Monday, June 6, 2011

Moving Pains (in all senses of the word)

Having spent two blissfully lazy years in the oven otherwise known as Hyderabad, followed by an even lazier year of eating Pastry Corner egg sandwiches and re-discovering my not-so-hidden wild side in the wilderness of the mountains, I've realized one thing. That inspiration does not arise from spirits, beauty or even ample amounts of empty time. Rather, it is the result of numbing boredom (which I blame on the AC, not the work), sweat, and meltdowns during which sentences peppered with expletives as every other word - yes, it's actually possible to do that - are hurled at random obnoxious fellow commuters. The last two are readily available at and produced by the Delhi Metro service at rush hour. The combination of all of the above, in addition to a job which ensures a steady flow of reading that range from good to 'is that English?' in quality have resulted in this post, written some time (okay, two years) after the previous one.


Going back to the root cause of my inspiration. When you're wrenched away from the cool refuge of the hills, regardless of how willingly or unwillingly you embarked on this exodus, it changes you. Whether or not I can go back to that state of innocence (that better not be a snigger I heard) remains to be seen. This is the story of how I changed. Or, since I'm struggling to finish the post and constrained by the fact that I'm constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure that I'm not discovered by a colleague, this is the longest blog post I have ever written. And it's about how I changed. This could happen to any poor beknighted soul. This could happen to you.

It all started with the realization that I had to get a job. This led to a flurry of emails and applications and the sending out of a slightly exaggerated CV, until I finally struck gold, with a job as a junior editor in a publishing house that shall remain unnamed. For the security of the hard-won job of yours truly. An uneventful flight followed, and the merry month of May saw me emerging to the warm (major understatement, that) welcome of the New Delhi airport.

Two days later, I was dolled up (as a result of the forceful administrations of my sister) and ready to go. In true elder-sister fashion, she had haggled with the drivers in the auto stand outside her house and ensured that one of them would pick me up to get me to the metro. So, secure in the knowledge of my transport, I strolled out of the gate. Only to stop short. The auto stand was empty, and in the true spirit of Murphy's law, all the autos driving by were occupado. After a short moment (okay, minute) of panic, I managed to calm down, and, following my half-forgotten Hyderabad instinct, began to make my way to the main road, where I was sure to find a host of autos, all ready to help.

Ten minutes later (yes, the main road was a lot further than it looked, and the auto drought had extended there too!), I had given up, and was indulging in a loud bout of talking to myself, full of satisfying f***s and ... well, you get what I mean. Following a call to my sister, I made my way back to the auto stand, where I found a not-so-heroic auto driver, who decided to take advantage of my obvious desperation to charge me double.

And the first metro ride. I had experienced the joy of metro travel on previous trips. Now I was about to discover its horrors. The Noida City Centre metro station is a jungle. No exaggeration there. What little facades of humanity that it manages to retain in the form of cues and iPods swiftly dissipates, and is replaced with the predatory gleam inspired by the hunt for a seat the moment the train pulls into the station.

So there I was, your proverbial village mouse, struggling against the wave of humanity that swept me in the opposite direction, and then promptly elbowed out (by a very bony sharp elbow) when I finally made it to the door.

The next few minutes were spent indulging in ranting out loud, a practice that had ensured me a wide berth in both Chennai and Hyderabad, but didn't earn a second glance here. Hmph. Apparently New Delhi had its bar set high for aspiring loonys. Fortunately, I soon got onto the next train, and found myself entering the mass of smelly armpits and pokey handbags that is the lady's compartment at rush hour.

The metro, following in the tradition of the Indian ambassadar, is all-encompassing and inclusive - with the women inside shifting amorphously around you in order to allow you a place to stand. Of course this generousity doesn't extend to breathing space. And so it came to pass that I ended up sandwiched between a wall and a hard and bony woman, with the song 'No Air' playing very aptly on my iPod.

Having dealt with auto drivers in Chennai, I somewhat condescendingly thought that Noida autos would be a breeze. A few minutes spent haggling with an auto driver, and I was sitting in an auto, waiting. And waiting. The auto driver had disappeared into the crowd, but I soon spotted him trying to get more passengers. I immediately got down, and proceeded to find another auto driver, who was willing to leave immediately, with just me. What I didn't count on was the fact that all the auto drivers believed in utilizing space to the utmost. Which meant that they were all trying to leave with at least two passengers.

Finally, throwing caution to the winds, I hopped into an auto, with another young and equally lost guy. Despite the fact that he seemed very sweet, I was still apprehensive. Of course, what I didn't know at that time was that the next day, I would hop into a random auto with a Sardarji uncle and demand to be taken to my office. Ah well. When in Noida ... do what the natives do.

3 comments:

AtomicGitten said...

Heh heh heh You had me laughing(in sympathy, I promise you)every second line. Welcome to the joys of the working class- soon you'll be pushing and shoving like the best of them :D As for unfamiliar auto companions, hey- you get to broaden your social circle :D

iAM said...

oh.. well fortunately am now taking the bus.. though the first guy was really sweet.. :) and yah lots more commute drama otherwise.. and the pushing and shoving has already begun..

Jan said...

Hmm, your entire post was hugely entertaining, having experienced a lot of it myself, but what really got my attention was your auto companion. Hmm, 'sweet', eh? :D You seem to mention that quite often ;D