Caustic...

The station was silent. Only the occasional hustle bustle of people passing by when trains arrived. I sat there on an age withered bench, having reached there only a few moments ago in one of those trains and caught in the ambush of otherwise calm people rushing to get out. It was late. I should be going home. But I had something caught up in me...I wanted to simply sit there and brood over it...

Why was I there again? This typical indecision. Thoughts that need not be watered to sprout; Questions that I wouldn't want to ask, but had to answer... I did not know what was going on in my head. Tired of sitting there or the occasional ambling about the station, I decided to go home. Waiting for a taxi was not an option at an hour so late in the night. I was really tired, could feel the occasional blurring of my vision as I walked out, bent a little under the weight of the bag I carried over my shoulder.

Home was so far away. I longed for the warmth and comfort of my bed. My feet were sore from this race of life. I thought of my cousin bro, who was just 2 years old.  (That’s him in the pic)  The smile that dawned on his face when he saw me, the sparkle in his eyes which weren't ever so tired as mine. Little does he know that everyone is going to expect something or the other from him as he grows up. That he would have his life already planned out for him by someone else. That he would have to live up to what people expected from him, even people who he may have just met only yesterday. 

There was a ringing in my head apart from the sound of vehicles that vroomed past me in their endless quests to reach their destined niches. It had started to rain. The path was far from clear and my hand and shoulders felt numb carrying the heavy bag. Drenched and barely able to walk anymore, I reached the welcoming footsteps of home. My 10 year old cousin ran up to me. I smiled at him as he dragged me to see his new toy. He had hid it from his mom coz he had broken it and wanted me to fix it. It was actually a collection of broken bits that he wanted me to glue together. His eyes were innocently sure I could. For him, there was nothing I couldn't do! Weakly, I smiled again.

Strength was a matter of perspective. For me, it was about being there for everyone who needed me. Doing what they expect of me, for we are all bound by love, by the expectation love brings...  My cousin would call me Iron man. Because I always had a way out of every problem he had. I couldn't survive a 200 rounds from a AK-47 or survive a missile fired off a tank or even fire fancy light thingy (according to him)  from my palm or even have an arc reactor planted in my chest and hope for even lighting a torch bulb with it. But he believes I can. Well yeah, he is only a kid. But the elder were worse off in their expectations, in their own way.

Caustic... this race is and has always been...  My feelings had long been suppressed or eroded in this endless race to make a difference, to try and be something I'm not...  

What was I? I would often wonder. Long lost amongst the ambush of expectations that I have to live up to and the labyrinth of broken dreams, did I ever even matter....?