Bangalore is suddenly electrified. It is agog like a family that has a new car over which everyone dotes. It now has “South India’s first metro”, one newspaper proclaims. Other headlines give an hour-by-hour description of mood and movement. Long queues of joy riders on the first day waiting to be let in are described as “Waiting for the Ah! moment”, and once it gets going, the slightly more prosaic, “The dream metro rolls, Bangalore is ecstatic”.
To get a feel of things, I set out early in the morning of day two before the rush hour begins, dragging out of bed our son at what to him is an unearthly hour with the allurement of, on getting off at M G Road, walking across to the new MTR restaurant nearby for their famous breakfast. There is no car park, next to either the Indiranagar station or the terminal M G Road one, but I am in a mood to ignore all warts.
The station, its electronically operated ticketing system and escalators are all sparkling new, state-of-the-art and highly convenient. A friend, on hearing of my outing, said, compare it to the metros you have seen in other cities. I do that in my mind and instead of formulating something like “isn’t it fantastic”, settle for the undramatic, “Like the Delhi metro”.
On the platform the view will please anybody. The elevated line comes out of the morning mist and rides out into it, like a concrete bridge in a modern fairy tale that takes you to the doorstep of your dream from where you will be able to fly. The security guards at the early hour equal the number of passengers on the platform and are as possessed by the mood of the occasion as the passengers.
You are told repeatedly by an over-eager whistle blower to keep away from the edge of the platform even though you are way back. But the young woman guard is more curious than the passengers and freely moves to the edge of the platform, leans over and peeps. Despite her uniform, she is the quintessential young girl from a small town. In the mood prevailing, no one complains of discrimination.
At one end of the platform stands a distinct group of young Muslim men, beard and long kurta making them stand apart. One of them is taking in the scene in his small video camera. One of the security guards goes and tells the group something. The body language of a group member seems to indicate he is telling the camera-wielding fellow to curb his enthusiasm. The chap puts his camera away.
In the compartment, elegant and minimalist, the mood is downright festive. Freshly bathed, scented girls in working trousers, with name tags and without handbags look every bit like being out for a joy ride after having checked into the office. There is much wielding of cellphones and snapping of group photos. A group of boys with “university college” name tags asks our son to take a snap of the whole group.
I keep looking out at the rooftops of sleepy peaceful buildings, interspersed with patches of green, which are either cemeteries or army encampments, and try to locate the streets above which we are travelling. The Millennium Tower means Ulsoor Lake must be next to it and Vijaya Bank must mean we are approaching Trinity station at one end of M G Road.
The two stations to the destination are quickly gone and we are out on M G Road. The Deccan Herald office is right across and I realise that the big daddy of the local media always believes it must be put down right at its doorstep, be it bus or metro rail — much like the Kolkata Metro and its Chandni Chowk station exit which misses the entrance of the Anandabazar office by a bare 100 metres.
Fortified by breakfast at MTR, we set out on our return journey. Before the entrance long rows of policemen are lined up, about to be detailed to their duty posts. Security is high but tension is zero. A pregnant young woman and her husband hold hands as she carefully negotiates her steps on what looks like the couple’s day out, she with a beatific expression on her face and he looking very responsible.
I notice for the first time the colourful banners proclaiming the joy that this Indo-Japan Cooperation Project brings, a kimono-clad, fan-wielding, smiling Japanese girl on one side and a dazzling Indian girl in Bharatnatyam regalia on the other. Why Japanese, our son asks. Do-gooders, I reply. Are we so important to them, he counters. Must be, I reason. On the way back I look out to wave at some guest walking the verandas of the Oberoi hotel at what looks like handshaking distance and then Vijaya Bank is again there solidly unmoving.
The under-7 km first phase of the metro is too small to make a difference to the traffic below. It is a fun thing, bright and shiny. When the train moves, it seems to float above the houses not like a giant roller coaster whose aim is to precariously undulate and thrill, but more like a magic carpet that floats effortlessly, taking you on a mythical eastern journey. At over Rs 1,000 crore, it is a costly machine for a joy ride but this is not the moment to cast an accountant’s eye on the bottomline.
