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| Daddy's day out |
| Kishore Singh / New Delhi Nov 14, 2009, 00:33 IST |
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Two winters ago, the shriek of drills cutting through rock turned many of our neighbours into raving insomniacs. Coffee in hand, feet padded up in woollen socks, they contemplated a future that unfolded yesterday as the Metro came whooshing up to the gate, to collect or deposit passengers with a toot of its whistle which, if it continues, will ensure that the sleep of the just is denied to them for all time to come.
Every stage of the station’s construction was commented upon. Where would the entrance lie? Were there lifts? At what frequency would the trains run? Would they bring the great unwashed of Noida to the doorstep of Delhi? What about crowd management, pickpockets, rickshaw stands, police vigilance? Beyond the concern about increased traffic on the road lay a secret thrill — of being able to board the train to the IIC library without having to worry about the absence of the part-time chauffeur, the ability to attend to business at the bank one station away, to gather for coffee and gossip at Great India Place without having to car-pool any more.
But when I announced that I was going to take the Metro to work, my Man Friday had a severe fit of giggles. “Can I come to see you off?” he asked, only to be reprimanded by the cook. “I will carry sahib’s tiffin to the station,” she declared, and looked upset when I reported that I was fully capable of fending for myself. “Can I come?” asked my daughter, pointing out that there was a Buddy’s at the station, so perhaps she’d see me off after a cup of coffee. When I acquiesced, my wife said she’d like a coffee too, and talking on her mobile, she trailed behind us, so we must have looked like a strange entourage winding its way to the station entrance.
Buddy’s didn’t serve hot coffee, it was a little chilly for cold coffee, besides we’d just had breakfast, so we decided to pass its inventory of goodies, but instead of returning, my daughter said she’d like to go up to the malls in Noida, and her mother said that was fine, and before I could react, they were off and away, while I waited on my side of the platform for my connection.
My mother called to ask where I was. When I told her I was taking the Metro to work, she fretted a bit.
“Don’t forget to get off at your station,” she cautioned. I reminded her that I was familiar with the city, and all grown up, and even paid my own income tax. “But will you return by the Metro too?” she wanted to know, to which I replied that it was indeed my intention. “Oh dear,” she said, “what if there is no train at night?” I assured her there were connections every few minutes. “That’s what they say,” she said darkly before hanging up, which, considering it was Friday, November the 13th, wasn’t the kind of thing one wanted to hear.
There were no mishaps en route, the train wasn’t crowded, the passengers assumed the indifference of seasoned commuters, and I reached office in half the time it takes me in my car in non-peak hours. Having settled in, I thought to check with my wife and daughter whether they had reached their destination safely. “Whee,” said my daughter, “we got there so fast.” “So,” said my wife, “we decided to go back.” “And then,” added my daughter, “return again to Noida...” “...and back home,” said my wife. “And if you’ll excuse us now,” butted in my daughter, “I can see our next connection.” I’m sure they’ll still be on the trains that will keep the neighbourhood awake half the night.
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