It was just another routine subway ride—me half-distracted by my phone when I noticed something that caught my attention. Two families were sitting side by side. On one end, a blonde woman in her 30s gently bounced a small baby on her knee. On the other, an older Indian man, probably in his 50s, sat with a young girl, who appeared to be around ten years old. Initially, they were simply strangers sharing a seat, but then something remarkable happened—the baby locked eyes with the girl.
The baby reached out with tiny fingers, as though drawn by curiosity, and the girl responded immediately, wiggling her fingers as if playing a silent game. The baby giggled, and the girl’s face lit up with a grin. Their spontaneous interaction was innocent and pure, and it brought a smile to everyone around them, myself included. The mother of the baby, clearly amused, commented, “Looks like he likes you.”
Without hesitation, the girl asked, “Can I say hi?” and the older man gave her a warm, approving nod. She leaned forward, pulling a funny face, and the baby burst into peals of laughter. It was one of those moments that made everyone in the vicinity momentarily forget about their own world.
Conversation Beyond Small Talk
The mood shifted slightly when the mother shifted, clearly at ease now. She casually asked the older man about his niece. “How old is she?” she inquired.
The man replied with pride, “Ten. Very smart. Loves to read.”
The mother smiled. “This little guy just learned how to sit up. But I think he’s already a flirt.”
In that moment, I noticed something more than just the simple exchange of words. The way the two adults looked at each other—there was a warmth there, a recognition that went beyond politeness. It was as if they had known each other for years, even though they had only just met.
I found myself reflecting on how effortlessly children could form connections. There was no hesitation, no judgment, only curiosity and openness. It reminded me that love and kindness are inherent; they are not learned through experience or culture. Hate, on the other hand, is a lesson that we are taught.
A Pause in the Journey
As the subway continued its route, I overheard bits of their conversation. The mother, Mara, introduced her baby as Niko, and she spoke proudly of how he had just learned to sit up. The older man, Arun, introduced himself, and the young girl beside him, Meera, became more animated as the conversation turned toward cartoons and family. It was a simple, pleasant exchange, yet it stood out to me because of how quickly they had warmed up to each other.
Suddenly, the train lurched to a stop, and we all swayed forward, reaching for the nearest poles to steady ourselves. The lights flickered, and an announcement crackled through the speakers: “We apologize for the inconvenience. We’ll be stopped here for a few minutes due to a signal delay.”
Niko, unsettled by the abrupt stop, began to fuss. Mara looked worried, but before she could comfort him, Meera, still sitting nearby, wiggled her fingers toward the baby. Niko immediately quieted, his fussy cries replaced by curious coos. Mara looked at Meera with gratitude. “You’re a lifesaver,” she said.
Arun chuckled, “Meera has two younger siblings back in Mumbai. She’s used to entertaining little ones.”
Mara smiled. “Ah, you’re visiting?” she asked politely.
Arun nodded. “Yes, I’m here for a few months on a work project. Meera’s parents sent her along so she could explore the city during summer break.”
Meera piped up, “It’s been fun, but I miss home-cooked food. My uncle tries, but he’s better at ordering pizza.”
The entire exchange was effortless, and it struck me how quickly people—especially children—could bridge divides between strangers. There was no awkwardness, just shared humanity and understanding.
The Unexpected Reunion at the Library
I thought that was the end of the encounter—that the two families would part ways and continue their separate lives. But fate had other plans. A few days later, I found myself at the same library, helping a friend pick out books for her kids. As I walked past the children’s section, I saw Mara sitting cross-legged on the floor, showing Niko a picture book. Nearby, Meera was curled up on a cushioned bench, absorbed in her own book, while Arun stood beside her, pointing at something on a laptop screen.
I froze in place. The familiarity of the scene hit me, and it felt like déjà vu. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mara wave at me, as if trying to recall where we had met before.
I returned the wave and approached, feeling unexpectedly shy for someone who had only been a passive observer on the train. “Hi,” I said, offering a tentative smile. “We were on the same train a few days ago.”
Mara’s face lit up with recognition. “Yes! Of course! Come on over.”
Meera smiled at me politely, while Niko cooed from Mara’s lap, reaching his arms toward Meera. Arun greeted me with a friendly nod. “Fancy seeing you here,” he said, looking up from his laptop.
“It’s great to see you again,” I replied, settling into a nearby chair. Arun mentioned that he was working on the technology upgrades for the library, as he had mentioned on the subway. Mara added that they had decided to visit the library for a change of pace, while Arun took care of his work.
I couldn’t help but ask, “So, you decided to meet up again?”
Arun shrugged and smiled. “We ran into each other by coincidence the first time. Mara noticed me looking lost with the library map, and she offered help. We started talking, and now Meera and Niko really enjoy spending time together. Kids bring people together, don’t they?”
“Absolutely,” Mara agreed.
A Growing Friendship
Over the next few weeks, I continued to see Mara, Arun, and their children at the library. I would spot Mara reading to Niko near the fish tank in the children’s section, or Meera leading Niko around the rug as he tried to crawl after her. It was heartwarming to witness how these two families, who had once been strangers, had woven themselves into each other’s lives.
One afternoon, I decided to stop by and say hello again. “Hey,” I said, taking a seat beside them. “It looks like you two are becoming good friends.”
Mara laughed softly. “We are. And it’s been wonderful.” She went on to explain that she didn’t have many relatives nearby, and with her husband often traveling for work, she was grateful for the support. “Arun’s been really kind—offering to help whenever I need a break or just need to get some errands done without worrying about Niko.”
Arun modestly shook his head. “It’s no trouble at all. Meera loves playing with Niko, and they tire each other out. It’s good for both of them.”
Meera proudly held up a stack of books. “And Auntie Mara—” she hesitated, unsure about using that title, but Mara nodded encouragingly, “—Auntie Mara’s been teaching me about American traditions. She even showed me how to bake sugar cookies!”
Mara smiled, touched. “And Meera brought me some homemade samosas the other day. We’ve been exchanging recipes and cooking together. It’s been a lot of fun.”
It was incredible to witness how a simple subway encounter had evolved into a meaningful friendship. The barriers of culture, background, and language had dissolved as the children led the way, teaching their parents that kindness and curiosity are universal.
One Sunday, Arun and Meera invited Mara and Niko to their apartment for a small get-together, and I was invited too. Arun had overheard me mention that I was new to the area and insisted I come along. The smell of freshly cooked lentils, ginger, and aromatic spices filled the air as Meera helped her uncle arrange bowls of yogurt and chutney on the table. The warmth of their home and their hospitality was a testament to the power of human connection, made possible by the curiosity and kindness of children.
