Life in a Metro

Oftentimes my friends and I discuss how the Delhi Metro is perhaps the most ideal manifestation of the government working towards the welfare of the people. It seems to me like a living, breathing thing, its many huffs and puffs making it all the more animate. I admire it, just like I would a person, or rather, I’ve come to admire it, for that was not always the case.

Up until a few months leading to college, I had never travelled solo in a metro before. Naturally so, the routes, the platforms, where to get off and where to get on, all of it seemed to entangle the wires in my brain. Additionally, being a woman and living in a city like Delhi is not a cakewalk. One is always wary of even the shadows and so, before travelling in a metro alone, I found myself pondering upon the level of safety which will be meted out to me. Fast forward two years and now, my life is as though packed in the kaleidoscope of metro travel.

Most often than not, it’s a means of relief. When one finds themselves studying in a university with the scorching summer heat bearing down on them as though shooting arrows on our backs, as every trickle of sweat makes itself known to us as it slips down our face and bodies; entering a metro and feeling the chilling and always reliable air conditioners hit our face, is perhaps next to pure bliss. Likewise, winter in Delhi is no stranger to dealing with extremes either. The same morning rush hours where there is no space to move, if even an inch, which seem to tick us off in summers, comes across as soothing as one wraps themselves in the shawl of the warmth generated by the sixty strong crowd in the coach.

Many years ago, I read a passage on “Winter in Delhi.” Presenting an excerpt from it now for I think it does more justice to the emotion I’m trying to express —

“For the first time in many sweaty months, you don't mind the early morning bustle in the metro and the fact that the coach is filled to the brim. For once, you're grateful for strangers and their proximity to you as you find yourself swimming in their woody cologne or bopping along to their choice of music that blasts through their earphones.”

Metros also serve as a window to one of the harshest realities of the world we live in today — the complete technological colonisation of the human minds.

It is bizarre to me how a small, rectangular box-like structure can so completely overtake the human mind that one cannot find the time to simply be in the moment. Throughout the ride, no matter sitting or standing, one will always find people’s necks stooped down, gazing into the souls of their phones as though hypnotised by nothing but frivolous content which provides amusement for nothing more than a fraction of a minute. So many of these people take the same route everyday but I wouldn’t be surprised if only a handful of them could tell how the view outside the window looks like from every station.

I am no preacher. I am myself a victim to this technological colonisation of the human mind (as I like to call it). Although, realising the mere fact that we don’t control the gadget, but rather the gadget controls us, is perhaps a step forward onto the path of freedom from our digital shackles. After all, at what point does progress stop being progress but remains to persist only to lead to the decline of human agency and the drive for self-actualisation.

It is at this juncture that I’d like to cite the poem Leisure by W.H Davies —

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

Life in a metropolis is not easy. It is an elaborate game of Dominos and we’re the pieces, falling and falling and falling, running and running and running, until finally, we rest.

Metros are a constant reminder of what living in a capitalist machinery looks and feels like — coaches full of office goers ready to walk into battle, stomachs groaning, picking up food on the go, some so exhausted from the previous night’s hustle that they make themselves comfortable on the floor, others find comfort in the company of travel companions, as the station closes in - the race to be standing first at the door, the pushing, the pulling, the running, the stress over making it in time, the hustle, the bustle and the powerhouse of energy that a metro station transforms itself into in the morning only to then deescalate as dusk begins to set heavily upon the city.

Metros are calmer during the nighttime as everyone attempts to blow off some steam. One can always observe exhaustion on each other’s faces, the gratefulness for the relief the metro provides but above all, the pressing desire to be back home.

It is also in this way that metros teach us patience.

It’s as though we’re always late. A bomb is ticking, there is always somewhere to be and something to do. We’re on a clock and find the impatient beast inside us all, trying to claw its way through, urging us to hurry up and make things happen our way. However, the appetite of this beast is gradually dimmed, the trivial stressors it concerns itself with become nullified when things fall beyond the radius of our control and there is nothing we can do but simply — wait.

Wait for a metro to come, no matter how long it takes, because we have no option but to, gracefully stand and wait patiently for a seat to get empty so that you can sit on it. No matter the rush you find yourself in, always wait for the people inside to alight first and then you get on. Waiting in the long queues for a ticket or else how would we go and where would we go?

In our lives full of care, these buffer periods come as a blessing in disguise for it is only in these few seconds that one can just be — resign themselves from the trifles and dissolve into the moment, look around and take it all in.

Metros are also kind. Not many days ago, a woman in the women’s coach where I happened to be, fainted. Instantly, I heard the sounds of panic. Although total strangers, the women around her helped bring her to consciousness, the women at the peripheries offered her all sorts of munchies to help her with her nausea, some others alerted the driver and when the next station neared, not only the ailing but also several other women got off with her to look after her. Mind you that this was early in the morning and I’m sure the other women had responsibilities to tend to as well, but in that moment, the sick lady was of the utmost importance.

Some months ago, a middle-aged lady in the women’s coach was sitting right opposite to where I was sat. She was extremely beautiful and as my gaze fell upon her, I realised that she was tearing up. The coach was fully packed and the poor woman, I could see that she was trying to fight back her tears, trying very hard to not shed them, but gave way to emotion and eventually, they sprang out of her eyes. I was noticing, but the coward in me didn’t allow me to be kind, to ask her if I could be of any help. Fortunately, not many are like me. People are kinder still and so, the woman next to me approached her. As it turned out, she was headed to a hospital to see a sick relative but was separated from her son at one of the previous stations. The son had her phone and money and she was all alone, not knowing in that moment how she would find her way back to her child. The kind woman helped her in this predicament by offering her a phone. She then coordinated with her son and it was decided that they would meet at Laxmi Nagar. Many thanks were exchanged between the two women and as the kind one got off, “Dhyan rakhna”, she said and the beautiful woman was still tearing up but this time, I presume they were happy tears for there was a bright smile on her face.

Small acts of selflessness also do not go unnoticed. Helping a stranger find their balance as the metro jerks itself, making them trip. Giving your seat to someone who needs it more than you despite being tired to death. Helping someone figure out the way, and lastly and perhaps funnily enough, warning someone to get off the floor before Rajendra Place comes so as to avoid being fined.

These kindnesses further foster integrity. It was the night of 7th March, 2024. I think it was around 9pm and my friend and I were walking to the nearest metro station after having attended a Sunidhi Chauhan concert. We were surrounded by other young girls whose curfew to reach home was closing in on them, as was ours. We were parched and so, I purchased a bottle of cold water at a stall before boarding the metro. I offered it to my friend first, then drank some myself and no sooner than I had put the bottle down, that I heard a girl ask me for a sip, then another girl, then another and then again, another. Within minutes, the bottle found itself to be empty and smiles adorned all our faces for we had not only just formed a shared experience but had also experienced girlhood itself.

Other instances of such collectivistic exhibitions are also witnessed when an important cricket match is being played and one finds themselves in the metro rather than at home and in front of a television. In such cases, there is usually one person holding up their phone for many near and behind them, to watch. All strangers, united only by the chance coincidence of being in the same metro and their love for a sport.

You may think of me as a fool who yearns to find romance in everything she experiences but I am not alone in this.

This piece would be amiss if I don’t cite this beautiful poem by Anureet Watta -

The world may be ending today, so I hold you hand on the Delhi Metro,

a handhold that doesn't spill into a hug, a handhold that doesn't starve for a kiss.

The world has ended many times before, just this morning when I heard my father's footsteps, just this evening when you looked my way.

Perhaps we are the undoing, nothing in our hands to set fire to the sky, except for this damned audacity in our heart, this audacity to hold hands on the Delhi Metro.

We are the textbook definition of wrong, always stepping out of the lines, the CCTV camera breaths down our necks, the security check misses my hand grenade heart, but nothing in my pockets except for this non binary guilt, nothing on the footage but our queer shame.

I don't say it out loud, the way my heart sits in my mouth, but underneath my fingernails is a hunger I dare not pronounce

So I swallow the stones thrown at us, I watch the universe obliterate just to hold your hand a little longer.

Perhaps it has always been like this, we, unscathed by the wrath around us, tenderness, a weapon we hold with both hands

Perhaps we've caused the world to end, Maybe we've held hands on the Delhi metro

Before beginning to write this piece, I also wished to ask some people I’m close to, what their understanding of life in a metro is. My lovely friend Khushi was kind enough to share with me an extremely heartfelt piece on her understanding of this —

We learned about modes of transport in school but no one ever taught us they could be friends to us, at least the metro has become one. I tend to run late every day and miss it but it doesn’t hold a grudge- it comes back to me in a few minutes. Like a friend whose house you visit the first time, "Make yourself at home," it tells me as I enter. From Kailash Colony to Kashmere Gate and from my playlist's transition from Jagjit Singh to Lana Del Rey, from my search to find a seat and my vigilance in throwing men out of the women's coach, I find myself observing and admiring. The people around me, the outfits they're wearing, the books they are reading, how they eye the station name and move forward in their seat before getting up (which becomes an indicator of their destination), how people fight for a seat but get up when they see an older woman walking in, all of these entertain me while I text my friends,"Where have you reached?" and wait for their reply. I'm underground and the network is poor, and the metro is my chaperone.

I have personally come to know certain routes like the back of my hand. I like to believe that these routes have come to know me too. After all, I have shared so much of my life with them, lived so many moments of importance, some even being core memories, before them. When I shut my eyes, I can imagine, through the eye of my mind, a montage playing before me of my life in the metro.

It’s a good life, one full of the laughter of my friends, dotted with the warmest hug goodbyes upon my departure and the most loving, “I am waiting for you upstairs”, upon my arrival, from my boyfriend. It is full of fractions of infinities wherein I find myself living inside the bubble of what it means to be young and energetic and experiencing the city. Sometimes I purposefully get off at certain stations just because I missed being there. I now recognise the people working at the stations and appreciate them for their service and most of all, I appreciate the metro, for being by far the most reliable companion in our journey together as traveller and a means of travel.

Through your windows, I see seasons pass by as the leaves change colour and the city waves hi!