After landing in London, my employers provided me with an ‘Oyster card’, a blue ATM card-type object that can be used to criss-cross London. All you need is to swipe to gain entry into the tube and buses.
The nearest station to my lodgings was Wembley North. And on the first day, I got into the station by scanning the card and was guided by my colleague to the relevant platform.
Wembley North is an ancient-looking two-platform station, and the premises could easily be mistaken for a Matunga or Tambaram or any other Indian suburban station - minus the plastic bag and cigarette packet litter, unauthorised flex and paper billboards, no handbills of piles and fistula clinics strewn around, no paan stains, and finally no stench of urine. Even the tracks looked free from any litter.
Conversely, this is how most stations in India would have looked if people had shown better civic sense and the authorities were more service-minded.
The station had a smallish entrance with two swipe card entry gates and the stairs to its two platforms.
Wembley North was the overground outpost of the Bakerloo line, which goes underground after Queen’s Park towards Elephant and Castle in Central London.
It was around 7 am and sparsely crowded. But as I gazed at the passengers on the platforms, I could sense the multi-cultural Britain with many South Asian and African faces.
After a short wait, a tube train ambled into the platform, making loud clanking noises.
The train’s footboard was nearly a foot below the platform!
All through my stay in London, the most common in-train announcement used to be ‘please mind the gap while deboarding’.
The train was a rickety old one, and to me it came as a big let-down. I was expecting them to be on par or even swankier than Bengaluru’s Namma Metro.
I later read that the Bakerloo line is one of the oldest among London's tube rail system, and the rakes that run on this line are the oldest ones, with some of them of 1972 vintage.
The doors of these trains appear to be very reluctant to close, and at some stations they do so after many back-and-forth groaning, like children being dragged to get an injection.
And unless all the doors close, the trains don’t leave the platform.
The seats are fabric-upholstered ones and placed with a mix of along the side and across formations.
Once the train entered the underground section mobile network became patchy, and the clanging noise grew louder, often drowning out the in-train announcements.
Other than ‘mind the gap’, the other recurring announcement was advising passengers not to touch any strange-looking objects and dial a particular number if anything unattended is found.
Some of the stations on the Bakerloo line have been immortalised by authors and figure in some well-known English novels.
Thus, on the first day, my heart leapt in excitement when I came across stations like Baker Street and Charing Cross, as it reminded me of Sherlock Holmes.
Some other names, like Paddington and Piccadilly, brought back memories of reading Agatha Christie and P G Wodehouse, respectively.
We got off at the last station, Elephant and Castle, and my colleague guided me to the office, a five-minute walk from the station.
Baker Street
Although Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character, the Baker Street station’s walls are adorned with memorabilia of the famous detective, who gave many edgy moments for generations of readers.
During my later explorations of this station, I came across a Sherlock Holmes statue outside, and I was told there was a museum nearby.
And mind you, this multi-tiered tube station was built sometime in the late 1800s.
I had a similar shock when I once got off the Paddington station to meet a friend.
It too had a maze of different platforms for different lines of the tube station, and it also had overground platforms catering to outstation trains bound for Wales and other destinations.
When I reached the outstation train platform, a train was getting ready to leave for Swansea.
I had trouble getting used to the escalator etiquette. Those not in a hurry should stand on the right side, and those in a rush can climb up the stairs on the left.
It came as a bit of a surprise, as the UK follows a left-hand side traffic rule, and I carelessly landed up on the left side a couple of times.
I was politely told by those in a rush to make way for them and stay on the right.
Though the Bakerloo line remained the mainstay of my office commute, I used to explore some of the other lines during my weekend sightseeing trips.
The rakes in some of these lines were much swankier and lived up to the expectations we normally have of a first-world country like Britain.
Moreover, the footboards were at platform levels, and there was no need to ‘mind the gap’.
Familiar faces
Though the co-passengers' faces keep changing during the morning tube rides, some appear to be constant and acquire an air of familiarity.
One of them is a middle-aged black guy with long beaded hair like those Caribbean pop singers, and a neatly trimmed beard.
Whenever I take the last compartment of the 7.15 am train, he will be seated on the last seat.
He used to keep his eyes transfixed on his mobile phone screen, probably watching some downloaded stuff, as once the train goes underground, the internet connectivity gets patchy.
He used to get out at Warwick Avenue station. His trademark beads were something that caught my attention when I first saw him.
Another is a white, portly man with a beard. He is also in his 40s or even early 50s.
He often wears a shirt with flowery patterns that men would like to wear in beaches, longish shorts, and sports shoes.
He often carries a suit cover bag. Probably carries the suit he wears at the office.
His colourful dressing was something that drew my attention on the first day.
Though the October nip was growing stronger by the day, there was no let-up in his Hawaiian sangfroid dressing.
‘Crowded’ Tubes
One day, it was getting late to leave the office, and a colleague told me to hurry up, as trains could get crowded.
I rushed through my remaining work and reached the Elephant and Castle station.
Having come from India, where boarding a train at Churchgate and CST in Mumbai is nothing short of a blood sport, I psyched myself up for an impending struggle.
As I entered the Elephant and Castle’s Bakerloo line platform, I began wondering where the crowds were!
Ok, the number of commuters on that platform was a tad higher than usual, but it in no way appeared intimidating.
As the train entered the platform, I wondered, “Why is no one lunging into the moving rake to get the favourite window seat”, or “why are the waiting passengers not girding up to gate-crash into the train the moment it came to a halt?”
They patiently waited for the incoming passengers to alight before getting in.
The seats got filled, and a few were left comfortably standing.
The doors soon closed, and the train got going. No broken spectacles, no loosened shirt buttons, no ‘ooh-aah’ over fresh aches on shins acquired while boarding the train.
Maybe things might get tough on the way.
There were some additions at the subsequent stations like Waterloo and Paddington, but they were no match to Dadar, which can populate a train to bursting-at-the-seams level even at midnight.
All through the journey, the crowds never looked even marginally threatening or suffocating, like say while travelling from Churchgate to Virar at 6.00 pm.
Doom scrolling
With smartphone doomscrolling becoming a worldwide affliction, London Tube commuters, too, were not immune to it.
A major chunk of passengers could be seen glued to their phones with ear pods snugly affixed inside their earlobes. Thankfully, no playing of videos without headphones.
However, I still find a tiny minority reading physical newspapers and paperbacks.
Most newspapers were those picked up from free newspapers like Metro or The Standard stacked up at station entrances. After the commute, they often get discarded on the train.
Some rare serious readers may carry the bulky print edition of The Guardian or The Times. Once, I was surprised and impressed to see a man reading The Economist.
Newspapers in Britain are unwieldy, running into 50 plus pages, and on Sundays most of them run to over 100 pages!
Those who read paperbacks are more diligent types, and many of them are women. It could range from the current bestsellers to classics, and they read them with much more commitment, unmindful of the surroundings or the train’s clanging and grating noises.
Disruption
During my tube journeys, I often used to come across announcements of services on certain lines getting closed for maintenance works or other reasons, or facing delays.
I used to pay them the same amount of attention we generally do for safety instructions air hostesses make before take-off.
But one day, I got caught up in one such disruption, and this happened when I was returning from Oxford University.
I got off the Oxford Tube bus at Hillingdon and took a train to Baker’s Street.
From there, I got on the usual Bakerloo line for Wembley North. A little later, I heard the announcement that the service will terminate at Queen’s Park.
When the tube reached Queen’s Park, it was around 9 pm and drizzling. The temperature on my phone was showing 6 degrees Celsius.
I got off the train and began wondering ‘what next?’ Will I have to walk all the way to the next station in this inclement weather?
I have done that in Mumbai a couple of times during such disruptions.
Or board a bus with little idea of the routes it will take.
I came across a white lady in a railway uniform and told her my predicament.
She told me the trains have stopped services, but directed me to a group of railways unform clad guys at the exit.
They appeared to be South Asians, and they directed me to a nearby bus depot, where a bus with a ‘Rail Replacement Service’ board was waiting.
I told them about my destination, and they replied that the bus would take me to the nearest station, Harlesdon, from where I could continue my train journey.
They didn’t charge any money, and the bus took me through various deserted streets and dropped me near Harlesden station.
At Harlesden, there were a couple of volunteers, this time of African origin, who directed me to the right platform to board the train for Wembley North.
This hardly even seemed like a disruption, and many of my initial fears were quite unfounded.
An eminently readable piece laced with humour. Thank you. - Jayakumar
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