Peak hour Metro..

OFF-TRACK

Amitabh Shukla

Metro, touted as Delhi’s answer to London’s tube and Singapore’s MRTS, is fast turning into the Mumbai local in the evening peak hours. The rush pushes you inside the train and the same rush pushes you out even though you may not want to de-board and your destination is some other station.

Traveling in the evening hours, one got the taste of the new Metro in the city. While the journey from Nehru Place to Central Secretariat was just like it used to be – calm, peaceful and enjoyable, the taste of the bitter medicine was awaiting me at the junction of Central Secretariat.

The moment one changed the line and tried to enter the platform meant for the trains leaving for Jehangirpuri, a mass of humanity awaited me. I could see only heads from the steps leading to the platform. Some of them with black hair, others bald, some coloured and some left natural with pepper and salt.

However hard I tried, I could not push my way in the sea of humanity. Looking for some other openings, I walked across to the other end from a different side. The same scene awaited me. The train came, the crowd surged forward pushing aside all human obstacles. There was no place even for anyone to fall. Darwin’s theory of “Survival of the fittest” was at its display. I looked at the watch. It was intact and read 5.50pm.

The already crowded train could not take more than 5-6 passengers, whatever the amount of jostling, slugfest, wrestling and kick-boxing. Most of those carrying lunch boxes, clearly babus from the nearby government offices, cursed the system and everybody. I watched them, listened to them.

Another train came, equally crowded. The fittest amongst the bystanders managed to push their way inside, others left outside. Darwin must be smiling in his grave, I thought. After 4-5 trains passed, I could not count the numbers, I suddenly found myself close to the place where the doors of last coach of the Metro open. The train arrived and doors opened. I soon found myself

inside the coach, crushed from all sides by pot bellied men, teenagers, lunch boxes, backpacks. Different smells invaded my nostrils. I could not even move my handkerchief to my nose.

The doors of the train closed after several failed efforts. The train moved. At the next station of Patel Chowk, not a single soul was allowed to enter. Even a fly would have found it hard to cross the sea of humanity.

Used to the rush after Metro expanded in south Delhi, the daily passengers were now enjoying the rush. I watched around. Passengers clutching to whatever they could get hold of. “There was no need to hold anything, under no circumstance would you fall,” I told a babu. “This is to maintain balance,” he curtly replied back.

The Rajiv Chowk station arrived. A huge crowd was waiting outside. A few passengers de-boarded the train. It was again the display of brawn by those waiting outside. A lucky few managed to enter – waiving off their hands in air as if they have won a medal in the Commonwealth Games.

At New Delhi station, no one could de-board the train. The passenger with a bag was advised by the fellow-travelers that he should go right upto Kashmere Gate and then take the returning train to get down at the station. The same happened at Chawri Bazar and Chandni Chowk. No soul could get down or enter the train.

I managed to get down at the junction of Kashmere Gate. I looked at my shirt, it was crumpled. Touched my wallet, it was intact. It was then that I decided to go to a gym and become fit once again to board the Metro in the peak hours.

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