The Chained Generation

They whizz past my eyes, with an urgency that seems unwarranted for. Some sweaty, some dark, some tall, some tired, some angry. People. Different faces, different thoughts, different aspirations, different lives. One fate. I watch.

The view from the foot-over-bridge at the thane station isn’t entertaining. Otiose luggage leaning on my knees, people scampering around me en-masse, lonesome I stand in that crowd, awaiting my uncle. He should have been back with the tickets by now. Maybe the line at the ticket counter is long. Its almost 7 in the evening, ‘rush hour’. A rush to catch that train, to meet a beloved, to escape the city agony or maybe just to get there… faster. But are they really getting anywhere? I watch.

As the trains crawl into the station, people jump out & clamber onto the FOBs like animals. They push and pull, and don’t care if they hurt anyone. I am pushed to one side and am fighting to keep my luggage with me. Opposing a torrent of agitated & frustrated flesh, it is a losing war that is being fought here. An old man falls, a woman shrieks and concern & human emotion dampen the sweaty unrest & turmoil. People try controlling themselves and make room for that feeble old man. I watch.

Yes, Love still remains. These are not machines that are rushing somewhere. Each one was is human being. From the north Indian young struggler who doesn’t know whether he would meet dinner, to the maharashtrian middle class wife, who is struggling to meet dinner on time, everyone is as human as I am. Emotions, egos, a desire to excel, failure, regret, hope, joys, passions and… a right to be saved. I watch.

I stand on the banks of this river of men. I look at the sweaty water flow by. I am watching hundreds of worlds passing by. Each person has his own, and is the king, the centre of that beautiful world. But where are they heading to? towards doom? So many! They would flow out into the dark sea! How horrible this is. I wanted to help them. I am supposed to be a ‘fisher of men’, ain’t I. I lift my hand to pull out someone from this river. But my hand refused to budge. It is numb, frozen, bound, with chains of respectability, shyness, honour and selfishness. I can see the blood of Jesus on my hands, but the chains won’t budge. They won’t let me use the power of the blood. The chains cry out to me… “Its useless, they wont believe you! Do you want to be mocked! You cant convince someone who is born in a different religion. No way!” I struggle a while and give up, look up. I watch.

And Jesus came to them and spake unto them, saying, All authority hath been given unto me in heaven and on earth. Go ye therefore, and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them into the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I commanded you: and lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. – Mathew 28:18-20

The crowd starts to dim, my uncle is back with the tickets. I walk towards the train, disappointed, chained. I am going back to my world. What about all those people and the dark sea. There probably is a better ‘fisher of men’ downstream, I say & try to comfort myself. After all I am a part of this chained generation, aint I?