Homing Pigeons vs. Wandering Gypsies

There is something about train stations that gives me a tremendous feeling of hope mingled with a crazy desire to run away somewhere, anywhere other than where I am. It has to do with the musty smell of the platforms, the sound of an arriving train (always some arriving train) , the fact that stations never sleep, the idea of always being on the go, that wondrous knowing feeling that stations have, having witnessed all the emotions that we know, sometimes even at the same time.

Somewhere, on platform number 3, a dad is worried that his daughter is traveling all alone – he is probably fighting to let go…fighting to hold on. Then there is the quintessential couple, holding hands, whispering things in a language which only they understand – the classic goodbye routine, promising to love and miss each other. The belief that this universe has come together just to unite them and that they will always stay together. Well, at least till the big-bang gone wrong happens!

Next to their coach is another traveler, an old lady, all by herself, looking for someone – maybe her son or her daughter or probably just a friendly smile. She holds on to her bag as if its her life – maybe it is. That’s the thing about old people traveling alone. It always breaks my heart. It also makes me ask myself the age-old question of old-age. What if, for some goddamn reason I am still alive at 65 and alone? Would I hold on desperately to my past or would I be content of having lived a life which has helped me evolve to be who I am? As I am thinking of how my life would turn out, I see a group of middle aged women laughing. Something about their laughter makes me smile. I smile at the comfort these women share, maybe built over years of simply being there for each other. And, I think of my friends and how lucky I am to have them. They may not be many in number, they may not even be in the same city or country – but I know when I need someone, they will always be just a plane ride away (!!!). And, again, this makes me wonder...

Does it make sense to leave everything that matters and start over..again and again? Or is it that home truly is where the heart is? How does one know? Wise (read smartass!) people at this point would interject and say...'you just know!' But what if you don't know? What if your heart is missing in action or has no clue where to be? Is home then nowhere and everywhere?

A homing pigeon - always knowing where home is, or the wonderful wanderlust of the gypsy? Does it really matter? In the end, the very end, aren't we all queuing up for a ride on the same train?