For the purposes of this poem, we shall assume
That you're at a place with sufficient room
To stretch your arms, if so you choose
Look down if you may, you see your shoes.
It makes me sad to tell you that
Such a place is not, where I'm stationed at.
Such a place right now, I can only fathom
And desire, with a burning passion.
But fret not, for there is nothing wrong
It wasn’t so, for much too long
It has only been five minutes about
Since I found myself in this suffocating crowd.
Six minutes ago, when all was good
With back against the wall I stood
In the corner edge, beside the doors
Which periodically opened and closed
My bag on the floor beside well rested
Between my knee and the wall existed
A book in hand, in constant motion
The world blurred, as I drowned in the words' ocean.
Then a minute gone, we came to a stop
The doors slid open, entered a mob
Since in the text I was too deeply immersed
It took a second before I could be disturbed.
Only when the numbers didn't seem to cease
Did I start feeling like a squeezed slice of cheese
A car in Delhi traffic, or some trash in a sea
Or a biscuit in a Parle-G factory.
They just kept coming, soon I could not breathe
It turned into a massive stampede.
I thought about the insects on the floor
How would they be dealing with this sudden uproar?
They might get crushed, their lives they'd lose
I looked down – couldn't even see my shoes.
It strikes me, I've not even told you yet,
Where is this sad situation set?
You might just know, perhaps you've guessed
Already, but still, I think it's best
To tell you, so for sure you know
This is the esteemed Delhi Metro.
There's nothing uncommon in this scene
It's a dull dillydallier's daily routine
So much that you've not really been to Delhi
If you've never felt like a squished piece of jelly.
Although this I see on a daily basis
Today, I just happened to really look at some faces
But before I go on to describe them to you
I'd like you to guess and to get a clue
Of our lives, and how burdensome they are
Most of us can't afford a car.
We're people who travel up and down
For work or school or return to town
Almost everyday in a life we drown
With boredom, fatigue and a constant frown.
On the faces of the people that I met
I saw a glistening bead of sweat
Everyone in a hurry to leave
Or rushing to grab a vacant seat.
We all get off at a different station
Each aiming at their own destination
Every distinct one with a distinct life
Every heart stabbed in with a different knife.
The thought although that made me quiver
Is we're just droplets of the same river
Each of us in each stream each brook
We're all the same if you really look.
I think deep down we all realise that,
But still we look morosely flat
Or disturbed, displeased, disgruntled
Or a couple of angry birds bundled.
We yell we mock we do detest
We lynch and kill until we rest
Everyone that's a bit unlike
Their heads should all be on a spike.
But somehow in this moving box
We seem fully unorthodox
Despite the crowd we do create
A little more space to accommodate.
All those who show up at the gate
Always find themselves in the gate
Regardless of which-ever faith
They choose themselves to propagate
Or irrespective of their sex
Or caste, creed…number of their specs.
This thought left me utterly astounded
As I stood there processing it, confounded
And then I looked back at the metro.
It now seemed like a special spot
Which now seemed like a bloody clot
The only space where we're so kind
For such an intolerable lot.
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