Being someone who was fortunate enough never
to be tattered into bits and pieces during a metro ride, travelling was a big
challenge for me. I had managed to evade this situation for the 18 years of my
life by:
1 cancelling all invites faking sickness, clothless-ness (still pledging Oxford to
add it in dictionary), fatigue and my personal favourite, ignorance.
2 And for the ones nearby, I was never willing enough to dress up and show up.
I always hoped that there would be a ‘zombie themed invites’ so that I
never have to get ready and present my real self (Hello, it's a joke,
obviously!).
Now that I could no longer escape it as it
would get me really close to getting debarred, I decided to opt for metro
because driving 18 kilometres daily after ramming into cars recently was
scaring the shit out of me. So till the time I gained confidence and got
my driving license, I found myself using Delhi's favourite mode of
transportation ‘metro’.
On my first day, I learned a lesson: “Bitchy
aunties are way better than stinky uncles!”, so better use the women's coach or
switch to ‘Chanel’ to keep away that smell (wow I can rhyme!).
When I entered Rajiv chowk I found people (or
I should say countries since the rush was equivalent to a country's population) staring
at me continuously. Worried that I might have received my reward again for
being a woman or that I looked like an alien just landed from Mars, I found
myself in the stinky washroom figuring out what's wrong. That’s when I
understood that the half inch between my high waist jeans and crop top was
scandalising them all as if I was carrying an AK-47 to shoot them (I so wish I
was!).
Pitying their narrow minds and small vision, I
continued to walk towards my coach. Hoping that maybe
one fine day these stupid men would find something better to do than being
bothered by my clothes, I headed towards my college.
- Ritika Wadhwa
Comments
Post a Comment