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The words that make
stories are always illustrated in eloquent fashion. But here, there is no story
telling. This is just me sitting on the floor and on my mobile notepad,
writing what I see. Things that knowingly or unknowingly just further some
petty agenda to create complicated scenarios. Diversely creative in origin
are the ideas that get lost in gossip. Still, there is this great bit of
admiration to be held for the people that just stand shivering out metaphors
and painted analogies to another.
I
believe in hate at first sight. I remember not to hurt feelings. Anyways, I
am too busy to do that. I am too occupied to any other thing. Other than what
I am going to tell you. Each day, any hour I find myself surrounded and
packed with people I don’t know. Yet, they are all so familiar. So known to
me. Because I travel with them every day. Not to confuse it further, they are
categorized. Broad categories. I am sure as you go by reading what I
have written here, you would be amazed that “you” travel with exactly the
same lot as “I” do.
The
moment you enter, the first thing you notice is EVERYBODY noticing you. Like
what you are wearing is a sure shot question in an upcoming IQ test. And then
there are some who doesn’t miss a single station to examine who all entered
and wearing what, head to toe. Among them are further 2 categories. One
looking from head to toe, curls up their eyebrows, wrinkles their forehead,
stretch their lips to one side and either say to the one sitting next
to them or to themselves, “omg, what is she wearing!”. And the other, looks
from toe to head, eyes wide open, trying hard to hide the excitement and
wondering to themselves, “omg, what is she wearing!”. There are those
young girls dressed up in bright neon combinations, most commonly yellow and
red. Taking care so much of their fixed textured hair that their turning
around in reflex action would also be so much in slow motion. More than the
breaths they take are the number of times their hands goes to check weather
their hair still is intact. Matching shoes, matching clips, matching nail
paint, matching bag, matching this and that. And there is no train which does
not have a newlywed bride. I don’t actually know what ‘newlywed’
literally means because this phase lasts like forever, I am just classifying
them (women of all age groups, trust me it varies or let’s say ‘seemingly’)
on the basis that they wear chooda and wears all kind of make-up they could
adjust on their dressing table AT ONCE. The junior girls with or without
their uniforms sharing loudly how extremely fun, extremely daring, extremely
smart, extremely outrageous, extremely bold, extremely out spoken they are.
Let me just tell you, anyone younger is too junior, anyone elder than me is
too old. There are also those from village or other rural sort of place,
those who attempts 50 times to get on the escalators before opting the
stairs. Pushing people backward and making their way forward and stretching
the neck so that their face is visible, out of the crowd and tells, which
station to get down at. or, just say aloud that this is the station we have
go get down, he has done his job of telling, being alert is the job of the
other and act according to the voice they recognize. Or if alone, talk on the
phone like the same wave length has to last all the way from earth to
the sate-light and then back to earth to the other person holding
the phone at that end and talking to them. Head up and maximum volume. But
the good delight is to see those old Ladies when receive calls to inquire
about what station they have reached, looks around in every direction, up and
down, in and out to know the answer. The glow or the pride that she still is
in command, or satisfaction, or the blush of satisfaction on their face is SO
brightening that it speaks volumes. They have someone to take care of them,
take them along and worry about them. They feel good and it is so damn
visible.
Interchange station. Very typical it is, if you see a lot that looks like who just got up from a sound sleep, sort of swollen faces is probably coming from the yellow line. Very image conscious, dresses and particular, well ironed lot is either heading towards or coming from the violet line. Rajiv chowk is a place where people go in all directions. Hit you with their luggage, push their way, sitting at the corner and waiting for their company, roaming around and reading posters and etc etc etc… Half of India’s population is probably standing at the women compartment joint. A little beyond would defiantly be that one person who would be talking about the current political and economical situations. Trying to display ALL that he knows at one go. And if someone, maybe the company only (who is most of the time even a dumber case, but there are exception at times, talking of those exceptions) participates, the former is baffled because that entire he knew, he has already said. So what he cleverly does is, slightly nods in agreement and changes the topic to some other political aspects. Just for the sake of saying it, it is supposed to be a conversation between 2 or 3. But the entire compartment is a forced witness of their so called wits and intellectuals. At the same time their stand a guy in barmudas, crock, and earphones tangled around the neck that increases the volume of the song he is listening to and plays hypothetical instruments. Swollen eyes look up and then forcefully the head bows down into the book of some entrance exams probably weighing 5 kgs in the laps of the other guy/ guys. Who moves his torso to and fro as he reads as if making space inside the body to fit in those long sentences and complicated vocabulary. Eyes again cheat and peep a view and then again forced to limit the view. The other thing that I fail to understand is how does stretching your legs wide apart, hands from east end to the west end and not giving any sort of respect be it elders, or ladies gives someone the “most macho feeling”… I mean come on, who doesn’t know that what you have on your head is some stupid over sticky oil and not gel (as you believe we think), these chains in your neck have rust, these shoes are supposed to be worn in winters and we probably got that you don’t have a chewing gum in your mouth so stop pretending.
If
the metro is crowded, the kids would endlessly cry. If there is enough space,
they would take it all. Some people randomly make friends. As randomly
as, “oh! T-pain? I love his songs too”, or “I too had that phone”, or “ lemme
help you with that bag” or whatever… some, share a cunning look, emit such
strong negative vibes on a issue as small as not shifting or adjusting to fit
in an extra body.
But
nothing lasts. They forget who they hated yesterday and whom did they admire.
The next day begins with the same rush and same stories with different faces.
Or same at times. I have read you. I have studied you. Your storm and how
many ways you are beautiful (or not).
In
the end, does the excitement of the people spilling out recommendations ever
seem to shine that far? So what is it, which hides in toughs special shreds
of audible truth, the ones that are spoken by the seemingly experienced? Do
you think logic ever crawls down the backs and brain stems of their
individuality?
I would gamble on the fact, that in order to take any advice at more than face value there must be some sense of progression involved. Even if it is just in infinite circles of highs and lows. Anyways, It is fun to notice how typical everything is. Who am I? You would never know. Because I stand in the crowd. The same crowd. Crowd of people so occupied with themselves. And if at all, by any chance, there is someone out there who took out time to notice people, would probably have categorized me into some.
And
whatever be it… I am least bothered as me too, am too occupied to enjoy my
time in this world of familiar strangers… I love your company J
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Friday, September 21, 2012
metro
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