There are many circumstances in which one may find oneself pushed against or packed into confined spaces with strangers. Crowded buses, trains, tram et cetera, to name a few. Elevators are mysteriously different. To elucidate, let us consider the example of a crowded Delhi- Gurgaon Haryana roadways bus, or the London underground for that matter (not that the two are alike in any way, other than acute-onset claustrophobia and a burning desire for fresh air and freedom).
People may be sharing breathing space with one another but the sense is one of individual collectivity. The presence of the other may be acknowledged, or if particularly offensive, scorned, but what is not discernible is the effect of person A on person B. Laughter continues, gossip flows freely, serious conversations carry on in murmurs and silence…well…silence remains silent. Entering a train or bus, one would not immediately perceive that one’s presence has, in Lewin’s words, changed the ‘field’ significantly.
By contrast, in elevators, the perception that one has interrupted something by walking in is overwhelming. Even while walking into a quiet elevator, one notices a shift to the left or right, straightening of slumped shoulders, and cessation of any activity involving body to body contact – including self to self contact. Conversations either stop, or if unstoppable, mellow down rapidly to a whisper. Giggling or guffawing of any kind almost always ceases, often with a cough or clearing-of-the-throat to aid the smooth transition from a state of laughter to non-laughter.
Once the tumult caused by arrival of new member onto the scene subsides, there is the awkward and slow ascent or descent. Eye contact with fellow travellers is to be avoided at all cost, and as far as possible restricted either to the dull grey elevator floor, or the flashing numbers above. Talking is a strict no-no (maybe that’s why they have elevator music). There are always exceptions of course, as discussed below.
Scenario I- It is an old apartment complex in India, and the neighbouring aunty or uncle saunter in. ‘Neighbouring’, of course, used rather loosely to imply anyone in the same building (or blocks of buildings) as opposed to neighbours from the same floor. In such cases customary greetings are exchanged, and there is necessarily some talk about one’s studies or career depending on age. Some polite enquiry about one’s family or comment about extreme weather may follow. Strangely, in such cases a lot manages to get said and heard in a short journey of five or six storeys. If you’re particularly lucky, you may get a herd of seventeen children cramming into the elevator with you, intent on pushing all the buttons, thereby giving you the chance to be all grown-up and say ‘tsk tsk’ with a shake of the head while they smile sheepishly and proceed to ignore your protests.
Scenario II- It is England, and no one really talks to anyone unless something is out of the ordinary. Elevator wise, this would mean it being especially crowded, inviting a comment such as –“We’re packed in here a bit like sardines aren’t we”, followed by gentle laughter- or if something goes wrong. Say the lights go out and the elevator comes to an unexpected halt. Then all of a sudden we are all brothers and sisters, fighting for survival, eager for answers, searching for suggestions and a whole lot of “Oh dear, what’ve they gone and done now?” ensues.
Scenario III- It is anywhere in the world, I am in the elevator and someone brings a dog in. Any tentativeness is motivated not by social norms, but by self-preservation, manifested in the form of the question “Is he friendly?”. If the unsuspecting ‘person’ responds in the affirmative, all rules are broken and the only etiquette I am even remotely aware of at this point in time is the golden rule- thou shalt not crush a dog to a pulp out of affection.
Then there is the end of the journey. There are the obvious rules about letting people alight etc. which I don’t find particularly interesting. I don’t know about others, but I feel a sense of relief once I have left the elevator, or if I am left alone for the remainder of the journey. There may not be something I have been dying to do which the presence of others has deterred me from doing, no visible change in my demeanor, but a sense of psychological freedom comes rushing in because now, at least I have the option.
Sometimes I almost feel there must be a perverse pleasure in getting into an empty elevator from one of the middle floors. It’s like a present you weren’t expecting.
Earlier today, I was on the eighth floor, waiting with some colleagues to catch the elevator down, when I was struck by their reluctance to get into the elevator on the left side, because even though the doors opened in front of us, someone else got in first. We waited, and waited, and then finally had to give up being fussy and get in after twelve other people. What is interesting about this whole incident is that it’s not really about being alone in the elevator. It’s not like we would have deliberately pressed the doors shut in someone’s face if we saw them running to catch a ride down. It seems to be more about a prior claim. We went in first, and then let the others in.
Ah yes, the simple pleasures of life.
