A Ride on the MRT!

An irregular click, clack sound and the murmur of the motor match the low-key, tech-absorbed mood of the commuters. Several riders sit and stare mindlessly at their phones and tablets, earbuds in, trying to tune out the humanity around them. A young teen leans in the corner. He's also wearing earbuds, but somehow still sharing his music with everyone. A group of school girls in their pressed blue uniforms cluster near the train door, giggling in Chinese. Nearby them, a beautifully dressed Malay woman, who got on at the previous stop, leans her hijab-adorned head against the glass end cap. She pulls her rolling cart full of groceries closer to her. From somewhere at the the other end of the car, a baby begins to wail. 

Across the aisle, an old uncle, who nodded off a few moments ago, suddenly jerks his head upright as the "bing-bong" sounds and the announcement for the upcoming station is made. The man's gaze travels through a line of sparse travelers queuing up to alight from the car. It lands on a pair of white foreigners, studiously examining their paper MRT map, comparing it to the illuminated map board above the door. It's clear they're anxious not to miss their stop. What he's thinking is somewhat more opaque. 

Suddenly, like an alien beaming a message down, a dignified British woman's voice comes over the P.A. system. Even though it's Singapore and it's safe, she's reminds passengers "if you see any suspicious-looking persons or articles please inform our staff or use the Emergency Communication Button, located at the side of the train doors." No one even looks up or pays her announcement any mind. They continue staring at their devices, reinforcing the superfluous nature of her message. 

I glance at my watch. It's three o'clock now and there's one spare seat in the whole car, a seat reserved for someone with special needs. In a couple of hours however, there won't be a place to stand, let alone sit once rush hour starts. The crush of bodies in cars will go on for hours until 9:30 or 10 when most people have gone home. 

My thoughts are interrupted as my stop is announced. I queue up to exit as the train slides into the station, overshadowed by its Chinese-style awning. The train doors open with a curt thud and after a two second delay, the platform doors glide open smoothly. I alight. The MRT slips quietly back into the equatorial sun, taking her riders on to the rest of their lives.