Tracks of Thought: A Metro Ride Through Minds and Moments
As a Mysurean, there’s a certain rhythm I’m used to—the unhurried mornings, the quiet streets, and the reassuring familiarity of home. My travels to Bengaluru, however, always feel like stepping into a whirlwind. For years, I preferred the comfort of my car, enjoying the freedom of winding through scenic routes at my pace. But this time, I decided to do things differently. It began with boarding the Vande Bharat Express, a modern marvel of Indian engineering. Smooth, swift, and proudly Made in India, it left me marveling at how far we’ve come—from steam engines that chugged through sleepy towns to this sleek train that seemed to slice through time itself.
When the train pulled into Bengaluru, the city greeted me with its characteristic frenzy. Cars honked, buses groaned, and the sidewalks buzzed with hurried footsteps. I had an important meeting to catch, but instead of hailing a cab, I decided to embrace the city’s heartbeat—the Namma Metro. For someone who has spent more time navigating Mysuru’s quiet roads than Bengaluru’s labyrinth of flyovers, this was a leap into the unknown.
From Wheels to Metro: A Testament to Human Ingenuity
As I stood on the platform waiting for the train, my mind wandered to how far we’ve come as a species. Once, we roamed barefoot, guided only by instinct and need. Then came the wheel—a single invention that propelled us into the future. From carts to cars, trains to planes, each evolution marked a step in humanity’s relentless pursuit of connection and efficiency. The metro, in its sleek and silent glory, represents the culmination of centuries of ingenuity, a solution to the chaos we’ve created with our own growth.
Bengaluru’s metro is a lifeline, offering respite from the city’s infamous traffic jams. Yet, as I boarded the train, I realized it’s more than just a transportation system. It’s a living, breathing mosaic of stories—a microcosm of the city itself.
From Wheels to Metro: A Testament to Human Ingenuity
The train doors slid shut, and suddenly, I was in a world of strangers, each immersed in their own reality. To my left sat a young woman, her headphones in, eyes glued to her phone, occasionally breaking into a smile. I wondered if she was watching her favorite serial, escaping for a moment into a world where life’s challenges come with background music and neatly tied endings.
Across from her, a group of professionals huddled around a laptop, debating over a presentation. The lines on their foreheads spoke of deadlines and deliverables. Their intense focus reminded me of the Bhagavad Gita’s words:
“Shraddhavan labhate jnanam”
(“The one with faith and perseverance attains knowledge.”) (Bhagavad Gita 4.39)
Their work wasn’t just a task; it was a testament to their faith in effort and perseverance, their belief in building a better tomorrow, one spreadsheet or pitch at a time.
Next to them, a cluster of students was busy flipping through textbooks. The air around them crackled with nervous energy, the kind only an upcoming exam can create. Their hushed whispers carried equations, dates, and definitions, yet amid this studious chatter, one student stood out.
She was standing, her college bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes closed and lips moving silently. At first, I thought she was rehearsing notes, but as I looked closer, I noticed a japamala in her hand. She was chanting the Hare Krishna mantra, her face calm and serene, a striking contrast to the bustling compartment around her.
In a space filled with the hum of gadgets and the weight of deadlines, her stillness felt almost sacred. It reminded me of the Bhagavad Gita’s wisdom:
“man-manā bhava mad-bhakto mad-yājī māṁ namaskuru”
“mām evaiṣhyasi yuktvaivam ātmānaṁ mat-parāyaṇaḥ”
(“Always think of Me, be devoted to Me, worship Me, and offer obeisance to Me. Having dedicated your mind and body to Me, you will certainly come to Me.”) (Bhagavad Gita 9.34)
She was a gentle reminder that even amidst chaos, there’s room for devotion and tranquility, for a connection to something eternal.
The World Outside, the World Within
As the train glided over the city, it offered fleeting glimpses of Bengaluru’s life below—roads crammed with vehicles, people darting between lanes, and the city’s ceaseless energy pulsating through every corner. Then, without warning, the metro plunged underground. The world outside disappeared, replaced by the dim glow of tunnel lights streaking past.
In that moment of isolation, I felt the collective silence of the passengers. It was as if the absence of a view forced everyone to turn inward. Some scrolled through their phones, others stared blankly at their reflections in the glass, and a few, like me, simply sat with their thoughts.
When we emerged back into the daylight, the city unfolded again, this time from a height that offered perspective. The juxtaposition was beautiful—underground, we were introspective; above ground, we were observant. Isn’t life like that? Moments of clarity often come after we’ve been through tunnels of uncertainty.
A City in Transit, A Problem in Progress
Despite the metro’s efficiency, the crowd inside was a reminder of Bengaluru’s unrelenting growth. The train was packed, standing room only, with new passengers jostling for space at every station. The metro is a lifeline, yes, but it’s also a Band-Aid on a wound that runs deep. Bengaluru’s traffic problems are far from solved, yet in the faces of my fellow travelers, I saw hope—a willingness to adapt, to make do, to keep moving.
The Heart of the Journey
As the train pulled into my destination, I lingered a moment before stepping out, soaking in the vibrant tapestry of humanity around me. The metro wasn’t just a ride—it was a story, a reflection of the lives it carried.
It reminded me that travel isn’t just about getting from point A to point B. It’s about the journey in between—the people you meet, the stories you overhear, the moments that make you pause and reflect.
The Bhagavad Gita says:
“uddhared ātmanātmānaṁ nātmānam avasādayet”
“ātmaiva hyātmano bandhur ātmaiva ripur ātmanaḥ”
(“Elevate yourself through the power of your mind, and not degrade yourself, for the mind can be the friend and also the enemy of the self.”) (Bhagavad Gita 6.5)
In the metro’s hum, in its stops and starts, I saw this philosophy in action—a city striving to elevate itself, a generation navigating the chaos, each person carrying their world in their hearts and minds.
A Beautiful Continuum
As I stepped out into the Bengaluru streets, the noise and chaos rushed back in, but the journey had left its mark. For a brief while, I had been part of something bigger—a moving mosaic of humanity, each tile unique yet connected.
It made me think of life itself—always in motion, a beautiful interplay of creation, evolution, and perception.
“prakṛtiḿ svām avaṣṭabhya visṛjāmi punaḥ punaḥ”
“bhūta-grāmam imaḿ kṛtsnam avaśaḿ prakṛter vaśāt”
(“The whole cosmic order is under Me. Under My will, it is automatically manifested again and again, and under My will, it is annihilated at the end.”) (Bhagavad Gita 9.8)
Just like the metro flows through tunnels and emerges into the light, life too flows seamlessly between moments of introspection and clarity. Every journey, whether on a train or through life itself, is a reminder of the ever-present opportunity to create, perceive, and connect. It’s about embracing the ride, finding beauty in its rhythm, and moving forward with purpose and joy.
