The zipping and zapping of the train is a nuisance to many. The tooting and honking make a thousand people cross. The presence of the almost infinite numbers of bodies, that too of human being’s alone in all shapes and sizes lured many to brave being stuck in the snail paced traffic on the road under the scorching heat or the ever thickening fog. But there are some of us who think otherwise. So, here’s to all those who have enjoyed brilliant moments in the Delhi Metro.
I have been rather queer, I am told, for loving the train so much. The fascination began with Thomas the tank engine, not only in childhood but well into adulthood. The idyllic portrayal of Thomas along with his engine mates Percy, Toby (my favourite) in the Island of Sodor may be disjointed with the super fast Delhi metros in the 21st century. But nevertheless, they are all trains and they take you places.
So the love for metro trains began much before they started running but no claim could I make of the fascination for the streets that had been dug up to make way for them. I was unfortunate enough not to ride much when the yellow line stretched only from Central Secretariat to Vishwavidyalaya. Lajpat Nagar IV was way too far from the stations and I hardly visited north campus except on my annual pilgrimage to Kamla Nagar. Even on such occasions, I was forced to take the amazing three legged auto rickshaws (mind you, I love them too especially after one friend suggested that they look like moving tuna tin!) This led to a rather late encounter but nevertheless blossomed into a faithful and trusting relationship. It finally began when the yellow line stretched from North Campus to the neighbouring Haryana. Much to my annoyance it was a short lived one, circumstances changed and one is forced not to see the trains on a regular basis. But the metro memories are far too deeply etched and lingered on like peculiar aromas emanating from fellow commuters that fail to travel distances and stuck in closed air conditioned compartments.
Mornings were the most thrilling time to spend in the metros as the whole of Delhi seems to descend to the stations, much better than the evenings when we all look like deflated Christmas balloons stuffed in a box ready to be thrown away. My station was never one of those packed with living beings and I always had enough air to breathe and get extensive space to stretch my short or rather never ending legs! Sometimes I wonder if the metro actually uses the infamous IST for it is punctual in its own way. The attempt to board the train were always rather exciting and has never failed to amuse me. One needs to be clever and master the art of standing at the correct angle from the train doors to be among the first ones to enter the train. This too without being stared at by the easily excitable university students nor shoved aside by the incredibly strong aunties with one hand firmly holding tiffins and with the other side clutching their handbags on their way to the secretariat where chai and samosas await them. Men are to be left alone as gone were the days when women did not have separate compartment. All I know is that many brave men who dared enter or pass through women’s compartment were never left without a singe; by the stare or mighty bark of the women.
The actual journey itself doesn’t quite match the excitement of the platform or the art of boarding the fast train. It’s a time when reality/ unreality hit you. Zooming through the heart of Delhi without actually seeing those that signify the city makes you wonder what the core of this city really is. You are in the heart of the city, deep within the dark tunnel where in between the stations one does not see stark contrasts. You then begin to wonder, what and where exactly is the city. After a few stops boredom begins to creep in and that’s exactly the point when you begin to look for fun within what you are provided with inside the train. You practise your rustic devnagari script and although it has hardly been oiled often after you’ve left school, you realise that the intricate lines and joins do still make sense to you. But you at the same time know very well that with that ability does not come freely the process of understanding. Boom!! Shoes! Oh what fun it is to read them (rather then the sparse advertisements). One after the other, you are presented with all sorts, really, from the flats to the unbelievably high platforms. It doesn’t matter who wears them, pedicured or dirty feet, they still are shoes. But how long can one engage in shoe spotting then you look for familiar faces. The fact that one takes the same train each day does not guarantee that you’ll find familiar faces, you do not get metro friends unlike facebook or G+ friends.
Rajiv chowk and Kashmiri gate provide free entertainment of a very different nature. We are allowed some kind of relief if one is on the way to north and the complete opposite when heading south! The influx of people is just indescribable, the stations of extreme changes. One tends to wonder if one could spread out the population of Delhi in a more systematic nature. You get new sets of people coming in and leaving at each passing station, but hardly at race course. I reckon Mr Singh does not have many visitors!
But there were days when one loses these indulgences of observation, when you have company; some living beings or those conjured up by means of the written words. They make you oblivious of being in the belly of Delhi, beneath the heat, dust and the traffic jams where popular signifiers of the city like power cuts, stray animals, and beggars are replaced by a whole new set.
Then before you realise, metro riding days are halted and you are left wondering when you will sit on the metro floor again.
