For the past three to four days, I have been spending quite some time in cabs in Bangalore. About three hours a day going places, meeting friends. After a while the ride gets nauseous, but the people I see outside trigger my interest. There are just so many people outside, doing so many things. Each one has a life, each one has a story.
There was this lady who was waiting at the bus stop, with an umbrella to shield her from the rain. I thought she is probably getting back home after a day’s work, to her family. Her children might be waiting for her. I wondered how long her bus ride would be. She probably would go home, check her children’s homework, cook dinner, feed them and wait for her husband. The same thing tomorrow.
There was this guy getting out of a printing press, with his helmet on, starting his two wheeler. He has this big smile on his face. Probably he got to run an errand, and he could use the opportunity to meet his girlfriend.
The cab drivers driving the cab I was in, they breathe the pollution day after day after day. The windows are rolled down, they bring destinations closer to people seeking them. He is probably going around the city everyday. Same roads, same traffic, same routes, different passengers.
There was this lady walking along the footpath (sidewalk) with a sack on her head. She was dressed in a north Indian attire. A street dog following her diligently, which she was unaware of. She just kept waking, rushing somewhere, with the heavy sack on her head. A few meters away I saw a flour mill, where they powder cereals. Another lady sat there in the same Indian attire. Probably she was waiting for the lady with the sack, and they were taking turns.
These are just few of the hundreds of people I saw on my cab rides. Every person I see on the street, tells me a story. A story of their own, unique to them, me a spectator, more so an imagination freak..!

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