Onnesha Roychoudhuri - Strangers on a Train

 

 

So it's a cold, rainy November evening. And I am sweating profusely. And that's because I am currently entrenched in that very specific hell that is lugging heavy groceries on a subway to get home. Luckily, I force myself onto this crowded hot F train, but I find this coveted spot by the back doors. So, I get there, I'm able to put my bags down, and lean up against those doors and I heave this big sigh of relief because I think I'm home free. But the next stop, this guy gets on the train. He's holding a bible in one hand and he just launches into this really hateful monologue. He starts talking about how some people, based on who they love they're going to hell. Other people, based on where they're from, what they look like, they're probably going to hell. I mean, this monologue is going on for a while. The basic gist, though, that I'm getting is that there are a whole lot of us and we are all going to hell. 

 

My fellow New Yorkers and I, we do our job, right? Like, we do our job of ignoring him. The problem is this guy, he is not following the rule. So, the unspoken rule is, you get on a train car, you say your crazy shit, but you keep it snappy, and then you move on to the next train car down and then you say your crazy shit there. Everyone understands that this is the unspoken rule, except this guy. He did not get the memo. He keeps on going and going. And the longer he's going on for, the more the atmosphere in that train changes. 

 

I think a part of that might be, because this was only a couple weeks after the 2016 presidential election. There'd been this uptick in hate crimes even around New York City, and these shared public spaces that I had started to take for granted would just be safe, it suddenly felt less safe. And in this moment, I really started to feel this deep need to do or say something to make him stop. I know my fellow New Yorkers did too. There was one guy who just told him to shut up, but of course, that didn't work. And the longer this is going on, the more this sensation, the closest thing I can explain it as is just like this full body itch starts growing. 

 

But alongside this itch, this need to say or do something, comes this really old mantra that goes a little something like, “It's not that big of a deal. Keep your feelings to yourself. Don't make a scene. It'll be over soon.” And this mantra is so familiar, because it's been with me since I was a kid. See, I was that kind of kid where all through elementary school, my teachers would tell my parents, “She's really well behaved. She's quiet, she's thoughtful.” And it's true. I was really well behaved. But that's only because all of the not well-behaved feelings, thoughts, the anger, the questions, the frustration, I mostly kept to myself, or I funneled it into these quiet, private spaces like diaries. 

 

When I was a kid, I also used to go to Florida every summer to spend time with my mom's side of the family. And Florida meant a lot of really great things, a whole lot of rule bending. I got to stay up late, I got to eat a whole bunch of sugar, got to set off fireworks. But it also met my Uncle Bill. Now, my Uncle Bill didn't believe in what he called mixed marriage. And because my father is Indian and my mother is white, he didn't approve. What this actually looked like is he just never spoke to me, he didn't look at me, he didn't acknowledge me. And this made for some pretty awkward family dinners, at least for me. 

 

There were a lot of things sitting across that dinner table from Uncle Bill that I wanted to say or do. I think mostly I wanted to grab him, and shake him and just make him look at me. But I didn't do anything. Instead, I sat there. Maybe I closed my eyes and thought, it's not that big of a deal. Don't make a scene. It'll be over soon. I think I was afraid that if I actually expressed my feelings or ask questions, I wouldn't feel supported by those around me, and I would end up feeling more alone and alienated than I already did. And so, that's how it went every summer in Florida. And those feelings stayed there, but they became old furniture in a familiar room, so that I was aware of them in as much as I moved around them. But that was about it. It was just there, fading into the background. 

 

The real problem, is that that inability to express my feelings when I most wanted and needed to followed me into adulthood. I'm going to give you just a snapshot of what that looks like. So, I'm in my early 30s, and I am hanging out with a good friend of mine who I just so happen to have a massive crush on. I know I need to tell him I have feelings for him. And so, we spend this amazing day together. It's coming to an end. He walks me home. We hug good night. He turns to go, and I'm like, “Okay, now's the moment. Don't let it go by.” So, I say, “Wait.” And he turns. And then, I watch as though outside of my body as I go in for a high five. Yeah, so I gave my friend a high five instead of telling him that I had feelings for him. 

 

So, all of these moments from my past are just running in my head as I'm still on that crowded, hot train. It's like the world's shittiest this is your life movie montage. I feel convinced that if I do not do something in that particular moment, I'm just going to be condemned to repeating these moments, and I don't know, probably dying alone, like all of that is happening in my head. And so, I get this idea. As soon as I do, this younger version of me is like, “Oh, there's no way we're doing that.” And so, I know I have to get ahead of this younger version of me. So, I just look at this guy who's still hateful monologuing, and I'm like, “If you don't stop talking, I'm going to start singing” which as soon as I said out loud, I was like, “Oh, no. What now I actually have to do it because I said I would.” 

 

So, of course, he keeps going and I start singing, Row, Row, Row Your Boat, because it is literally the only song that I could think of in that moment. I was really hoping it would come out strong and powerful, even though it was a silly song. But it was just like, I'm not a great singer, so it was just like weak and sad and weird. But I'm like, “Okay, you got to commit.” So, I'm singing. This guy looks at me and it's like, pity. Like, he pities me and I'm like, “Oh, God, how is this going to end? This is going to be bad.” But I'm like, “I committed to this. I got to keep going.” 

 

I get through like a couple rounds of Row, Row, Row Your Boat on my own. And then, I lock eyes with this kid who's in a stroller across from me. I notice he's clapping and I get to like, Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily. And he starts singing. I feel such relief. I'm like, “Okay, it's just you and me, kid, but we got this.” But then, the fact that he's singing gets his parents in the mix. So, then it's the four of us singing. So, this guy, he has to get a little bit louder. I'm feeling a little bit better. And then, I notice there's this other guy who's at the other end of the train. He's in his 20s. He takes down his Beats headphones, and he's like, “Oh, yeah. All right, I'm in.” 

 

So, he starts singing. This other guy who's a divinity student who earlier had been like, “Have you even read that Bible?” to the guy and he starts singing. And before long every single person pretty much on that train is singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat with me, and that guy, he's trying to keep up with us and get louder, but it's nearly impossible because there are so many of us. We're singing and we're singing. I start to get cocky. I start rounds. We are singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat in rounds. And this guy, as much as he's trying to match us, he just can't and he gets off the train. 

 

We keep singing, because it's just this magical moment in which we've reclaimed the space without even having to address this guy directly. I can feel my face hurting, because I'm smiling so big. Because here's this moment where I spoke up and I was afraid that I would just be alone, but I was backed up by this whole crowd of strangers. And even though it was still hot on that train and even though that song was off key, it's still one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. Thank you.