Last evening, I spent a while at a coffee shop on Trafalgar Square.
It had been quite a few hours that I had left Oxford, travelled to London, met a former senior colleague for lunch, browsed through the National Gallery, and, having nothing to do till a lecture at the BBC House, found myself doing something I do without much effort: Sitting with coffee at a café, which, almost as a criteria, has a large window overlooking the road.
Perched on a high stool, facing one of the many traffic signals that encircle Trafalgar Square, I heard a man next to me tell his friend, “Why does everyone seem to be running?”
Now, where have I heard that before, and about which city?
Looking at the throngs that crossed over from one side of the street to another, in tune with the alternating green and red traffic lights, huddled against a nasty, biting wind, trudging towards the Underground station, it felt all so familiar. The mass of humanity, the evening rush, the day’s fatigue, the promise of home an hour or so away, the unfriendly weather… some things are just the same, no matter where you are.
Yes, the streets are so much more clean, and the air is so much more clear. But some other things are so much still the same.
On the way to Oxford late at night, I saw a large hoarding ad for an investment company. It had the photograph of an Indian man on a cycle, wearing a large Rajasthani turban, a small boy riding pillion, holding on to a laptop. They were riding through the dusty and sunny countryside. Seeing that ad on a highway from London, made me realize all over again where I really want to be.
After all, rush hour feels pretty much the same everywhere I guess.