There is an AFC gate that one needs to find; there is a card or token that one needs to fumble for; there is wide space that looks inviting for a lesson in skating; there is a recharge machine that sits vacant most days; there is a chipped wall housing Delhi Metro poster girl that one acknowledges; there is an escalator that one takes; there is a five-step staircase that one waits on; there is a short walk– it is then, that one, really exits a Metro Station.
My first metro visits are visits to the exits. It is only then, that I know, I have visited a new metro station. All metro exits are similar but once you reach a wrong exit gate, not the one you usually take, you kind of know how similar is a word which means different. As soon as you exit AFC gate, you might even start seeing signs of it. At Central Secretariat, this different terrain begins to show itself by how there is no recharge machine near Gate 4, or how the surveillance staff is lesser in number here; or how the women’s checking point is at a much farther corner; or how the clock on the wall seems much closer to you as soon as you show that card at the gate; or how the arc that one takes for the escalator is actually darker and less spacious than the one at Gate 1; or how sooner you reach the exit; or how the tunnel that one takes has actually now become a flat roof at this exit.
One reaches the exit and sighs. ‘I have made it’ but, that, is a lie. This untrained metro lie tries to make us comfortable with what we have yet to experience – the place after Metro lets us go.
The first time I exited from a wrong gate at the Central Secretariat Metro Station, I could not care for the details of the exits. Whether those were staircase that I was walking down on or just stairs or steps; whether what laid in front of me was a road or a roundabout; whether it was a traffic jam or a rally in progression; whether the traffic was two way or one way; whether it was the yellow Volkswagen car or a lemon-yellow Alto; whether that smell was actually of the most amazing tea or just somebody boiling water for maggi…
All I could think of was, how I was where I was not to be. When one has a habit of getting down and following coloured footsteps to find ways, one does not let go off that habit as quickly, as one lets go of the sight of sky .
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| The sky as seen on some other day |
In times like these one also looks up at the sky and may find absence of signs. Or solace. I looked up and found a full empty envelope of all lights reflected, as if telling me to laugh at the cluelessness of all of it. The metaphor for papers being white is maybe that they are clueless too.
I was searching for known objects. I was seeking recognition in things that I knew in a different location – traffic, jam, zebra crossing, wide roads, government buildings, green garbage bins. With an expression that says all of this, a crowd of people usually emerge – auto drivers - who recognize lost cases when they see one. They named all the places I did not want to go. I did not even remember the Gate number that I use daily. Who remembers dailiness when there is stuff that happens every day. There has to be some reason why we are not able to remember every day, everything of our lives. I remained quiet and let the names be thrown my way. When the name did not come and neither did any other passenger, I backed away by shaking my head. I have taken this shaking of head as such a helpful gesture that as soon as I come out of metro stations or places from where I do not want take a rickshaw, I immediately begin the shaking of head. This saves a lot of energy as well as prevents me from being all confused.
That day, I was scanning for a friendly look – something that tells me I can approach and ask for help; I was hoping for sudden wisdom that would not have to let me wear shoes of a stranger in a place which I knew so well; I wanted an autorickshaw driver to recognize me and give me a nod- a nod that says ‘Oh you, you are a regular, so what if you are at a distance right now, I will just turn around this transport right now and tell you where that Gate is!’
Too many things happened at once- I was pushed, walked into a steel pole with a poster of ‘keep your city clean’, vehicles honked and kept honking, persistence was shown by people behind me, as they kept walking. A new stream of passengers had just filtered into the outside of Metro Station and autos were chirping excitedly. These were people who could have easily passed by me and they did. What I was feeling was an inability to say where I wanted to go. I could not say 'please direct me to the other exit' – There are 6 exits. I could have said that I wanted to go to Janpath Road. But again, there are too many ways to reach that road. My description powers also fail me in times of such urgency.
I was hungry and the sun was failing to rest between the clouds. Things were yet to take shape; buildings were yet to stand in front of me but something was materializing. Pavement was starting to spill over the road and, that’s when the jog really started. It will be later, while taking a familiar route that I will tie laces of my shoes.
How can I make the right exit and still be at the wrong gate?
There is a way one looks at confusion, especially when it looks recognizable. When it distinctly sounds like all the sounds you know; how can one be lost. This confusion looks at us. My mental map, in times like these does not look like a map. There is a lot of chance that the map befriends a more reliable thing that sounds like what I began this paragraph as. It seems like the sight of a space that continuously changes space- 'i saw the metro sign just now', 'oh it's not there’, ‘means I am moving’, 'oh it's here', ‘means I am just circling at one place’, 'i lost the way', ‘again’. On accepting that I was lost I asked someone, thereby making evident, my lack of description skills. He too could not figure out where the gate was.
But then he looked at the view in front of him. With his hand in the air, he drew for me what I call the airy map of how the exit gates at the Central Secretariat station are located. They cover a circle and so I just need to cross a few roads. Somebody very promptly told me where the gate I was looking for was – ‘cross the road, see that building? Its at the back side of that building’.
I swallowed my hesitation and began the thoughtless journey, careful not to give into any innovative ideas of turning here or there, just remembering the hand that pointed at a building, remembering the building, and ignoring the gorgeous group of monkeys who were eating the food that employees from the building are bound to drop on their way to metro station. It is a truth that should be universally acknowledged that a government building in possession of a few trees will find takers such as tea stall and monkeys. Sorry Austen.
I crossed the road without looking either right or left (because the traffic was still). I was very focused and unwilling to notice how one group of monkeys had made a grab for the chai and was sipping from the cup. Another was searching the bin and did not take anything. One of them sat at the boundary walls of my destination – the building, kept looking at the passing crowds. It looked like a monkey on a mission – mentally making a note of who and what was left behind or identifying this another form of life that visits their home every other day. Another one was helping a young monkey to climb its back and not slip. There was a group which was walking ahead of me. I slowed down my pace and told myself how life should be enjoyed in a slow pace.
It is not that I really look forward to seeing monkeys on my way. But it is really good to have company when you are trying to find a way. I followed the monkeys. These monkeys are also what I used to see all those times when I took the right exits and came out of the right gates. So, I kind of was hoping to reach the right gate.
I had crossed the two roads and circled the building.
I still had to bear in mind how I was following directions. If one follows directions, the picture becomes clear. My map started blinking as if I had already reached home. According to my mental map I had already covered the distance. To my side was the building that I had passed daily but had completely not cared to remember its name. However the monkey carried on their way and I turned right.
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| This road houses the exit gate I was looking for and meets the Janpath Road |
Upon recognizing the familiar road that I take, the familiar smell of tea, the familiar number of monkeys that usually travel along the boundary wall of the building, I paid much closer attention to the names of the building that were coming along my way. I walked along the same route that I usually take. I reached my destination 40 mins late.
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| Familiarity |
