Kishore Singh: I'm not people like them!

PEOPLE LIKE US

There's a metro station coming up across the road from where we live, which means that in some time from now we'll be able to walk out of the gate, take a train and get around most parts of Delhi without having to experience road rage. Not that the residents of our housing society with their chauffeur-driven cars seem too keen on the idea. "Can you imagine the crowds, dear," said a sprightly 70-year-old who wears a bright shade of lipstick every time she comes down to walk. "People," shuddered her walking companion, "like them" "" pointing to a pizza delivery boy who was signing the visitor's book at the entrance.

A representation was made to the metro authorities to shift the station closer to the other societies, which might have welcomed it, being less snobbish and more practical, but the station stayed put. Over the months, the pillars rose, tracks were laid, a controversial temple was quietly removed overnight, and all the while cranes tore bits of bitumen from the road to leave it pitted and potholed. But as a concession perhaps to the Vice-President of the country who till recently lived here and visits occasionally, the road was repaired and street lights set up, so maybe there was something to be thankful for, after all.

"Once it's ready, everyone will be delighted it's there," I pointed out to a retired diplomat. "Naturally," he said, "the servants will find it convenient to use." As work continued day and night, and the building rose, it seemed the residents had collectively turned their back on the structure, almost deluding themselves into believing that if they refused to see it come up, it would cease to exist.

"But don't you use the metro when you travel abroad?" I asked in despair. "It isn't as if it's like the London tube, darling," said a frequent globetrotter. I couldn't agree more, having finally attempted the Delhi metro some days back. The coaches didn't have graffiti, the seats were comfortable, the stations were clean, and even the passengers had not developed the glazed look of indifference that metro commuters across the world seem to share in common.

I went with some trepidation, but there was a spot to park the car, buying the tokens was easy, the security guards were helpful in directing my wife and I to the right platforms and telling us where to change lines, the trains ran on time, the doors opened exactly as marked, and the switchovers were easy. And all this I discovered because I didn't want to take my car to the crowded streets of Chawri Bazaar where it might get scratched.

The reason I was in a part of the city I had never been to before was to order wedding cards for my niece. That task was easily attended to, but my wife "" unknown to me "" had an agenda all her own. So we took a rickshaw to Dariba Kalan to go checking for silver beads and baubles, and then went hunting for paper bags which, if you buy them in any large quantity, acquire gargantuan proportions in your hands. By the time we were through, it was dark, we couldn't see over the parcels we were weighed down under, and wouldn't you know it, my wife dropped her packages so they went careening down the steps of the metro station in all directions.

In that state, it proved a task manoeuvring through the turnstiles, boarding the train, switching at Rajiv Chowk, ascending (or was it descending) the escalators, and queuing up for the next connection, and I was congratulating my wife on our accomplishment when someone pointed at us and hissed, "It's people like them that give the metro a bad name."