A 20-minute trip in Delhi Metro’s Ladies Coach yesterday proved to be quite an enjoyable ride indeed. The occasion being Karwa Chauth, I even saw a couple of women blowing at their hands to dry the intricate henna some pavement artisan had no doubt painstakingly applied. The women looked happy - sharing anecdotes, sitting comfortably with one another, their oversized bags lying languidly on the coach floor.
All this looked a far cry from the scene twenty odd days ago – when they had to rub shoulders with the city’s mensfolk – and in the process, contend with constant staring, obnoxious lip-smacking sounds, eve-teasing, lascivious things murmured into ears, pinching of rears, and the occasional but very deliberate groping or ‘accidental’ brushing of an arm against their sensitive parts.
While the women enjoyed the controlled cooling in their allotted coach, the men from the adjoining coach cast looks at them – some woebegone, other envious, while some others cast looks of pure venom and red-faced fury. All the while jostling for space, the feeling akin to being a trussed-up sardine in a can with many others of its ilk.
An unsuspecting man strolled into the coach, only to be shooed away by the many women – who went up in collective peals of laughter when the alarmed man beat a hasty retreat, disappearing in a huff.
An elderly gentleman was however, immediately made to sit, bringing a smile to his weary eyes. As was a wide-eyed 8 year-old boy, who shyly stood behind his mother, his right hand trustingly in hers.
A couple of boisterous college-goers boarded the Metro, stepping in smartly into the all-ladies coach. Despite repeated protests from the womenfolk, they flippantly replied that they would be alighting at the next station. The next station didn’t prove to be that lucky for them though – as a pot-bellied, stern policeman marched them off to the side to perhaps collect the Rupees 200 penalty for riding in the women’s coach. I’m guessing they wouldn’t be repeating the same in a hurry.
Women of various ages, dressed in sarees, dapper business suits, comfortable kurtas and salwars, some in their tighter cousins – churidars, while yet some in jeans and skirts – made eye-contact with their fellow companions. Smiles were exchanged when one caught sight of an exquisite neck piece there, or a particularly pretty bangle.
Not a word was exchanged – and yet it was all too palpable – the collective feeling of contentment at their own private space.
With perhaps the additional joy of being among other lavender-talc-ed folks...
No comments:
Post a Comment