When I first saw the clip of 'Mile Sur Mera Tumhara', I was awestruck by the few Bengali men getting out of a train which has automatic doors and which was green in colour. At that time I could not associate it with Calcutta and felt that it was shooting of Bengalis away from their land.

My father who had been here some twenty-five years ago had maintained that Calcutta was not a place that bore any resemblance to a worthy place to live in. That prejudice had stuck and I could not see that train as a part of the dirt that was Calcutta - as portrayed by my father. I had long forgotten that train, so much so that when people out here told me - "You can travel by the Metro. It's a good means of transport" - it never struck me that the clean, green train that I had seen in that clip actually existed here in Calcutta - albeit underground.

My first realization of something different 'lurking' below came, when I saw the metro stations lines along the Ashutosh Mukherjee Road though no train was visible. A colleague satisfied my inquisitiveness and then there was a curiosity which was ignited.

Trains! Ah! They can never satiate me.

Trains to me have so many memories. Local trains in Mumbai are a source of constant thrill and pride. Travelling by these locals daily and boasting about how one caught a train while it was just leaving the station or how one could board a Virar local at Dadar and manage to get down at Andheri; was somewhere synonymous to 'growing up'. My choice of Ruparel College over Parle College had trains as an important decisive point.

Long distance trains have always presented a different thrill. The preparation, the winding queues at the reservation counter, the railway platforms, the coolies, the 'era' before computer reservations became common-place when the squabbles over the same seat being allocated to different people and the railway food - all these still raise goose-pimples on my skin. I have not travelled much, but have managed to see all possible trains from the 'posh' Shatabdi to the over-flowing Gorakhpur Express. I even had my nose broken when in a fit of youthful energy we boarded the Mahanagri Express in the unreserved compartment on a hiking expedition and had a fight with the agents.

But even today, give me a second-class sleeper coach train to any place, and I would prefer it to air travel - except of course, Calcutta to Mumbai.

It however had to be Calcutta's book fair timings that gave me an opportunity to travel by the Metro. Four of us boarded the train at Maidan to go towards Jatin Das Park. Somu, our guide for the day, told us various things one should take care of while travelling by the Metro.

And there began my adventure with the Metro of Calcutta.

When the construction of this underground railway started, Calcutta suffered for innumerable years (fifteen or so, if what I hear it right). It is also heard that few buildings caved in under the pressure of the digging. But all this is surely worth the finished product; for what a railway it is! It is the only underground railway in India and should be, by any standards comparable to the any such rail elsewhere.

The moment you enter any railway station of the Metro, you see hundreds of cigarette butts lying just outside as smoking is prohibited inside the Metro. And so also is photography. At some stations and some of their entrances, there are escalators. As one goes down, a gush of wind greets you. Believe me; it's really cool and amazing the first time. You get quite curious to find out the source of this breeze and while you are thinking about it, you come to the ticket counter. There aren't those long serpentine queues that one sees for Mumbai locals. A few people here and there at the counter, is all that can be called as a 'crowd.'

The ticket is a yellow-coloured one with a magnetic strip. I first looked at it like a child gazing at gadgets unknown to him. A metal detector and a hurdle of self-locking doors greet you. You are confused, till you see the LED displaying an arrow indicating the doors you can pass through and those that are kept for the people coming out. You put the ticket in the slit and the ticket comes out at the other end. Only when the ticket comes out, do the doors open. Another amazing thing is that when you buy a ticket for two, you maybe given just a single ticket and when this ticket is passed through the doors, the doors rotate twice allowing the two of you to pass. Now, that's some automation!

Remember to collect the ticket, as it's your pass to exit from this underground world. There aren't any other exits and the ticket is your sole saviour. No wonder, there isn't any need of ticket checkers inside. Without a ticket you cannot get in, and without it you cannot get out.

Though, as I observed, it's not all that impossible. A couple of incidents bought forth the ways to break rules. We Indians are unsurpassable in that!

The first was when a family of five people bought a ticket. Three children, in-between the father and the mother, was how their procession progressed through the doors. The father passed through with one child and another child followed. Before the third could pass through, a person came running; and passed through the open door. The poor mother and a child had to pass and only once would the door open. How they managed to squeeze was a sight worth seeing.

Another incident was when two youths passed through with a single ticket by crowding themselves in the space meant for single person. They could get through only because their physiques permitted it, had it been a fatter person, the situation would have been difficult.

I just don't understand what satisfaction people get in breaking rules.

But the sheer thrill of travelling in a Metro is unmatched. As you board the train, there are announcements in three different languages - Bengali, Hindi and English. "Parabato station Jatin Das Park. Platform daan dike," has now become an indicator that I have to get down.

For quite sometime, I did not understand what was the meaning of "daan dike" and often heard it like 'dandige.'

Sometimes, there is a music playing on the platform - soft tunes of Rabindra Sangeet. There are ducts that let in cool air and at times people crowd just below the ducts - a welcome relief from the sultriness that is Calcutta in summer.

A noteworthy thing about each platform is that there is a theme associated with each one. Rabindra Sadan has paintings, poetry and writing on the walls of the great poet. Netaji Bhawan has prominent incidents in the life of Netaji Bose painted on the walls. Park Street - the commercial centre of Calcutta has advertisements and commercials in abundance. Park Street along with Dum Dum and Tollygunj - the two terminal points of the railway - share the distinction of having the tracks in between the two platforms. Rest all stations have a single platform with the tracks on either side. So for Park Street, Dum Dum and Tollygunj, the platform is on 'bai dike' while rest all are 'daan dike.' When one comes to Dum Dum and Tollygunj, one is suddenly woken up from the dream as the train emerges above the ground and into broad daylight.

Another thing that I noticed was at three or four stations, there are beautiful sketches - artistic black and white sketches depicting places of interest around the particular station. It was through these sketches that I came to know that the houses of Utpal Dutt and Kanan Devi are in Tollygunj.

Somu had told us the first time that the third track at the far end running parallel to the main two carries the power and to never touch it as it would kill instantly - as if we would check it out. It sure must be a favourite spot for suicides - I thought aloud. Somu boasted immediately, "Till date nobody has managed to kill one self due to the close circuit televisions monitoring the platform." It looked pretty simple for me to jump and touch the third track before any police - if at all there was one surveying the platform so closely and prompt enough to run down to catch the person - could manage to come and stop me. It looked simple to die, and somehow I could not believe Somu. The Times carried an article the other day, expressing concern on the growing number of suicides at the Metro stations with statistics published quarter-wise with comparative figures of previous year. As if like a financial statement!

Another amusing fact that I noticed at each station is an advertisement of some Organisation that claims in helping the depressed and suicidal to live a better life. The advertisement reads something like this:

Now, does it mean that they would care for these depressed and suicidal only between 10AM and 6PM? Or is there a separate class of people who are depressed and suicidal only between 10AM and 6PM to be labelled as '10 AM to 6PM depressed and suicidal'? What happens if a person is 'depressed and suicidal' post 'office-hours?'

On each staircase there is a board of 'Don't sit on the staircase' and right beneath it couples get cosy seeking relief and privacy at a cheap four rupees.

The economics of this Metro rail must be a matter of concern for the government. It being considered the most expensive means of transport and also due to its restricted path, it should need no Amartya Sen to predict that the Metro must be making losses each year. Yet it works and works well.

A Bengali on the road spits anywhere, throws rubbish anywhere without the least sense of cleanliness and civic sense. It is observed that Bengalis keep their homes clean by dirtying the surroundings - use of the roadside tube-well for their daily ablutions being an indicator. But once underground, he is very careful and concerned. A Bengali gets transformed when he goes underground.

But then why should he not? After all people appear different in dreams. And given the fact that this 'Calcutta's own; India's pride' is nothing short of a dream, every Bengali would be a passionate guardian of his pride.

Fifteen stations between Tollygunj and Dum Dum, and a dream of thirty-five minutes between them continues…