The Train Ride

So on Wednesday, I was on the train coming home. I was in a very good mood. But then I started to look around the four train. I mean really look around. Look at all the people, their expressions, their clothing, and the way they looked back at me. And I realized why the people in the Bronx always resented Bronx Science kids. I understood, their contempt. They were so poor, the clothes they wore the sad, miserable, deeply lined faces. They looked so pitiful, yet they expected no pity.

I wondered why they were so poor, and I also realized they have not been given the chance at life we have. They remain in a cycle of poverty that many people created for them. It’s like the caste system of India remade for the projects and ghettos of the Bronx.

This was on my mind as I got off at my station I climbed down to the street leve and waited under the elevated subway to cross the street, I was standing, trying to avoid the sun, and I was looking at my shoes. When I noticed a man, with a large manila box, inside he had some packaged mini guitars, like two feet tall, and some mini accordions, about a foot long and 6 inches wide. He was holding an accordion and was playing it. Amazingly it sounded just like the real thing. His face was desperate, his large eyes were looking around longingly. He held up the accordion and turned around, facing every person that passed. He held up the accordion, and hoped that someone would buy it. He looked exasperated, tired, sweaty and inferior. He moved around as a mother, looking for water for her child in a desolate dessert. He jumped from person to person, holding up the accordion, and waiting. People walked by him, ignoring him like any other pigeon, or animal that happened to walk by. He was no more than an animal.

On any other day I would have simply ignored, all this just like all the people, but today I broke. I couldn’t do anything,and here was this man probably looking to just feed his family. He probably bought that box of instrument after spending his, blood and sweat. For him his life was like that, uncertain, hungry, miserable, desperate, and low. I had only four dollars, it probably wasn’t enough to buy anything so I stared, ashamed I looked at my shoes, $99 Nike Dunks. And then I looked at the man, how much was he worth?How much was a poor man’s life worth in this world? Nothing, I thought. And then I walked down the curb, and dragged my feet across Queens boulevard. And went home.
I wondered, and thanked Allah then and I still thank him now for keeping me better. I thanked Allah because I wondered what if everything I have right now was taken away and I was left desolate like all those people I saw.