As a dyed-in-the-wool cynic I neverbelieved it would work: the Delhi Metro, I mean. Now, two or three years downthe line, and especially since the line from the University to Connaught Placeopened, I’ve become a firm acolyte and regular user. From my house, it takesfive minutes to get to the station, and then eight minutes in the train, andI’m out in the very block in C.P. where I used to park my car, with normalblood pressure and time to kill. But now I find there’s something elsebothering me.
The stations are impeccable, right? The moment you walk down the steps, youenter another century, another city, another country. And Delhizens becomeanother people altogether. The trains too are still gleaming brand new, andthere’s not a speck of dirt on the floor, forget about the Delhizens’trademark paan thook. And it doesn’t matter whether this is because theDelhizen is afraid that if he (or she) dares to litter or misbehave in thetiniest manner here, he would be summarily ejected into the stygian darkness ofthe tunnel outside. What does matter is that he or she is perfectly behaved, andshould emerge from the ride an enriched soul. I mean, you can and should getused to a good thing... And you should start demanding more of the same, right?
So why do Delhi’s buses remain the symbol of everything that is primeval anduncivilised and completely hooligan? I pass a major bus stop en route to theentrance to the Metro, and by the time I’m at the entrance I’m sort ofdazed. The buses (looking like badly opened sardine tins) come reeling round thecorner from Boulevard Road, as if on amphetamines, shrieking like banshees—the‘pilots’ hell-bent on cutting off the noses of the buses ahead of them, theconductors (usually about 15 years old) hanging out of the sides, banging away,yelling belligerently. The buses are without doors, of course; the first step isthree feet off the ground, and they certainly haven’t been washed ever sincethey left the factory, except for daily sprayings of vomit, but who can blamethe passengers? And the same people who use the Metro use these busesuncomplainingly. Hello, isn’t it time we made a connection? And realised thatthis is an affront to our self-respect—and for God’s sake we’re so hot onour beloved izzat!
What if Delhi’s buses were magically replaced by sleek modern buses with doorsthat hissed open, and conductors that looked like conductors and not juveniledelinquents, and drivers that ‘nosed’ the buses around, like London’sfabled (and now, alas, extinct) Routemasters...Would the Delhizen revert to hisMetro-behaving mode? Probably.
But then, would it be India, where we allow everything—the good, the bad, theugly, the hooligan, the monstrosity—to flourish cheek by jowl? Where you canexperience extremes of human evolution within minutes of each other. (To rub itin, there are monkeys near the bus stop too!)
This article originally appeared in Delhi City Limits, November 30,2005
