moving cities on wheels. Every compartment is a world in itself, filled with people from all walks of life, all headed somewhere — yet somehow, together.

I remember stepping onto the train, clutching my bag close, eyes scanning for a quiet corner to lean into. But instead, my attention was drawn elsewhere — not to my phone, not to the station names — but to the stories written not on paper, but on faces.

It was mid-afternoon, unusually quiet by Mumbai standards. The train wasn’t crowded. A few passengers were buried in their phones — their faces dimly lit, emotionless. But then I noticed a girl, tucked into the corner seat, lost in a book. Maybe a love story. Maybe a murder mystery. She seemed far away from this world — and maybe, in her own way, she was discovering a version of herself in those pages.

Right beside her sat a woman in her early forties, holding a lunchbox. She could’ve been returning from work, or perhaps escaping home — I couldn’t tell. Her face looked calm at first glance, but her eyes were swollen, her body language uneasy. A faint bruise traced her cheekbone. She stared into nothingness, as though trying to hold herself together.

A part of me wanted to look away. But another part — the more human part — whispered, “Go to her. Say something. Anything.”
I didn’t.
I just sat there, silently observing, letting her pain enter me in some strange, wordless way.

That day, something changed in me.

I realized that everyone is carrying something — some silent battle, some invisible storm. The girl in her book was escaping, the woman next to her was surviving, and even those staring at their phones may have stories they’re quietly living through. We are all narrators of our own struggles — just waiting for someone to hear us.

And then came a moment of unexpected lightness.

A man entered — a street vendor selling earrings. He moved through the aisle with practiced ease, offering colors and jingles to anyone who’d listen.

He walked up to me and asked, “Madam, kuch pasand aaya?”

I smiled and politely said no.
He nodded and replied warmly, “Koi baat nahi, madam.”

There was something in that smile — something so gentle and whole. It made me pause.
Happiness doesn’t always need a reason.

Here he was, walking through compartments all day, likely facing dozens of rejections — yet not a trace of irritation on his face. That moment humbled me.

Because honestly? I take everything so personally.
Even when a street dog refuses the biscuits I offer, I wonder, “Really? Even you?”

But look at him — a man who had learned to carry rejection with grace, and still smile like the world hadn’t turned its back on him.

As the train neared my stop, I got down — with a strange warmth in my heart.
I’ve lived in Mumbai for years, but that one train ride taught me something no book or quote ever did.
It taught me how much people hold behind their silence…
And how much light some carry, even in struggle.

⸻

A few months later…

I saw him again.
The same vendor. The same tray of earrings.
The same radiant smile.

And yes — the same question, as if no time had passed at all:
“Kuch pasand aaya, madam?”

This time, I smiled back and said, “Haan, dikhaiye na.”

I picked out a few earrings — not because I needed them, but because I remembered that train ride. Because I remembered him.

As I paid, I said casually, “Aapka attitude bada hi positive hai.”

He chuckled gently and replied:

“Zindagi se pyaar karna seekh liya hai, madam. Ab har din achha lagta hai.”
(“I’ve learned to love life, madam. Now every day feels good.”)

⸻

And just like that…

A small exchange, a quiet train ride, a few faces — they changed something in me.

Sometimes, we wait for life to give us grand lessons. But the most meaningful ones arrive quietly — through strangers, in passing glances, in rejected earrings, and in borrowed smiles.

We’re all just passengers, really.
All trying to get somewhere, all carrying something.

Maybe the best we can do is notice.
And soften.