“Next station is Okhla NSIC. Doors will open on the right. Please mind the gap.”

Sitting in the metro on my way home from college, I looked around and watched people. Why? Because I was bored to death, and I had nothing better to do. My phone was hanging on to dear life by a thread and I couldn’t afford to turn the screen on, even to see the time. And to provide you with some justification for my thrifty behaviour, it takes me almost two hours to commute between my home and college (which are in different cities), and I had just started my journey back home. Also, what if it switches off and my mom calls? Let’s not even go there. I was running a little late today and had forgotten my phone’s charger. And no, I do not use a power bank. So there I was, sitting awkwardly, watching a couple of kids running through the length of the coach, engrossed in a world of their own, which only consisted of themselves and their dad, sitting a few feet away from me. I’m not the one to gush over little kids, but these two were providing me with some entertainment and I duly held on to it.

Beside me there were sitting two middle-aged men. My immediate neighbor was wearing a white shirt with black chequered lines, black trousers and thick-rimmed glasses. He had a heavy moustache and you could see a few strands of hair trying to escape the insides of the nose, looking as if they wished to join the former and be a part of its hairy glory. And as if getting inspiration from them and not wanting to be alone inside, strands of hair were sprouting from his ears as well. I couldn’t properly see the man sitting beside him, but he was wearing a shirt as well, of a dirty peach color, brown suspenders and dark blue pants. They probably had met each other for the first time that day in the metro and had normally struck up a conversation over the things both of them hated.

For the sake of convenience, let’s call the first man Mr. Moustache and the second person Mr. Suspenders.

“Tch tch, these cap-wearers are gonna wipe out our community,” said Mr. Moustache to himself, shaking his head and folding the newspaper he was reading.

“You’re right bhaisahab. You’re absolutely right. Have you ever seen a Hindu attack a Muslim without provocation? No. It’s always them who attack first. Hindus only defend themselves,” said Mr. Suspenders, easily catching on to what Mr. Moustache was saying due to him secretly reading the newspaper, too.

“Yes, exactly! It was always them who attacked our country. Take those bloody Mughals for example! Hindus always had to shed blood to protect themselves,” Mr. Moustache replied, his face lighting up at finding someone who agreed with him.

I  did not have to look at the other people to realize that they were gradually turning their heads in our direction, everyone equally shocked as I was at the two chit-chatters. With the awkwardness levels rising in the coach, I focused all of my brain cells on those kids and tried to drown out the men’s voices.

Do you know that feeling when you’re concentrating hard on reading a book, but you just can’t seem to focus, and are repeatedly distracted by something or the other, resulting in you having to go over the same line over and over again? Yes, that was what was happening with me; the distraction being the two men’s trashy conversation and my book being everything else. I looked at the station panel and heaved a silent sigh when I realized that I had to endure this for another 10 minutes. Brilliant.

“True!”, Mr. Suspenders said, nodding so hard I thought his head would fall from his neck. “These people have so many countries under them. Iran, Saudi, Dubai and whatnot. We Hindus only have India as our motherland, and now, we can’t even call her ours. And they do nothing but criticise Bharat mata. If they have such a big problem, why don’t they go to other places? Why don’t they go to Pakistan or Afghanistan, and just leave us alone?”

“That is exactly what I have been saying for so long. If all of them go to Pakistan, everyone will be happy,” said Mr. Moustache, the highest authority on matters of happiness.

“Hey, look! Our flag!”, yelled one of the kids to his brother. Grateful for this diversion, everyone watched those kids with a smile on their face as they stood saluting to the National Flag, clearly visible through the large windows in the metro.

“Waah, waah! Such good children. Now only this generation can save us Hindus from being crushed at the hands of these cap-wearers,” Mr. Moustache said, with such a proud look on his face you’d think it was his own child.

Next station is Jasola Vihar Shaheen Bagh. Doors will open on the right. Please mind the gap.”

“Abbu, is this our station?”, the same kid enquired his dad, who was sitting at a distance from him, loudly enough for us all to hear.

“Yes, Farhan, this is our station. Come here, now! We have to get off!”, his dad yelled back.