You know how the UN, the government, hippies, movie stars and feel-good ads keep telling us that we should all trust each other, be nice and friendly and that the world is basically just a big gloop of sugarpie? Well it’s not very convincing. Why? Because the Delhi Metro knows the truth, and blares it out to us every bloody day.
I was coming back from college, on my usual monotonous route from Vishwavidyalaya to Rajiv Chowk, with my good friend Darth Vader (name changed, but not the personality). It was one of those once-in-a-red-sun days, when you find a seat after you’ve steeled yourself to stand firm, or rather hang like a chimpanzee grabbing handlebars with both hands. Now Vader was telling me some of the nice things about the world, including but not limited to some scenes from the movie Cannibal Holocaust. As I sat with my shoulders hunched under the onslaught of socially normative conversation, I only looked up when I caught a very peculiar smell, and realised Kashmere Gate station had passed. We were surrounded by a jostling crowd of people who I think, have a mutual agreement to board the yellow line at some auspicious moments between 3 and 5 PM. But I was used to that, and the peculiar fragrance that fragged my nostrils. What caught my attention, though were two people standing in front of me. They were dressed impeccably in a white kurta-pyjama and taqiyas on their heads. They were carrying travel bags, so I assumed they would get down at New Delhi or Chandni Chowk station. Now when I see orthodox Muslims, I am usually at a loss to find the appropriate reaction. One part of my upbringing urges me to be extra-nice to them, because of all the anti-hate propaganda I’ve been fed. Another part tells me to ignore them, because I’ve been told our problems come from being too appeasing towards certain sections of society. Long story short, it is impossible to act naturally towards them, because we’ve never had drills in school about such things. As I sat there thinking of an appropriate facial expression, the object of my deliberation did something I least expected. He set his bag down and made a motion to enquire whether he could keep it under my seat. A few seconds before my mind caught up with the situation, there was a bag lying innocuously under my seat. And then I heard the announcement, “Please check under your seat before taking your seat in the Delhi Metro. Any unidentified or suspicious articles like Briefcase, Bag, Toy, Thermos or Transistor could be bomb.”
I gave a long side-glance at Vader, who, to my utter lack of surprise was chuckling quietly. He had guessed what was causing my immediate distress. For a guy who spent a lot of his time envisioning post-apocalyptic scenarios and how the world would be better off without humans, it was probably of little concern to him that he might actually be sitting beside a bomb. As for me, the ‘bombee’ (at great risk of sounding like a helpless doe) I was trying desperately to be reasonable. Inner Voice No. 1 said, why would a terrorist dress up like a muslim? It would be too suspicious considering there were cameras everywhere. Unless, interjected Inner Voice 2, he knew that a terrorist wouldn’t normally wear traditional clothes, and therefore applying the rules of reverse psychology, he chose to be inconspicuous by being very deliberately conspicuous. All this had passed through my head in little more than a second, and I was still nowhere close to resolving my problem. What if I asked the guy to remove his bag? It would probably look very un-secular. What if I got up and asked him to sit down instead? Since I had rejected two previous candidates for my seat who looked a bit old, this action of giving up a seat for a well-built young man would probably seem over-biased. While my instincts for self-preservation were warring with my instincts for socio-political correctness, Chawri Bazar station arrived.
“Aunty aiye baithiye please” I exclaimed as I nearly jumped from my seat, spotting a rather frail aunty who had just boarded the train. Vader was forced to get up as well, although the smirk remained. I observed the potential bomber and the new bombee closely for the next 2 stations, from a safe distance. That was probably because my conscience wasn’t completely hacked to death as yet. To my relief, ‘the bomber’ removed his bag from under the seat and deboarded along with his partner at Rajiv Chowk. I mentally slapped myself for being a Nazi, said goodbye to Vader, who was still struggling to keep a straight face, and proceeded to board the blue line.
Yes, you know what happened next. The ‘bombers’ boarded the same coach as I did.
That was a rather typical Dev Dutta for everyone, I guess. And the inner voices sound vaguely familiar.
Anyway. I’ll tell you that I’ve been in a similar situation myself, though placed in a slightly less ‘religiously-tense’ one. Yes. As you might have guessed it (and probably, gleefully so), I was with the ‘bomb’ sans the ‘bombees’. There was a bag right beside me, not anywhere under the benches, rather standing boldly in the middle of the coach. After some careful scrutiny and a number of frantic enquiries made, I decided that the bag was indeed suspicious and very much unidentified (all the requirements being simultaneously checked in my mind as the aforementioned announcement followed). Seeing that none of the people around me were really bothered by the object, I got off at the next station to inform about the same to the authorities. So I walked towards the Customer Care section (which, I found out then, was quite a misnomer) to talk to someone about the same. I found a couple of cust care officials in the middle of an animated discussion. When I tried to talk to them, they glanced at me with a look as if I had barged into their bedrooms while they were making love to their wives. However, I told them what i saw in the train. Seemingly unconvinced, they carried on with their conversation, which had lately gathered more intensity judging from their volume. When I tried to interrupt again, both of them casually walked out of the booth and disappeared in some time. A quick glance at my phone told me that i was already 5 min behind my schedule (yes, I had an exam, as on other monotonous days of the year). So I decided to rush back and catch another train trying to crush the rebellious voices of my conscience. As the train moved, I kept looking outside the windows, half-expecting to see an orange fireball emanating somewhere ahead. But as some time passed without the knowledge of a bomb blast, I assumed it might have been just a fag.
Getting off at Rithala, my conscience still making noises, I noted down the metro police number to avoid such future misadventures.
There’s nothing typical about me, mind, except for my atypicality(?). While I am deeply moved from the heart of my bottom after reading your Metro misadventure, I would repeat my 3-millennia old request for you to START A BLOG. It’s simple really.
haha! I miss the letch coach now!
Whether the bag was under your seat or 2 feet away from you, if it had a bomb you would die anyhow.
But you are spot on when you talk about the variety of behavioral options we have when we are around skull-cap-kurta-pajama clad Muslims. ( I wonder if they have contempt for non-burqa wearing wearing women. Also I wonder if Sardar uncles and aunties find me and other women with short hair strange.)
Anyhow, I like the new- white spots dancing on the page look.
I know, I know. By safe distance I meant psychologically safe. That reverse-contempt thought is probably a very real one. Why don’t you write something on those lines? I bet it would be interesting.
The snow-falling thingy happened on its own, I didn’t even know about it! Nice surprise bug.
You got a very wonderful website, Gladiolus I found it through yahoo.
zanks maximus.