The
metro trains have sure bettered the face of public transport system but comes
along with it an aftermath accruing to the struggle left over to ‘We the
People’. A lot of struggle!
1. Struggle
to find a seat even in the women’s coach
The ninja spirited aunties. With the 100 kg flab hanging at their bodies, they would
still beat Ussain Bolt at the race to get one empty seat as soon as the metro
doors open. One whose luck favours would fix her wide ass to the spot and
another with an I-won’t-give-up-Bitch attitude up her face, would make everyone
on the berth move inch by inch building up a few inches to place her own ass (which
may spread to miles!). Considering herself a size zero, she would eventually
fix in to a seating capacity of ten, her being the twelfth. Travel in a truck
you woman!
Then there are the old ones who would
stand before you, breathing up your neck and because you are the Spoilt GenNext,
the SMS generation, so in order to prove the integrity of your folks you leave
your seat to them with the entire incumbency.
Please sit, Madame. I hope you slip!
But don’t be mistaken, this was just
the lucky half of the women who got the seats. The deprived half would keep
standing glued to the cusp of the seats.
And not to forget the three pair of eyes glued to grab one seat when the
fat-ass gets up. And damn that victorious smile on the winner’s face!
2. Struggle to bear some flatulence
When I say ‘Flatulence’, I mean the
foul smell out of unpleasant reactions in someone’s stomach out of the burger
he gorged on or the butter chicken he feasted upon.
“I wish you knew how I was suffering!”
I empathise, Sir, but flatulence is the biggest worry that plagues public transport. At
least for me. Public farters like you never hesitate to make a move, for you
know that we can’t locate you amongst the crowd. Not even a smile from your end,
no reaction at all, and the poisonous gas is leaked from your godforsaken
bodies to torture the innocent lives of the fellow travellers.
Thank
you for being so considerate. Let me wait for the next station till I hold my
breath. I have to stay alive till the doors open next.
…and secretly
hope that some cork blocks your asshole. Soon.
3.
Struggling with the plethora of Homo-sapiens
The
general coach always has a variety to offer. The pot-bellied men with tobacco
stained teeth, the handsome guy with the Bluetooth in his ear. You cannot help
but gawk at him and make all moves to grab his attention. But sadly, the moment
you are able to find an empty spot near him after some fifty ‘Excuse Me’s, he gets
down. Now the former variety stands before you‒ the pot-bellied uncle.
There
is always this chirpy little college girl with pink earphones plugged as she
moves her feet to the song (a David Guetta number I am guessing). And when you
cannot help but stare, she thinks you’re that despo who clicks pictures of
women in the metros. So just shut your eyes even if she starts jumping and
screaming. And sincerely, DO NOT CLICK!
There
is aunty with the backless blouse and her flab poking out through the strings
of it. Feel embarrassed as you bump into her huge boobs. You’ll somehow manage
to find your way out!
The
aunty with that kid who cries a lot, you cannot help but smile sheepishly
whilst you wonder if you could just shove something up this nasty one’s mouth.
…just when his
biological mother does that!
The
kid who thinks he is cute and can go his way playing with your phone/hair/nose
and to whom you appear a tree. He can climb his way to you.
You
are quite likely to spot a group of friends who ramble about the hottest girl
with the skimpiest top, about that teacher with the nice 36DD, about that bitch
who fled with someone else’s boyfriend. This is the time you realize how your
life sucks amidst the files at your desk in the office with no eye candy at all
and a boss who is always breathing up your neck.
“Yeah. My life sucks, buddy!”
The
metro is always too crowded. And unsettling. I want to get back to college.
Now.
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