What I Learned From Flouting the Delhi Metro Rules About Talking to Strangers

The announcements in the Delhi Metro, for all their good intentions, have always felt like the advice of an old, terrifying uncle. Dark, scary and depressing. “Any unidentified object might be a bomb” makes me imagine shrapnel inside my body as I lose myself to cold, dark death. Why can’t ‘the unidentified object be full of notes (dollars, not rupees), iPhone Xs or codes to lifetime Netflix subscriptions?

The worst is the unsolicited advice, “Don’t talk to strangers on the Metro”. Has human interaction in big cities reached that point where one can't even chat with a fellow passenger? Is it impossible to find new friends or, perhaps, the girl of my dreams, standing in the white and silver subway coach? With such lofty dreams, I decided to flout Metro guidelines and talk to strangers for a week.

The first day was a bit rough. Talking to strangers on public transport needs more confidence than talking to a cute girl in a pub. It can come off as very, very creepy. You have to pick your targets with utmost caution. I found one passenger without earphones who wasn't engrossed in a smartphone screen. Hemant Sharma didn’t believe that I was a writer. “Show me your press card,” he demanded, a thing I do not have.

Sharma told me that he comes every day from the Sarita Vihar station to do sarkari naukri (government work) at Central Secretariat. He has a wife and child. It wasn’t telling me his home or office address that freaked Sharma out. It was when I asked him what kind of day he was having. “It’s none of your business”, he said.

The next day was weirder. Rahul Sonu, 22, a tall bulky man sporting a hair band with a fashionable beard, spent half an hour of my 45 minute commute to work interrogating me. Of all the people I approached, he was the most annoying. He googled my name and kept asking more about the satanic cult in Aligarh.

Sonu is a fashion designer in Bangalore but was travelling from Faridabad, Haryana to Ghaziabad in UP, for a photography expedition with his friends. “We will do street and monument photography.” He is also into wrestling and powerlifting. “I have once lifted 240 kg. It’s my passion. In the first week of August, I will be competing at the StrongMan Lifting Championship in Haridwar”. My station finally arrived.

Dinesh Narang, 34, works in insurance. “We insure everything except life,” he told me. He firmly believes that his life is monotonous. “Life of a working person is just home to office in the morning, office to home in the evening. Dig as much as you can, you won’t find anything interesting about me,” he said, as he went back to reading a magazine on insurance (surprise!)

I then turned my attention to a group of five young boys sitting on the floor of the train, ignoring the repeated Metro announcements not to do so. I sat on the floor with my fellow rebels, and thus ensued my friendliest conversation of the week. Disregarding my apprehensions that they were bunking classes, Karan Upreti, 19, an interior designing student at private institute, told me that they had taken leaves to celebrate the birthday of a friend from Patiala in Hauz Khas. “Say Happy Birthday to him!” I did.

The topic of of their discussion was Dhruv Dakotra, 19, who has been studying at IP University for six months. “Now he says he isn’t happy with the course”, said Vishal Garg, a member of the group. “Why has he realised it now. Itne time se kya mara raha tha tu?”, said Upreti. Everyone laughed loudly. Nobody respected the convenience of the fellow passengers.

AK Dixit, a sales manager calls himself a “mast aadmi”. He (like myself) had a grouse with people engrossed in their smartphones—oblivious to the endless possibilities of joyful social interaction around them. “Phones have killed social life of 80 percent people. Look around. You would just find people either watching movies or doing Facebook.” Truer words were never spoken.

I asked Dixit what he does on his commute. “I play games. See this game. It’s called Bubblegums!”

I met Anil Sharma, 53, a stout man with grey hair, going from Alaknanda to Delhi’s corporate tribunal office for a case. A sense of warmness in his nature brightened my day. He talked of his only son who now works as a chartered accountant in Melbourne. “He is living in better environment and infrastructure. What more can parents want?”

Sharma loves the old heritage and charm of Delhi and hates parents who hinder their children’s freedom. “Parents shouldn’t try to bound their kids to themselves. Let them spread their wings,” he said with a warm smile before getting down at his stop.

By the last day, I was a pro at talking to strangers. You have to catch the less busy ones, approach them with confidence, start with a general topic (like metro delays). Men were less likely to be creeped out, and older people are more approachable than the younger ones. I talked to Kyle John, an Indophile from Texas, who runs a travel and clothing business in Thailand. “I have lived in India for seven years with my family. Three of my six children were born in this beautiful country.”

John said he is in love with the hospitality he receives in India. “People invite you to their homes, and serve you tea and food. No questions asked. This makes India my favourite country in the world.”

As we got down at Nehru Place to buy a printer for John, I asked him if he would let me host him when he visits India next. “You made my day, friend. Indians are so nice to strangers.”

Not all, Kyle, I thought. Definitely not all.

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