But in 2007, you still read a physical newspaper on the train. You still asked a stranger for directions. You still waited for your favorite song on Channel [V] or MTV. You still had to be somewhere to talk to someone.
And above the ringtones, there was the train. The Delhi Metro had just completed its first anniversary of the Blue Line in 2006, and by 2007, it was the jewel of the capital. The "please mind the gap" voice was a new religion. In Mumbai, the local train was still the heart of the city, but 2007 saw the rise of the "BEST" Volvo buses—blue, air-conditioned, expensive at Rs. 30 a ticket, but offering a quiet, insulated bubble to listen to your newly purchased iPod Classic. Life in a 2007 metro followed a rigid, three-part geometry.
This was the true metro hour. After work, you didn't go home; you went to "the mall." 2007 was the peak of the Indian mall culture. Select CITYWALK in Saket, Inorbit in Malad, or Forum in Koramangala. These weren't just shopping centers; they were oxygen zones. You walked the glass-and-marble corridors just to feel the air conditioning. You bought a coffee at Barista or Café Coffee Day (CCD) for Rs. 50, which felt decadent. You watched a Hindi film with an "intermission" because multiplexes hadn't killed that tradition yet. life in a metro -2007-
Or, if you were in the IT crowd, you went to a pub. 2007 was the twilight of the "rock pub" and the dawn of the "lounge." Places like Toto’s Garage (Mumbai), FBar (Delhi), and Pecos (Bangalore) were overflowing. The drink was Royal Challenge or Bagpiper with soda. The song was "Mauja Hi Mauja" or "Ay Hairathe." For all its gloss, metro life in 2007 was profoundly lonely. You lived in a shared 2BHK in a suburb like Noida, Andheri East, or HSR Layout. Your flatmates were strangers from different states. The family home was 1,500 km away. You spoke to your mother once a week on a landline because mobile roaming was expensive.
Life in a metro in 2007 was exhausting, expensive, and exhilarating. You were broke but you had a "permanent" job. You were far from home but you were in the "city of dreams." You didn't have a GPS, so you got lost. You didn't have an Ola, so you walked. You didn't have Instagram, so you actually saw the sunset over the flyover. But in 2007, you still read a physical
Every second person on the DTC bus or the Churchgate local had a Nokia 6600, a Motorola Razr, or a newly-launched BlackBerry Pearl. Their ringtones weren’t songs; they were synthesized MIDI versions of "Aankhon Mein Teri" or the Credit Suisse theme. The busiest sound was the click-clack of thumbs typing on physical QWERTY keypads. SMS was still the king of communication. A full conversation cost 50 paise per message, and you counted every character.
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. But mostly, it was the loudest of times. And if you listen closely, you can still hear the echo of that Nokia ringtone, bouncing off the concrete pillars of a metro station, somewhere between Andheri and the rest of the world. You still had to be somewhere to talk to someone
You woke up to an alarm on a phone that was also your alarm clock, your music player, and your snake-game console. Breakfast was a vada pav from a corner stall or a parantha rolled in foil. The morning commute was a war. In Gurgaon, techies jammed the toll plaza on the NH-8 in their Maruti 800s or company-provided Tata Indigos. In Bangalore, the phrase "Silicon Valley of India" was already a cruel joke about the Outer Ring Road traffic. In Kolkata, the yellow ambassador taxis with the black-and-yellow livery still ruled, their meters a mystery of applied mathematics.