Metro is one of the crafts of
modern engineering that, thankfully, does not add much to the chemical toxicity
of air. The factors that add to the toxicity of hatred are always exogenous and
therefore, metro or any other technology can’t be the safe bet for blaming the
same. Recently, I traveled by this marvelous piece of Indian development
epitome, imported from Germany. Avoiding office hour rush, which won’t give you even a space to breath when a
mad rush automatically pushes you somewhere inside the coach, I left for my
destiny a little late in the evening. The infrastructure, undoubtedly, is a
treat to eyes that compensates for the hassle. The security check at the
entrance reminded me Kashmir for two reasons. One is very obvious and the other
was Mushtaq, a security personal who makes sure that the metal detector handed
to him is working properly. The beep always meant nothing. I always wonder if
they are checking the working of metal detectors or searching us. Asking such a question in Kashmir was always
suicidal, so I lived with the curiosity. Mushtaq was a guy with long beard who
happened to be from my native place. But being Mushtaq never meant less of
frisking. As a Kashmiri, he knew that we are meant to be frisked more and very
much programmed not to mind. Metro streamed like beautiful Sridevi depicting
Nagin in a super hit Bollywood movie of 80’s. The first cart, being reserved
for young girls, looked all the more catchy, followed by other coaches with
some reserved seats for women who may not support this unjust segregation of
sexes. Metro aptly seemed representing Indian nation with so many reservations
from head to tail. I too wished to protest by traveling in the first cart but
the videos circulated on youtube showing lot of humiliation for men for this
violent and unacceptable offence were more than scary for taking such risk. I
entered one of the middle coaches and found a space to hang on the sides of a
rod. With a curious look on the people sitting in a row, I wished someone to
leave a seat early. A boy standing nearby either had a recent break off or just
fallen in love. He was playing some alien songs loudly on his mobile phone,
without any respect to the warning on the speaker for this being an offence. I
would have penalized him several times more for making me guess so hard and
still being confused for it to be a love song or a sad song. Sitting row was
occupied by few women also. On my right, I could see a burqa clad woman with
only eyes open and holding a child, around 2 years old, in her lap. She had
some clean shaved male partner with her. On my left was a lady draped in sari
with a broad vermillion (sindoor) along the parting of her hair and a bindi on
forehead. She was also holding a child of almost same age in her lap and
accompanied by a clean shaved male partner sitting with her. Children have this
amazing talent of making people act like monkeys and parents enjoy the pride in
this. The alien songs in the mobile phone of the guy standing with me had
already been silenced after few stations and he was busy entertaining one of
the kids with his monkey gestures. Suddenly the child in the ‘Hindu’ lap jumped
from his comfort zone to reach near the child in the ‘Muslim’ lap. They caught
each other’s sight, passed smiles and a kiss, much to the surprise of this bystander
who was relieved of his job. Next station, the woman attired in sari stood up and
took away his child to get down. This proved disastrous and the other kid
started crying bitterly. Parents tried their experience and gestures to save
themselves from embarrassment but it was futile. In all this frenzy, a man with
turban entered the coach with a child in his lap. The smiles were back and the
kisses were exchanged, much to the relief of parents and a child himself. My
station came and I left, wishing we could never grow up to understand the
differences that make our airs toxic.
