It was 6 am. I had just entered the underground metro in Milan, where I had been studying on an exchange program for over a month. Not that I am a morning person; I had to catch an early morning train and was headed to the railway station, desperate not to miss the train this time, like I had the last time. My head was still groggy from the alcohol I had consumed last night, reminiscing old times with an Indian friend. I had barely had 4 hours of sleep and had to drag myself to the metro station and had made it just in time to catch the day’s first metro.
Unsurprisingly, the metro was pretty empty at that ungodly hour. The few people inside it looked like zombies, walking with half-eyes shut. Maybe I looked the same. Anyway, I was too tired to think about them. I needed my peace, and my sleep.
So, there I was resting my head against the wall of the train, eyes half-open. I felt the train stop at a station, and some people entering in. ‘Why would someone get up so early in the morning?’ I thought shaking my head. As I sat thinking, my eyes fell upon an old man, sitting right across me. I had not seen him sitting there earlier, so I guessed that he had boarded on the last stop. He must have been around 65, and I couldn’t help but notice him.
He was wearing a brown suit, with a cream-colored shirt inside. He wore a matching hat and tattered shoes, which clearly needed to be polished. He had a wrinkled face, from which I guessed his age, and a big, pointed nose, too big for his face, if you ask me. He was carrying a black umbrella, with a pointed end. I wondered why. The forecast was for sunshine and clear skies that day. Maybe he carried it around as a walking stick, or to chase away stray dogs.
He sat there cross-legged and cross-armed. He was constantly mumbling something to himself. With every station that came and went, he would mumble something. I tried to read his lips, but could not understand what he was saying, maybe something in Italian. From time to time, his eyes caught mine and I turned away quickly. He must have wondered why I was staring at him, and he mumbled each time he caught my gaze. This went on for a while. Then, suddenly, he got up and stood near the gate, and got off at the next station. I felt guilty. Did he think I was a prankster? Or a thief? Why did he leave like that? I didn’t know. Soon, I got off too.
I, sometimes, still think about that interesting old man, the one with the black umbrella.