To the University, after a University.

Post-Cardiff, and so shall every post from now be - Hauz Khas metro station, Vishwavidyalaya.

“‘Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony, this life…” – The Verve.

Have you ever come across an unfortunate scenario where the bus you took got hijacked? That didn’t really happen to me; my intention to give this blog post an intriguing head start, something that arrests the readers and swallows them in like a black hole.
Nevertheless, today was the first time I for a chance to blog one of my excursions, after the likes of Cardiff met its closure. And the enthusiasm of travelling in the Delhi metro for the first time was indescribable! I mean, sure, the crowd and the perpetual hustle bustle (which, by the way, does become a concern after you’ve spent a year in one of quietest places under the sun – Cardiff – where empty streets become the trend of the hour following 10 pm each night), are some of the many presupposed fragments of torment you need to prepare yourself with; but the advent of metro has surely given Delhi an altogether different dimension, which, as I said before, is indescribable.
Today’s excursion started with a brief walk till the Hauz Khas metro station. The walk, perhaps the first one after coming back, had a touch of nostalgia in it. No, it did not remind me of my school/college/social days, but the sight of watching the trees along the road taking a turn in the near distance covered in partial haze (contributed largely by the traffic smoke) reminded me of some of the times I spent in Delhi, walking through roads aimlessly on crisp winter mornings, where the haze was a factor or large god deposition in the atmosphere. The cloudy weather added the charm.
Any embarrassments that I observed in the entire day? Yes sir, a notable one. While I was walking along Laxman Public School, I met an unexpected friend of mine. Like any person would’ve done, I yelled out her name to call her. She turned, waved rather lethargically in response to my emphatic wave, and then after I approached her, she says: “You remember my name?”
I needn’t say much about what followed, because not being recognized, as opposed to your impressive memory that perhaps stores a photographic image of everyone you’ve ever met, is rather a disturbing response.
Continuing, the metro station was air conditioned right from the point of entrance till I exited at Vishwavidyalaya. This impressed me, for during peak summers, where the sun is reluctant to exonerate you from a torturous 45 degrees Celsius plus, the stations can be a comforting haven. The ticket line was surprisingly not long; however, wanting to decide my destination took more time. Keep in mind that my trip was purposeless, and it was only at the counter I decided that I wanted to go to Vishwavidyalaya.
A price of 20 bucks (and I shall happily use the rupee sign once it’s design is implemented in all keyboards), along with a time margin of 35 to 40 minutes was all that you require to reach the other end of the capital city. I was in no mood to hear incessant ranting about the Commonwealth Games coming from my fellow passengers whom I could overhear, and I deeply regret going against my intention to plug into my iPod to save myself from how the capital is defaming itself on the international front. Rather, and through some semi-religious/spiritual way, I was able to resist all that and still enjoy my ride. And of course, it wouldn’t have been without two women (college going girls, to be honest) whose presence made it worthwhile being in the train. You know what I mean.
A huge crowd inside the chambers of the train isn’t a big surprise, when you know you’re in the capital of the country whose population growth is on its way to rip through the Chinese, and clinch the torch. Travelling along the yellow line (the entire metro route map is divided into 5 to 6 definite lines, and it’s through these lanes you reach your respective destinations), made it relatively easier for me, since Vishwavidyalaya lied on the same line, and I didn’t have to get down on one station to switch trains.
And yes, a large portion of the metro web is “underground”, so Londoners will definitely feel at home.
Like I said, my purpose of visiting Vishwavidyalaya was, well, basically, there was no purpose. So after dropped in my token, which seemed to be quite an arduous task since the first two counters where I was repeatedly to drop my token in weren’t meant to be the ones where you drop tokens, I set foot into North Delhi, after almost a year. I remember going there once with a friend, when the metro only ran from CP till Vishwadyalaya.
And then my aimless walk commenced. There isn’t much to say of the walk. Despite my destination being Vishwavidyalaya, I could only site two colleges – the Department of Social Service, which brought in a funny feeling to me since I recollected one of my friends studying there, and Music and Fine Arts College. Some of the roads were clocked, owing to the CWG mania (or fiasco, you get to decide).
I would’ve walked more had my feet allowed me to. An hour of a walk, where the only notable spots I observed have already been mentioned, and I was back to the metro station. One thing you need to learn, standing at the ticket counter, is to produce change. The man sitting in his uniform, with an embarrassing golden stud pierced in his ear that accentuates itself in contrast to his dark complexion, will suck the last droplet of blood in your body if you try to convince him to give you 81 bucks in return for a 100 note. It’s the capital city, so don’t keep your hopes high. And then, getting abused by the people standing behind you (apparently because here, everyone gets late) is something you don’t want to be subjected to.
And then the inevitable happened. I say inevitable because, well, as one my friend says, “it’s me”. I got on the wrong train. Fortunately, this time, I realized the train was running only from Vishwavidyalaya till Central Secretariat.
So I got down and boarded the right one, and with that, I became “it isn’t me”. However, the rush in this one was unspeakable. A woman came and stood next to me, and everytime this guy, with a weird smelling oil garnished on his hair, threw himself at me because of the abrupt brake application, i would get pushed. That would make my hand brush through the woman’s, which led to a powerful glare coming from her end. And you wouldn’t want to be stuck in such a situation with her boyfriend/husband standing next to him.
So after 10 stops (and a couple more), with the crowd refusing to let go, I was barely able to squeeze myself through at out of the exit doors at Hauz Khas. And with it, came to an end of the bittersweet day.