The Waiting Game
Writing
Shriya Krishnan
Abhi Na Jaao Chodkar, Ke Dil Abhi Bhara Nahi… I’m walking through the metro station with this song ringing in my head. I play the song so loudly that Mumbai’s honking cars can’t dare to enter my periphery. The subtle warble of the song plays in my ears, the words flow into each other and my feet try their very best to sync my footsteps with the beats that Asha Bhosle’s voice follows. In this urban orchestration, I look around and I realize that this warble from the analog era has become a soundtrack to the silent modern stories that are unfolding around me. All I need to do is look.
As I lift my head away from my phone, my eyes begin to chance upon small episodes of love. Love that is frozen in time, love that is entirely enraptured in the moment. Love that is waiting. Love that is holding. Carrying heavy laptop bags with corporate angst washed over their faces, everywhere I look, I seem to find pairs of two humans sitting all around the metro station. Some, at the staircase. Some near the ticket counter and some at the platform. Two pairs of tired hooded shoulders that are almost always holding hands and breathing sighs of relief, sighs that only love can offer them right before they head home.
Despite Mumbai’s hustle-bustle, my eyes always seem to find people who are completely lost in each other’s. The world goes about its way, moving rapidly around them while these people are transfixed in the moment, holding on to what appears to be someone they love. Their love, punctuated, stitched into the tapestry of time. Their love, fighting for space in this city’s congestion. But, Mumbai? It always gives in. This city has seen it all—dreams born and broken, fortunes made and lost, and countless stories of love blooming in defiance. It's a city too busy to judge, too burdened to care about the intricacies of who loves whom. Mumbai knows and Mumbai understands that what these people have found is far too special to intervene in.
In India, so much stands in the face of your love. Is your love heterosexual? Does your religion approve? Does your caste approve? Does your family approve? Love becomes an agreement, lined with terms and conditions, ones that are set in stone. Almost as if everyone except those two people in love make the decision about whether they should stay or leave. And maybe that’s what moves me about these small stories of love around me. It seems like this metro station offers them a sanctuary for their love, like flowers pushing through concrete, keeping them away from these heavy diktats that loom over them everywhere else. Who knows if their love will see tomorrow? Who knows if their love will pass the careful trials of their families? But, for these 10 minutes, this love is theirs. A moment frozen in time, a moment entirely theirs.
I’ve extrapolated that there are 3 phases of romantic love one can see at the metro station. One, a love that is punctuated, a full stop, one that has to bid farewell before the metro comes. Second, a full stop that turns into an ellipsis, a love that can take the liberty of sharing a ride home with you. Third, a love that is now a sentence, one that you can go home with even after getting out of the metro.
Sometimes, I step back and wonder what draws my eyes to notice these moments. I often feel like a silent observer, a repository of these wistful glances and long embraces. Perhaps they represent small glimmers of hope to me. Small reminders that it’s special enough to hold someone’s hand for 10 minutes in this demanding city. For I know that love is this quiet assurance found within that warmth.
As I think of more whys and whats, I find myself at the metro platform. The loudspeaker announces the arrival of the next metro, coincidentally marking the separation of many. My eyes can’t help but lovingly stare as I see these couples wait and wave goodbye up until the very doors of the metro close in front of them.
Jo khatm ho kisi jagah yeh aisa silsila nahi… the song reminds me. In Mumbai, where time is a relentless tide, love is often found in these fleeting moments, a whispered hope that someone is waiting for you on the other side of the platform. As the last notes of this song fade, I wonder, what is love if not someone waiting for you?
Concept Note
I’ve often wondered: what does it mean to love in an urban city that is so demanding of your time? Every time I walk into a metro station, I wonder if I have found my answer. I’ve come to realize that a metro station offers a perfect snapshot of urban life. In every corner, life unfolds in its own way.
I often find couples simply sitting beside each other at the metro station, almost as if they've been able to shun big questions and big decisions from stealing those moments of relief from them. In this moment that I’ve tried capturing, all they are doing is soaking in the fact that despite their busy schedules, they were able to sneak in a few minutes together.
I’ve realized that couples are able to claim that space in Mumbai because this city allows them to. Mumbai is one of those cities where people are so caught up in their own lives that they rarely look at you in judgement. Mumbai's anonymity becomes a shield, almost as if it allows love in all its forms to breathe.
I’ve written this piece as an amalgamation of these realizations, alluding to love that is punctuated in the moment. This piece tries to capture that particular moment. Whether their love endures time is beyond the scope of this piece; what this piece tries to honour is the elusive nature of that moment. Transient, yes, but oh so special.
I’ve consciously refrained from using words that indicate gender in the piece so as to honour the space that Mumbai makes for all kinds of couples. This piece is an ode to this specific kind of metropolitan love that waits for you in the heart of this city’s chaos, despite the ticking clock.
Artist Bio
Shriya is a thinker, a dreamer and a worrier. She is a Liberal Arts Graduate with a specialization in Social and Political Studies and a classically trained vocalist. Shriya will usually be found observing the world, learning and unlearning through it and capturing it all through words, notes and pixels. She’s currently working at The Circle India to tell poignant stories about a reinvented India. You can find some of her work @shriyakrishnan_ and @shriyaaaa.k.