I come from a place where people don't see your personal boundaries; where the act of drawing boundaries is seen as rebellion. I wonder how we became this way? I grew up in a tier 1 city, where compared to tier 2 or 3 cities, boundaries are still easier to draw; nobody sticks their nose in your business, not many people anyway. I have observed that people who grew up in smaller towns had a stronger sense of community. People seemed to have home-grown alternatives to safety nets. Perhaps, that is why they adhere to the social norms created and accepted by their community. "Log kya kahenge" is then fear of being ostracized and losing one's safety net.

I have walked the streets of Chandni Chowk, as part of the pedestrianization project, and saw in its residents a sense of belonging that is hard to come by. Every Kucha (zone with houses whose owners shared some common attributes, usually their occupation) would have a provision store; every mohalla (a combination of kuchas, katras) would have a park, a primary school. These neighborhoods have a sense of completeness; their residents have a sense of belonging. It's interesting to see how many of our decisions are based on the possibility of adversity. For example, people keep private vehicles because, in case of an emergency, they wouldn't want to wait for the bus or taxi. The possibility of adversity, and a hand to hold, in case of adversity, ties us together.

We Indians are a bit extra, but we have a sense of community. The Malayalam movie Sudani from Nigeria captures this beautifully, where a Nigerian footballer gets injured and recuperates at his manager's house. The children would come running to "Sudu" and ask him to coach them. It shows how playing football kept the community together. Football was the safety valve that prevented people from crumbling under personal crises. It also told the story of, Sudu who grew closer to his manager's mom and her "Quran classmates" while recovering. Perhaps, adversity brings communities together. Social capital also helps communities deal with shocks and stresses. People seek confirmations on hazard information from their social network. However, the downside of such ties could be xenophobia, caste, and religious divides. I come from a country that, unfortunately, struggles with the side-effects of a strong sense of community too. One can see how occupational segregation in the past has turned into a caste system that creates a claustrophobic space for anyone who doesn’t benefit from the existing system.

I come from a city of high-rise buildings and mohallas. The people of Delhi don't tie me to the city, not with their availability on my Twitter feed. The memories of my commute tie me to Delhi. I have memories of walking from the metro station and just feeling the wind in my hair. I have memories of lunging at vacant seats in the metro train; I have memories of discovering music while glancing through the windows of the metro rail, at a Delhi drenched in rain. I have memories of intense discussions about Universal Basic Income (UBI), with a development economist. I have memories of smiling at strangers on the metro rail when I was in a good mood. I have memories of just having a good cry on the metro rail. I have memories of someone offering me tissue paper without uttering a word.

Many commuters, read books, listen to podcasts, observe their co-passengers, nap if they find a seat, or even strike conversations with their co-passengers, to give meaning to their commute. What happens when they don't get to commute anymore? The world is still reeling from the shock of COVID19, which especially impacted the perception of public transport since it was considered unsafe. Workplaces have adopted the work-from-home model, and many are considering a hybrid model of working in the future. How do the commuters see themselves? Do they consider themselves a part of something bigger? How does it change their sustainability behaviors?

I come from a country of captive public transport users, who don't care so much about climate change or sustainability. Urbanization, however, is changing us from within. Some of the youth in India have also started developing eco-anxiety, which is driven by recognizing the intensity of the existential threat facing humanity, but also a feeling of betrayal by the governments due to the inadequacy of corrective actions. Could the everyday task of taking public transport ease their anxieties by a little bit? Could they feel like a part of a revolution and develop a sense of camaraderie with their fellow passengers?