melting pot

the city is unfamiliar, yet it feels like home. i wonder if it's because many of the people here are also strangers or foreigners like me.

as the train makes it way through the dark tunnels connecting one station to the other, i observe some of these strangers as they sit with only the sound of their own thoughts, the screeching and clattering of metal tracks below us, and the intermittent announcement of which station we will shortly be arriving at.

it's hard to tell at a glance who is from here, who is new here, and who is simply passing through. sometimes it's more obvious. i mean, the young couple speaking spanish and taking snapshots are obviously visitors; the east indian family, their suitcases and shoulder bags still tagged with the three letter code DEL, might also be visitors, but they look more as if they just moved here or perhaps are already settled, and just returning from a trip home. there's another girl with a camera, standing in the aisle, taking random shots that a typical tourist might not see, let alone be interested in. the girl sitting oposite has an eastern european look about her, but it's impossible to say whether it was her or a previous generation of her family who moved here.

this place is a melting pot.