Alone / in a crowd

Riding trains in Sri Lanka and New York City

Two people on trains, wandering in thought. The woman was traveling in Sri Lanka during the civil war that was ravaging the north of that small, tear-drop shaped country. Our train was chugging along toward the peaceful south, running down the coast from Colombo, the capital, to Matara, the island nation's southern-most tip. The window bestowed glimpses of tropical ocean and small fishing villages with nets strung to dry and markets of glistening fish laid in wicker baskets. 

The view from the NY subway is far less picturesque, but vibrant and filthy and full of its own garish industrial charm. The man was riding, utterly still, as if there were no one else in the car.

There is something about trains that enhances solitude and contemplation and permits a certain privacy. The anonymity, the selective quiet, backed by the rumble of the rails, the uncaring crowd of strangers. As for the privacy, though, I invaded it when I stole both these photos, lured by the beauty of the people and a compelling sense of their (perhaps melancholic) aloneless. And by the light, which was perfect in both shots: the setting summer sun through the window in Sri Lanka and the harsh subway glare, perhaps at night, although that underground maze betrays no hint of time of day.

The NYC system, with 665 miles of tracks, is more than six times longer than the 109-mile trip that spans half the length of Sri Lanka.