trapped in transit: the reality of overcrowded railway stations

The railway station is alive with movement; too much movement. People swarm the platforms, squeezing past each other, their hurried steps echoing against the concrete. Bags bump into shoulders, elbows jab into sides and personal space is a once luxury. 

There is no space to stand and catch my breath. If I hesitate for even a moment, someone behind me will rush forward, eager to catch their train. The station is not only crowded—it is packed, struggling to contain the tide of people surging through its doors.

Vendors shout above the din, their voices lost to the constant rumble of voices, the jarring stop of arriving trains, and the whirring buzz of announcements that few people hear. The air is heavy, filled with the smell of sweat, food, and wet newspapers. It's suffocating, but somehow, this disorganization is normal—expected, even.

Public transport is the lifeblood of the city, but its infrastructure cannot cope. Trains pull in already full to capacity, with people packed against the doors, squeezing one more person in. But the station continues to fill up, and the throng continues to move, flowing ceaselessly like a river without end.

There's something strangely captivating to it—this unstated dance of motion, the manner in which individuals work through the crush without hesitation. Yet there's a sense of powerlessness too. Regardless of how many of us complain, nothing ever improves. The trains will remain crammed tomorrow. The platforms will remain crowded. And we'll remain here, stuck in the middle of things, just trying to get to where we must go.

But what if the system that's supposed to take us where we need to go begins to crack under the weight of it all? The warning signs are already here—overcrowding delays, outdated infrastructure creaking under the pressure, platforms that were never intended to handle this many individuals at one time. And yet, we persevere, because we have no other option.

I observe as individuals navigate the chaos with ease. Some jump onto moving trains, staking everything on a few minutes gained. Others squeeze themselves into impossibly small openings, shoulder to shoulder, hardly able to breathe. There is no time for indecision. Here, you move with the crowd or you are left behind.

It's simple to point fingers and say it's all due to poor planning, but the reality is, overcrowding is not simply a transportation problem—it's symptomatic of something larger. Cities are expanding more rapidly than their infrastructure is prepared to cope. More use public transport, yet changes occur too gradually. And ultimately, it's the commuters who suffer, packed into places that never had room for that many.

In the midst of the chaos, life at the station never ceases. The tea vendors continue to pour hot chai into small cups, newspaper hawkers continue to wave headlines in the air, and passengers continue to surge forward the instant a train whizzes into sight. Somehow, amidst this jammed chaos, there is a peculiar sort of order—one that only those who experience it daily can fully appreciate.

And so we advance. We elbowed through, we wound through, we waited. We grumbled about the crowd, but we embraced it too. Because for now, until it changes, that is just how things are.