Viewing the city through Benjamin's eyes... and Delhi Metro

“For the first time in the history of architecture, an artificial building material appears, iron. It serves as the basis for a development whose tempo accelerates in the course of the century . . . the rail becomes the first prefabricated iron component, the precursor of the girder” wrote Walter Benjamin, in trying to understand the French capital- Paris as the centre of planning and urbanisation in the 19^th century.

I remember reading these lines; squished like a squirrel in an overcrowded metro compartment, while frantically scrolling through the essay in my mobile. At Chandini Chowk, I went back to Benjamin’s words and marked them in bright yellow. I made a note- the only note in the entire PDF- while

travelling in the e-rickshaw from Kashmiri gate to my college campus, which now says – be a Benjamin. Look at the Metro you just travelled in, and even the city, through his eyes. Note how he writes the transition of France, Paris from a post-revolutionary state to the newly emerging urban capital.

I was trying to draw parallels, between Walter Benjamin’s experience of his city, and mine. He spoke at length about the dawn of modernity, the birth of the new Era. I focused on the brightest, most glaring symbol of development that my city had to offer- that which slithered across Delhi’s uneven, apparently planned landscape. The Delhi Metro was a turning point in the national capital’s historical narrative- a development, or should I say a post- Nehruvian redevelopment that was transforming the city.

The first metro ride I had taken, as a part of the family picnic, was a middle-class experience of modernity, the wonders of technology at such a large scale that was made accessible to everyone. As I grew older, the DMRC launched many new projects and a new metro station came closer to my home. By the time I left school and went to college in 2014, Delhi Metro had become popular and easily accessible among the Delhiites. I took the Yellow Line, which connected south Delhi to north Delhi. What had been a sight of wonder to my eyes had quickly turned into a mundane routine within the first few months. Until I looked beyond what was visible, to what was not.

The first time I had travelled over ground was from Qutab Minar station in Yellow Line. The metro raced past lush green lawns of farmhouses’ in Chattarpur, and the sight continued till Arjan Garh which was three more stations away. Then began the DLF city, the ultra-modern corporate cum residential complex built by the real estate giant, worth crores. I had never seen it before - the sheer beauty of such a brilliantly planned city.  Then came the big, bright malls with twinkling lights and massive banners in MG Road station – like a siren luring me in to indulge in brazen consumerism. This was the Delhi Metro showing me the wonders, a paradise, that which was visible.

I had seen it before, the other side of Delhi, the not so paradise, so to speak of. The Metro took me there as well; it took me on a ride from its centre to its periphery, revealing its gaping flaws and imperfections on the way as I took the Violet Line the other day. It connected the interior parts of south-central Delhi with the NCR region of Faridabad. The stations became elevated from Lajpat Nagar and I heaved a sigh of relief as the Metro moved out of the dark tunnel and into the light.

There was something to be said about human behaviour, or my perhaps my behaviour, as I gladly stopped looking at others faces and got up from my seat to look outside. So did my co-passengers, who I noticed were no longer scrolling through their mobile phones or sneaking glances at each other. We were all happy to look outside, than at each other. It was a sight, a characteristic I had become familiar with –this was me, and the multitude of people around me simply trying to overcome the sensory overload of daily life this metropolis inflicted upon us every day. We took on a blasé attitude, and rationalise everything around us to create a protective layer inside the small jam-packed compartment. So I look outside than listen to the girls who were actively complaining about boys, or the lack thereof in their college.

Homes stacked like matchbox one on top of another - with patches of green cover here and there were a common sight till we reached the Okhla station. The transformation had begun now. Small factories popped up in my view, with pools of stained water stagnated in open tank-like structures.

I believe the most memorable sight, strongly etched in my mind is that of the Badarpur Thermal Power Plant. It comes into sight from Sarita Vihar; its soot-stained chimney’s a looming reminder of why the buildings at the background were perpetually cloaked in smog.

The coal-based power plant, supplying power solely to Delhi, had been ordered to shut down by July 2018. According to the report published by Centre for Science and Environment, the Badarpur Plant is the most polluting power plant in India- contributing 8 percent to the capital’s power supply but producing 80-90 percent of polluting particulate matter. I google to check whether it has shut down or not as it passes by in front of me; an official from the National Thermal Power Corporation, under which the power plant functions, had released a statement confirming my initial thought- it would not shut down until the sub-station in Tughlaqabad becomes operational.

Even as Rini Simon Khanna - it is her voice we hear inside the metro making announcements- tells me to please stand away from the doors, I press closer to catch a final glimpse of the power-plant. As we neared the outskirts of Delhi, luxury car dealerships mingled with homes made of bricks and cement with asbestos covered roof. I knew that they were made of bricks without any obvious assumption because the homes were not painted upon, or even fully made.

I finally turn to look at an almost empty compartment. We had neared the last station. As I turned to sit back, I saw my friend trying to initiate a conversation with an old woman and her little granddaughter. I couldn’t hear much of what they were saying, but the little girl appeared shy, giggling at my friend. I looked out again; we were at Mewla Maharajpur station. Gone were the wide roads and flyovers weaving across one another, with manicured grass decorating the sight. Now we were passing through thin main roads that branched off into narrow alleys.

My friend was trying hard to engage with the little girl. She finally got a mouth-full of some excited words in Gujarati from the little one and a Namaste, as they got down the metro. I go back and sit,

“I didn’t get much from her” she laments. She was rationalising her attempt at conversing with two strangers, trying to mine in as much information as she could. I too, was doing the same as we got down at the last station.

The Delhi Metro has taken me places, revealing the city for what it truly is - the division of labour and class. If the upward view from Yellow line took me to the Delhi that looked like paradise, then the violent line took me to the dim underbelly of the city. The latter produced the necessary conditions, to make the former dazzle in glamour and appear the way it did.

Walter Benjamin was right; the appearance of iron and railways had introduced a new wave of urbanisation and industrialisation. These were the twin processes that have gone hand in for centuries, keeping the capitalist ideology as its central logic. As I take the Delhi Metro – a space of constant surveillance and discipline- to various parts of the city, what I see is the obedient nature of commercial transformation which Delhi has undergone, while its inhabitants assimilated themselves as cogs in this machine of so-called everyday life.

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Reference
Benjamin Walter’s The Writer of Modern Life