Metro Playlist

I started my journey from Silk Institute to Tin Factory. Being a terminal, Silk Institute had plenty of space, so I found a seat for myself and my bag. A decent number of people took their places, and the train took a few minutes to start—I don’t know why.

I took out the book I’m yet to complete from my bag, *The Girl in Room 105* by Chetan Bhagat. I began reading the chapter where Raghu discovers the illicit relationship between Faiz and Zara. Honestly, I’m more disappointed than Raghu about Zara cheating on him with Faiz. And my Spotify is playing “Attention” by Charlie Puth.

By this time, the train started to fill up with people. I was holding my bag on my lap and continuing to read. Suddenly, I felt a couple of gazes on me. I glanced up from my book and noticed a small group of people—a family, it seemed—standing in front of me. They weren’t saying anything, but their eyes were speaking volumes. They were all looking at the oldest person in their group, an elderly man. Then, their gazes shifted back to me, almost as if they were silently asking me to offer my seat.

I wasn’t eager to lose my seat, especially when the train was getting so crowded, but I knew what I had to do. I sighed inwardly, slid my bookmark into place, and put my book back in my bag.

Standing up, I gave the elderly man a small nod, signalling that the seat was his. He smiled warmly at me. I moved to a spot a little farther away. It wasn’t the most comfortable situation, but I figured I could wait a bit longer to find out how the book ends. After all, I already knew who killed Zara—I could afford to wait for the climax.

My Spotify continued to play “Me Gustas Tu.” I couldn’t understand anything other than “Me Gustas Tu.” As I listened, my eyes wandered to the beautiful things I could see at that moment—babies.

What else did you think? Pervert.

Maybe it was the first time I didn’t mind standing in a crowded metro. One parent was trying to pacify her baby, and I was making different faces to make that baby laugh, which I think I succeeded in doing.

The kid tried to reach for me, and I held her for a decent amount of time. She was so fragile and cute. Within a few minutes, she reached her stop and waved a decent goodbye to me. I waved back, with my ears busy listening to “I’ve Got a Dream” from Tangled, thinking, “21 is not a bad age to have babies right? Maybe not…”

I also ended up deciding on names: Moksha, Sathya, and Bhanu. By the time I was imagining sending my kids to school, I reached my mid-stop—Majestic Metro station.

Just as I stepped out of the jam-packed train, my mom called me, asking, “Have you reached Marathahalli?” I said, “No.” She then said, “You better reach there by 10:30 AM.” I looked at the clock in the station, which read 8:15. I said, “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll be there by 9:45.” She continued, “Call me once you reach the PG.” I said, “Sure,” and she hung up. I thought, “I’ll have a lot of time after I reach Tin Factory.”

Then there’s the main problem: I didn’t know how to change from platform three to one, and I lost my way. I was stuck in a loop of going up and down three times, only to end up in the same place I started. Aptly, my earphones started playing “World’s Smallest Violin.” I shouted “Fuck!!!!” so loud that people around me stared at me, clearly uncomfortable.

Luckily, someone tapped my shoulder and asked if I was fine. I explained that I was having trouble finding my way to platform 1. She was kind enough to help me out, and we ended up waiting in the same queue. The train arrived, and we somehow managed to get inside. By the time I wore my earphones back, it was playing, “Wonder” by Shawn Mendes. I was standing, holding the overhead bar with both hands.
I noticed a group of people, maybe from the same college, staring at me and giggling. I wondered, “Is there something wrong with my hair? Are my flies open? Do I look like a creep?” I looked at the reflection in the train’s glass and saw that I looked okay in my dark green shirt and brown pants.
I also noticed a couple standing cheek to cheek, smiling at each other. I understood that those people were looking at them. I honestly found it cute and looked away. Then, more people started to fill the coach, which I wasn’t expecting. The coach was jam-packed.
Then my playlist took the responsibility to remind me that I’m single.
It started to play “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. I seriously wanted to change that song, only then did I observe that I was surrounded by women of different age groups, from teenagers to elderly women, moving my hand even slightly could land me in a molestation case.
I seriously did not want to listen to the bridge of the song. But I did listen to it. Ed Sheeran started the high note, singing, “Baby, I’m…” and I ended up thinking, “Damn, I miss her badly.” That’s her caller tune—the one that shouldn’t be named, according to my friends. She’s the “nothing” to my family, my first muse. I don’t know why but, I could feel my vision blurring. I hate to admit that I miss her.
And thanks again to my playlist, it started to play “Up & Up” by Coldplay. Maybe now it decided to heal me, and all I could think was, “Thank you for the rollercoaster, Spotify.” Luckily, my stop arrived within a few minutes. By the time I came out of the metro station, it was 8:50.

All I felt was that it was a hell of a ride, and I wouldn’t mind having it once more—maybe with a different playlist. Or perhaps the same one—after all, what’s life without a few unexpected reminders of where we’ve been and who we’ve loved?