My New Office and Daily Dramas

I take metro for three stations and then walk 250 busy meters on a crowded road to reach to the bus stop full of all kind of vehicles; then take a bus, which takes approximate 10 minutes to reach my destination – my office. Not far, comparing to my previous one, but much dramatic. I go through three most used conveyance modes in Delhi every morning, and then every evening. Metro, bus and foot. Not a single day is passed without an interesting drama, participated by people, mostly strangers.

Metro dramas are little sophisticated, upper-middle-class-wise. I have watched them and experienced them for whole two years, so I am quite used to those. A sarcastic comment wrapped with English words, or short lasted heated argument, which starts with a full fighting potential and ends with a fart, or a getting down moment, where someone is pissed off by a push or something. That doesn’t interest me at all.

 

On the contrary, my walking on the densely crowded section of road from metro station to the bus stop is full of moments. There are temporary stalls all over, everyone shouting to passersby. The fruits are being laid on wooden vans, the maida dough is being rolled by street cooks like pros, blackened water is clogged here and there, and walkers are jumping over them, haphazardly people are crossing and facing each other – sometimes pausing a little to let the front ones go. In those chaotic moments, there may be a young boy standing still with his stretched hand distributing flyers. His eyes are on busy passerby. All he wants that his bundle of flyers is finished soon. He tries to make eye contacts, but nobody cares for that. His surrounding ground is full of the same flyers. Without even reading, or having a single glance people are throwing them away. But this is his job, and he dresses his best for that. A pair of worn sports shoes, a full sleeve crumbled shirt tucked under his faded old jeans and a neat hair. I watch him, our eyes meet and then I go away. There may be a student, walking slowly towards the AIEEE coaching centre, two blocks away, with a backpack provided by the same coaching institute. A student cum advertising campaign. The student can be protagonist of an inspiring story or a victim of ruthless competition or a casualty of system. Or, the student may take this walking towards the coaching centre from home as a respite, as an escape. Whatever.

Though occasional, but the short bus journey sometimes is interesting too, and the experiences are quite different than ‘superior’ metro. Here fights are often in vernacular Hindi and without any wrapping of civility. Blows are exchanged, pushing is forgiven in case it’s between males and conductor takes everyone for granted. But sometimes, someone takes interest in you and tries to have a conversation. They start from intolerable heat and pathetic conditions of public buses and end with frequent foreign travels of Prime Minister Modi or stupidity of Chief Minister Kejriwal. I listen to them, often nodding my head, till my stop comes. Sometimes a scarf of a lady gets stuck with hydraulic door and passengers scream. Sometimes, the driver turns awry and drives the bus at the slowest speed possible, and then one passenger’s voice wave through everyone, and the driver pretends to be deaf. Moments are created and pass on.

From bus stop, my office is 100 meters away. I have to pass through a couple of buildings. The best moments are crafted here. Around a small vacant plot, there are four wine and beer shops and tens of tiny food stalls from chole-kulche to chicken kabab. Throngs of men of all categories are openly drinking beer or liquor from plastic glasses or bottles all around happily. If I stand for a minute there, I can see friendships are being ruined or constructed; business deals are being finalized or canceled; empty bottles are being packed into rags by rag-pickers; leftovers are being eaten or drank by some – who can pay no more, and lots of stories.

At some moments, these people cease to be strangers. They comprise my day and my daily journey towards office. At some point, may be after couple of months or years I’ll be shifted again, and then these moments’ll become memories. Then maybe I’ll miss ‘em.