He swung to his right and dodged a train and then jumped to the left just as another train came barreling down the track.
There was nothing exceptional about whatever he was doing except he was managing to do all this while squeezed from all sides by the sweat, desperation and despair of Delhi. They surrounded him not by choice, but because they were pushed into that very place by the society; much like the society had done the rest of their lives.
He was now running on top of a train to collect another shiny coin which was when it happened.
It wasn’t gods wrath, it wasn’t fate, it was just the arm of someone who realized at the last moment that he had to get off at that stop. That arm managed to knock the phone of his arms and the Subway Surfer died a tragic death.
Sweat, desperation and despair threw daggers at the arm that hardly noticed the interruption he had brought to a spectator sport.
I turned to another side of the train that was headed towards Noida from Rajiv Chowk where another group was crowded around a guy crushing candies.
I decided to listen a song instead.