Life in the Metro

This has been a rather frustrating end of the year. However, I want to end it on a humorous note. So, now I present a little anecdote from my life in the Metro (Metro as in the Metro train), though I must admit my Haryanvi language is extremely bad. So my apologies.

As usual the day began with lectures—that how I do not exercise and stuff like that. As usual I ignored it and settled down with the newspaper and shouted at my brother to stop bothering me with his set of Maths problems (Maths and I hardly go together and nor can we tolerate each other. I refuse to solve its problems and its problems just refuse to be solved by me). Anyways, we are digressing from the topic. Finally got ready to go to office after wondering what to wear today as everything that was staring at me from my wardrobe was O! so boring! The water as usual was hot and I was still feeling cold. After dressing up in all the finery and having had a typical unexciting breakfast of bread and butter with Bournvita milk, I stepped out of my house armed with a P.G. Wodehouse to read in the Metro. As usual I contemplated what mode of transport should I use—rickshaw or bus. I settled down in favour of the bus thinking that since it is winters, I would be better off in a warm bus, even if it is crowded, rather than a windy rickshaw. So left-right-left (I had just watched this programme on TV. The effects were still to wear off. The programme is about army cadets and features quite a number of eye-candies. Anyways, back to the topic again) I went to the bus-stop, boarded the bus and thanked God that it wasn’t too crowded and mentally uttered abuses at a few gawk-ers (Lord! How I hate such people) and finally reached the Metro station.

Again the usual—huffing and puffing, I finally climbed the stairs of the Metro station (They do not make escalators in our part of the metro station. This is what happens to the minority community in this country— injustice. The number of people who travel in the Metro from our part of the station is smaller than the other side—this makes us the minority community among the Metro travellers. We want reservation! We want reservation! Hopefully I will get a seat in the train from now on). Oho! Again we digress. Coming back, this time I got the escalator and climbed up. You see, that makes it quick—climbing the escalators with the escalator climbing in the same direction takes you up faster (This is Nobody’s Devil Law of Motion! But I hate Physics too!). And so I am on the platform now. The train arrives 1 minute late and I mentally reprimand the driver for being “so” late forgetting that it is India we live in. Then as usual, I stand back bemused watching the way in which people are trying to get into the train, literally pushing and pulling each other as if the train is going to leave them there and the next train isn’t going to come. I make a mental note of this and nod to myself in a righteous sort of way that at least I am not a part of this rat race quite forgetting the fact that it is me who has made an effort to remember the exact point on the platform where a door of the train opens.

(And now for the real bit) After being successful in finding my favourite place to stand in the train, I look around just to make sure nobody is gawking at me (if I had found such a person, I would have taken the pleasure of calling him a few names as well. Sadistic! One may say. However, I have found a new victim for that—my boss). Then I fished out my P.G., as I lovingly call it, and started reading. The train keeps halting at Metro station and moving again, as it is supposed to do. Comes: Pratap Nagar Metro Station. Enter: Mr. Haryanvi Jaat.

Mr Haryanvi Jaat (let’s call him HJ just like that weirdo Michael Jackson—MJ or maybe Mary Jane of Spiderman fame): Oh bhai! Ye Shahadra jayegi k nahi? [Will this train go to Shahadra?]
Helpful Passenger: Haan haan jayegi tau. [Yes, yes, it will uncle]
(Methought: Is it a f*****g bus?)

HJ is unable to balance himself. Falls on the passenger standing nearby who is looking distraught at having been relegated to such a torture. I, meanwhile, try to contain my laughter.

HJ: Ib is goley ka k karoon main? [What am I supposed to do with this token. Please note, the gola in question is the Metro token?]
Helpful Passenger: Is ko jab Shahadra utrogey tab dabbe me daal dena. [When you arrive at Shahadra, put it in the box].
HJ: Ye Shahadra jayegi na? [Will this go to Shahadra or not?]
(Methought: How many times are you going to ask that? Shut up now and let me read! The fool!)

The guy standing opposite to me is gaping at HJ in wonder contemplating whether he belongs to some other planet. I grin at him. He doesn’t grin back, clearly lost in thoughts. (Methought: Of course HJ belongs to the other planet—Haryana. Now that was a racial slur. Bad girl!)
By now it seemed that Helpful Passenger had gotten tired of him.

Helpful Passenger: Tau Metro me zyada bolna mana hai. [Uncle speaking too much is banned in Metro]
But HJ is damn smart.
HJ: Ib dikha de k kidhar likha hai Silence. [Show me where is it written: Silence, obviously he meant Maintain Silence.] (But this was no time to display my subbing skills. There was too much excitement on the ground, or maybe in the air, or mid-air. Oh whatever! Just read on!)

Repeats the dialogue a number of times, much to the amusement of the people around.
(Methought: This guy is just too cool. I am his fan. Autograph please!)

HJ: Acha beta! Manne ye bata k je tumhara thaila kho jaye, to kahan report likhwani padti hai. Mera thaila kho gaya tha pichli baar Metro me. K wo mil jayega? [Son! Tell me where should I report if I lose my bag in the Metro. I lost my bag last time here. Will I get it back?]

By now it seemed to me as if Helpful Passenger was in a mood to have fun with HJ.

Helpful Passenger: Tau agar paise honge to kabhi na milega. [If it had money, you will never find it]
HJ: Na beta. Paise na the. Bas kuch kagaz they, kachcha aur baniyan tha. [It did not have money. It had a pair of undergarments]
Helpful Passenger: Driver se pooch lena. [Ask the driver].
(Methought: The driver must be wearing your kachcha [underwear] and baniyan [vest] right now. That too over this pants playing Superman. Now that was an old joke)

In between the conversation, HJ had already asked whether the train will go to Shahadra at least once more. While most of us were getting down at Kashmiri Gate (wonder why Kashmiri Gate. Kashmir is in Jammu and Kashmir, not in Delhi), he asked once more the same question.

(Methought: If he says it once more, I am gonna scream and say... No, this one goes to Timbaktu)