To the Men Who Keep Going…

by Rajesh Muthuraj | A Talesmith Short

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Every evening, trains from the city to the suburbs carry a quiet army of men.
They don’t wear uniforms yet fight battles; the kind no one clapped for.
Wrinkled shirts, loosened ties, tired eyes; every face has its own invisible story.

Ravi sat by the window, staring at his reflection as the city lights blurred past.
He had been fired from work that morning.
No warning, no farewell, just a polite, “We’re restructuring.”
He smiled, nodded, even thanked them for the opportunity. But inside, he felt something break.
He kept touching the inside pocket of his bag, the one with the last month’s pay slip.
Not because he needed it, but because he needed to remind himself, he still existed somewhere in the system.

Next to him sat Arjun, still in his office ID card, scrolling through his phone without seeing a thing.
His wife had messaged, “Don’t forget milk.”
He replied with a thumbs-up emoji.
He wanted to type, “I’m exhausted.”
But he didn’t. Because men like him don’t say that.

Across from them was Imran, an architect who designed dreams for other people but hadn’t painted his own house in years.
He had a father who wanted him to “settle down,” a boss who wanted him to “stay late,” and a son who wanted him to “come early.”
He never managed all three, but he tried. Every single day.

They smiled through stress. They joked through pain. They carried their worlds quietly so no one else had to.

As the train rattled on, a small boy entered with a box of pens.
“Sir, one pen, ten rupees,” he said.
No one looked up.
Finally, Ravi bought one. The boy smiled, showing his missing teeth.
“Thank you, uncle,” he said. “Papa says every day is hard before it gets easy.”

And something softened inside the compartment.

Ravi turned the pen in his hand. Maybe he’d write again, something, anything.
Arjun smiled for the first time that day.
Imran thought of painting that half-done wall this weekend.

When the train stopped, Ravi, Arjun and Imran stepped off into the crowd; not heroes, not failures, just men who kept going. Their story mirrors that of countless men in that compartment, in a hundred others, across a thousand trains, all heading home with tired eyes and unspoken dreams.

They walk home under different skies, but the invisible banner had the same words written on each of them:

“KEEP SHOWING UP.”

In a world that rushes past unseen lives, Talesmith pauses to tell stories of men who keep going, quietly shaping the world one day at a time. Share this story with the man in your life who deserves to be told that he is deeply appreciated. And do not forget to subscribe to Talesmith for more such stories.