First Time in The London Underground

There were a lot of commuters like me waiting in the cold. The sun shone brightly but the rays didn't heat me up. My teeth gnashed against each other as the chill shivered down my spine. Finally, from a distance, the District Line train heading towards North London approached the station. It was my first time in The London Underground, journeying into London on an early Monday morning. We were all squashed up in one cabin.

‘Doors closing,’ reminded the automated voice. My buttocks narrowly missed the chance of getting chopped off by the closing doors.

‘Excuse me, could you move in a bit please?’

I had to ask no one in particular especially because everyone wore on a stern look of ‘don’t get into my space’. How selfish and inconsiderate? I lost my balance trying to grasp on to the florescent green handrail, fully occupied by fingers owned by people of various skin colors. The train gently roared onward to the next station. Slowly, I began to perceive an awful smell sip in. Someone around me must have farted. Incredible! I held my breath for some seconds but gave in to the pong which had now encircled my breathing space. Trust me, I was already dead on the death row from the concentrated smell. Have you ever perceived fart smell that wasn't African? I looked around me. No one smiled. Maybe in pretense not to be perturbed by the foul air.

Now I wasn't sure if I was better off with the fart smell that was already fading away or the odor coming my way from underneath the outstretched arms of the gentleman in an English suit who stood next to me. My immediate sphere oozed and each face seemingly held an expression of ‘where is the next stop please?’

‘Ouch! Did she just step on my feet on her way out?’  I unconsciously asked aloud painfully.

At this stop, a larger batch of people entered. If only a lesser number could get on the train at every stop point, I wished. On the contrary, every stop cramped us together all the more. The coach was jam-packed and reminded me of sardine fish sealed in a tin. The scenario was worse off now, buttocks to buttocks and face-to-face. A young man’s face was directly in mine and made no conscious efforts to move it away. He kept breathing into my face, and left me wondering if he was about to plant an unwanted kiss on my moist lips. I was forced to go through the inconvenience of inhaling a bad breath of garlic alongside a combo of other reeking elements he exhaled.

‘Choi!’ I exclaimed quietly in Pidgin English.

‘Mile End. Change for the Central Line. Doors opening,’ the automated voice said.

The chilly breeze from winter’s offer was ushered into the train as the doors flung themselves apart. The train must have heaved a sigh of relief as a load of human traffic alighted it.  People dashed briskly for the closest empty seats to them. I almost tripped in a bid to catch a free seat. My feet had begun to hurt from having stood in the past twenty minutes. More people got on the train and we journeyed on. A noisy silence enveloped the coach again. I watched stealthily; I could hear coughs, sniffs, little chattering and most of all, the squeaky noise from the train’s wheels grinding against the rusty metallic rails. ‘The £500bn Credit Crunch’ among other captivating news headlines flooded the cabin. Eyes were glued to the pages of The Metro, The Sun, Daily Mail newspapers, books and magazines, with very few heads up. Most ears were clogged with earphones connected to an iPod or iPhone of some sort. Nodding heads of some trying to catch up with the left over sleep, Early Rise and Rush Hour had robbed off them.

The foremost thing on the minds of commuters may have been getting to work early or for some like me, ‘I need more sleep’. Afar off in a corner I was able to catch a glimpse of a lady whose wide hips without apologies occupied four seats alone yet people needed a seat desperately.

‘What would travelling on the Northern Line train be like?’ I imagined. I had heard the trains on that route were the busiest as they made their way through the centre of eventful London. There were about five people standing in front of me, blurring my sight to tens of others standing. Amongst them, a couple was lost in cuddles and kisses that early in the morning. What extra heat needed to curb the cold weather, all in a quest to conquer their fleshly desires? Also, there was a young oddly bearded man, dressed in a grey-striped suit. I found my eyes perambulating through the large sack that hung across his back. I tried to guess the contents and hoped for the love of my life that he wasn't a suicide bomber.

Deeper in thoughts, I questioned what would happen if the train’s engineering suddenly developed an electrical fault or worse still, if the coach I sat in detached itself from the long train. Would that mean lots of human beings trapped underground for hours? I quickly rebuked the thoughts. The lamps on the wall lit up the dark tunnel. I marveled at the historical fact that The London Underground had been long in existence and routine engineering maintenance had kept its survival till then. Suddenly, there was a one-minute delay and the train came to a halt in the tunnel. It felt like I had waited for forever. I looked through the glass windows again, thick darkness stared back at me. The glass held the reflection of faces of commuters. This made it a lot easier for me to gossip with my eyes, scanning through the length of my coach.

‘The next station is Embankment’, said the feminine automated voice. That was the nudge I needed to get me out of these horrid thoughts. Finally, I was at the end of my commute in one peace. As I walked out of the doors, I tripped on the gap. Then I looked crossly at the ground, the hand painted sign in custard yellow read, MIND THE GAP. ‘How daft of me not to have noticed,’ I muttered out of sheer embarrassment to the passerby. He replied with a plastic smile and maintained his brisk walk past me. The surly British smile, unmistaken any day, I thought.

Written October 17th, 2008