We Are Like That Only

Chaturvedi ji : Arey Sharma ji, button toh dabaiye

Sharma ji : Arey sir, daba toh rahe hain. (in a low voice) par kuch hoyie nahi raha.

Sharma ji was laboriously pushing the button to the farthest it can get. The red circle around it was gleaming since it was pressed fifteen minutes ago. Sharma ji was now breaking into a sweat. Drops of perspiration could be seen dotting his upper lip. His bald head covered with four stands of hair that he had grown on one side and had combed across, was shining. Not just Sharma ji, all the other twelve passengers in the four by four lift were sweating. The smell of their deodorants and soaps, rising with fumes of their perspiration.

The metro station was supposedly air conditioned and it was not like, the air vents were not working. Still the little group of people were fighting summer, on one of the coldest Delhi January days.

The door of the lift stood ajar. Sharma ji now irritatedly, pushed the red circular button to level three in frantic thuds. Chaturvedi ji, stood packed between a young office goer and two orange clad, turbaned men and the mirrored wall at the back of the lift. He could have salvaged Sharma ji's soul had his hands not been jammed by the compression. All he could do now was wait patiently, and hear the low clamming of a silver wrist watch band against the metallic button board, as Sharma ji continuously coaxed the button with frustration to shut the door.

The young office goer, who stood beside Chaturvedi ji looked at his golden Titan. Chawla ji had gotten up late that day and was thus running late for his office. He never normally traveled by the lift. But today was different. Time constraint today had forced him to take the lift. He had thought, if he got lucky he would skip the escalators and save himself few minutes. But perhaps, his stars had other plans. Standing where he was, squeezed between a young lady and Chaturvedi ji, he gently comtemplated the consequences, if the door didn't shut within five more minutes. His handsome young face was covered with beads of water. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the river which swiftly ran down from his right temple and vanished into his collar.

Mrs. Gupta had situated herself firmly at the far corner of the lift, as soon as the doors had opened. She was a wide woman. Her forty something age and eighty something weight now, did not permit her to take the stairs as she went to work every morning. And the escalators had a bad reputation with her. She had heard stories about how, many people had lost their valuable lives as they hitched a ride on these ghosts of chore conservation. She too stood waiting patiently like Chaturvedi ji, inhaling the faint, delicious smell of dal makhni she carried in her double Decker lunch box and dreaming of her office mates and the compliments that would be showered on her during that divine hour of lunch. They would all be curious about her secret recipe.

Bhumika stood with a grimace on her face as she now and then stole a glance at the two huge mustached, orange clad, turbaned men to keep a check on them and their perverse gazes. Her friend must be waiting for her at Rajiv Chowk metro station. They had decided to go shopping. Her friend had claimed she knew haunts at CP where they could get the best bargains on garments of latest designs. She was clutching her bright multicolored handbag on her left shoulder with her right arm, an indication of distrustful surrounding, and with the other she was absently twirling a lock of her artificially straightened burgundy hair.

Sharma ji knocked the button, now in little rhythmic beats. Mishra ji, an elderly gentleman in a white kurta pajama was trying to aid him in his endeavor as they stood side by side. He was pushing the button when Sharma was lifting his thumb off it. As if his touch would induce some magic in the little impotent object.

"lagta hai lift overload ho gaya hai". Chawla ji had finally said it. All this confusion had to have some reason behind it and Chawla ji had spotted it correctly now. The little yellow board titled 'instruction manual' in black paint hung above the button board. Seven rules were bulleted over it. It said under rule number 3, "Lift capacity is of maximum 8 persons. Kindly do not overload lift beyond capacity."

"oh" Said Sharma ji after two minutes. Chawla ji's words were now seeping in his interpretation. "Overload ho gaya hai". First he said it softly to himself. Then he said it loudly to Chaturvedi ji standing a little distance away from him, "Lift overload ho gaya hai sir". He said it, as if Chaturvedi ji could only hear Sharma ji and not Chawla ji who stood right beside him.
But oblivous to Sharma ji's flawed ideas about distances, Chaturvedi ji was devising a plan to make the lift door shut. Soon after, he came up with this very intelligent idea, "Kisi ko utarna padega".

"Haan, kisi ko utarna padega" Sharma ji's congratulatory voice rang across the lift to all the twelve passengers. Everybody stood with a pensive expression for the next fifteen minutes. Nobody moved.