BENGALURU: After 13 years of the hi-life, I have hit Bengaluru’s accursed roads once again, joining the mainstream as it bumps and grinds along, breathing in noxious carbon monoxide. The once cool and spacious vestibules of Namma Metro seem no longer so appealing; they now resemble the dreaded BMTC bus, packed to the seams. I am told that life in the Metro in Delhi and Mumbai is much the same.
This was never the case earlier. As an early benefactor of the Metro, with a station less than half a kilometre from home, and barely 100 metres from office, I felt blessed. I glided along at a superior height along the city’s treescape, arriving at my destination well in time and without a hair out of place, cooled by the AC. At times, I had an entire stretch of seats to myself. The Metro felt like the exclusive privilege of a few.
That is now history. I set out in the evenings for my shift, fresh as a daisy, I would like to believe, my circadian rhythm was completely at odds with that of normal folks. I join a tight serpentine queue of weary individuals at the Metro station. Stepping into the Metro itself requires some swift footwork, and right into a stale and sweaty workforce returning home after a hard day’s work.
At best, it’s a crush or a jam, infused with carbon dioxide and other (unmentionable) gases. It’s a torturous ride, though thankfully short. The newbie can learn from the more experienced, who align themselves along support rods, and nimbly avoid those with bulky baggage, heading for Kranti Veera Sangolli Rayanna Railway Station. All along, there is the loud background music of mobile conversations, and it feels like the air-conditioning gave up on the human mass long ago.
At the designated stop, push often comes to shove. Either I position myself at the exit or miss the station. One particular colleague, in a hurry to exit, left his bag behind and spent a few days to retrieve it. The lucky ones are propelled out by the unwashed masses, while others simultaneously propel themselves in. There is a desperation to get in, and a similar desperation to get out. At times, even the doors protest. Large families wait patiently on the platform for a Metro which all members can board together, as train after packed train glides past.
The Bengaluru Metro authorities, having linked the far ends of the city, are rather proud of their achievement. Understandably so, but they appear not to have factored in the gargantuan numbers. The aam aadmi and aurat, put off by such mass movement, are back on the roads, hailing the ubiquitous Ola and Uber.
(The writers’ views are their own)