Earlier in March, I made a list of things that I wanted to achieve before I turned 21. Riding an escalator all by myself was one of it. I’m proud that I can at least scratch one thing off now.
I don’t like escalators. Never have liked them. I avoid them at most costs, especially if I’m alone. And this resolve of mine was put to a test when I began travelling in the Metro.
From the station closest to my house, I take the Metro to my classes directly. The trains are generally for every 10 minutes, so I take the train at 2:57 in the afternoon. I have to climb two long flights of stairs, after a long walk from my home, and of course, I’m not fit enough; I tire fast. But I leave early so I can walk a little slowly and jog up the stairs. Great form of exercise, really.
But one day, after the walk from my home to the station, my right leg cramped a bit. I took slow steps towards the stairs, and then without thinking, went to the escalator. Nobody was around, except two guards at the gate, and I took a deep breath, counted till three, and stepped on the escalator.
Till that day, every time I had ever stepped on an escalator was when I was with my sister, mostly. I’d hold her hand tightly and we’d count to three together and step on the escalator. Going up was easy to get used to. Getting was even scarier.
I think this directly links to my phobia of heights. I have no clue why. I can climb stairs of the same height and I can still look down and not feel an ounce of fear. But this? This is strange. Glad I could conquer this.
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One city. Two different systems of public transport. Lakhs of different people. Where to look?!
On Saturday, I was on my way to a “seminar” which was held at a hotel right opposite to the Metro Station. I got on the 3:17 train that afternoon, and stood by the door because there was no space to sit. I didn’t even bother to put on my headphones because by the time I reached inside my bag, took my headphones out, untangled them, inserted them in my phone, found the Groove Music App, played it and began listening to the first song, I would’ve reached my destination.
In the next stop, just before the door closing, a man stepped in. Trailing behind him, on the other side of the door were his wife and his small daughter. Seeing her father encased in glass without her made her burst into tears while the father sped away in the train.
There was a man standing opposite to me, leaning against that glass wall-thingy, when he told that father: “You could’ve waited, saar. Every five minutes there’s one train. What’s the hurry?”
No, there isn’t a train every five minutes. Every ten minutes there’s a train to the green line. But yeah, that father was in a haste. He could’ve waited for his wife, who was carrying their daughter. He could’ve carried his daughter. But then he got down in the next stop and probably got on the train with his wife.
Imagine the same scene in a BMTC bus. The wife and his daughter would’ve safely got on, if the bus conductor and driver were nice, kind people. No hassle of crying and all.
I promise, I will have better content about Namma Metro. I have lots, but I need to learn to put them in nicer words and make them sound pretty and funny.
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