I am a Delhi Metro-lover. If the rickety, expensive London
Underground epitomises the banality of the suburban rat-race lifestyle, its
anthem ‘The Sound of Silence’, then the Delhi Metro is its exuberant alter ego,
encapsulating (literally) the vicissitudes of life in this manic, enthralling
city. Not only is it cheap and efficient
– I can be in the city centre from my university hostel in 20 minutes for the
paltry sum of 15 rupees (approximately 15p) – it also gives my lungs a bit of breathing
space from Delhi’s filthy air, which I’m sure has shaved a few months off my
life expectancy.
But the Metro’s so much more than this – it’s also a great
place for people-watching and interacting. As a gora (white man), I’m often, happily or otherwise depending upon my
mood, the subject of much curiosity from my fellow Metro-users. Frequently, as
in the outside world, interaction takes the standard form of ‘Where are you
from?’, ’What are you doing here?’, ‘What is your good name?’, What is your
father’s job?’ etc etc.
Thankfully however, these subterranean encounters often take
a more interesting turn. One time I was
brazenly propositioned on the Metro by an inebriated (male) passenger, giving a
new meaning to the term ‘metrosexual’. I think my firm rejection of his
advances disappointed him, although it kept the numerous commuters watching the
hapless firangi (foreigner) writhing
with embarrassment entertained.
Another time, I was treated to the sight of a man campaigning
for himself before local elections, declaiming to one and all while thrusting
leaflets left, right and centre to anyone (un)fortunate enough to be in reach. Given
the paucity of credible political parties operating in India’s capital at the
moment, if I could have voted this one-man band would have got my backing, just
for his sheer flamboyance and enterprise rather than on the basis of any
polices he might have had. While such characters would be tut-tutted at, or
steadfastly ignored on the London Underground (including by me), Delhi-wallas
love a spectacle, particularly if it involves a firangi trying desperately to extricate themselves from the
situation with dignity intact.
Even if there is nothing much happening on a journey, it’s
still easy to pass the time discreetly admiring the luminous saris of
middle-aged matriarchs, or the bright-orange, henna-stained beards of elderly
Muslim gentlemen. Every-time I step on-board, I inwardly laugh at the various
improbable rules and regulations set by the august Delhi Metro Rail
Corporation. Any daredevils seeking to make the Metro their amphitheatre are
swiftly stopped in their tracks; riding on the roof of a train will set you
back a princely 50 rupees (50p) for example. By contrast, the heinous crime of
‘causing obstruction to Doors’ could land you with either a 5000 rupee fine or
a 4-year stint in jail, or even both. Quite how the Delhi Metro Rail Corporation
decided that the liberty of their patrons is worth the equivalent of £12.50 a
year is beyond me.
The Metro isn’t without its flaws. The ladies-only
compartment, located at the front of each train, reflects a sad fact of life in
Delhi: that many women, for good reason, do not feel safe in public. Most of my
female Indian friends feel that it is necessary, while understandably wishing
that it wasn’t required. Should any man dare to cross the invisible line, in
theory he faces a stiff fine of 250 rupees (£2.50). A cursory trawl through
YouTube shows the penalties can be greater however; videos show delinquent men
being slapped off the train both by female civilians and police officers, or even
forced to do squats to atone for their sins. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BdShqJyeNrs
Corruption, a scourge of Indian society, also occasionally rears
its head. It was reported a few weeks ago that staff at one station had been
lining their pockets by collecting the tokens passengers buy when entering the
metro – which are then supposed to be dropped into the exit gates – and selling
them on. Less trivial is the trial next year of employees of Alstom Network UK,
the British arm of the French engineering company Alstom, for allegedly bribing
Metro officials to win a contract for the first phase of the Metro’s
construction.
On a more ordinary level, Delhi’s huge population means
trains can get very cramped at any time. Not quite as in Black Hole of
Calcutta-cramped, but cosy enough that attempting to move your limbs voluntarily
can sometimes be a challenge. At one particularly busy station, while
attempting to disembark I was once pushed back into the carriage by the surge
of commuters who didn’t want to wait for me to get off.
Despite these issues, riding the Metro is, for me, still
invariably an enjoyable experience. For the weary foreign traveller, the Metro
might seem to offer an enticing escape from the bewildering intensity of Delhi,
with its array of entertaining, colourful and dubious characters and bizarre
unwritten social conventions. It doesn’t, and for that I, a regular Metro user
and Indophile, am eternally grateful.
