Why many secretly love to stand in queues

No one in India wakes up on a fine morning hoping to stand in a queue. And yet, for reasons that one might not like to confess in public, there is something oddly comforting about that long, winding line. It tests patience and, strangely, makes one feel like part of a larger human experience.

Queues in India are not just about order; they are about theatre. They are where stories unfold, strangers bond, tempers flare, and patience (or the lack of it) is revealed. Take, for example, the metro station at Majestic in Bengaluru on a weekday evening. One joins the snaking queue at the ticket counter, grumbling at first, but within minutes, finds herself eavesdropping on an overheated political debate by two people ahead.

Have you fathomed it yet that standing in a queue is one of the rare situations where one is forced to pause. Whether it’s waiting for the darshan (where the queue is practically a pilgrimage in itself) or outside a new dosa joint, one adjusts to the rhythm of slow forward motion. It’s almost meditative — except, of course, when someone tries to cut in. Then the collective outrage is instant, as if a common enemy is found.

But queues help to learn a lot about human character. The deep thinker staring into space, the chronic complainer who mutters, “Only in India this happens!” (though queues exist everywhere from London to Tokyo).

Consider the line outside a newly opened tea stall, where the wait time to get your first Instagram-worthy drink is longer than the time it takes to drink it! Oh yes! Technology, promised to free us from queues… “Book online,” they said. But now there are virtual queues instead — waiting endlessly for IRCTC tickets to confirm or watching helplessly as Swiggy blames “heavy demand in your area”.

Sometimes, the old-fashioned queue at a local bakery feels less stressful than the spinning digital wheel of doom on smartphones. At least in the physical line, one can smell the warm puffs baking and know one’s turn will eventually come.

Of course, humour is never far away in the great Indian queue. Someone will invariably try to “hold a place” for 10 relatives who suddenly appear like a relay team. Someone else will loudly declare that “this government should do something about queues”, as if abolishing them were a manifesto promise.

And how can one forget that quiet brotherhood? — a shared smile, a borrowed pen for filling forms, or a collective groan when the counter closes for lunch just as you reach the kiosk.

Perhaps that’s why deep down, people don’t entirely hate standing in queues. They remind us we are not alone in our waiting. In a city that often feels like it’s moving too fast, a queue helps slow down, makes one laugh at absurdities, and reconnects one with the simple truth that patience is easier when shared.

So, the next time you find yourself at Lalbagh’s ticket line during the flower show, or outside a buzzing café in Koramangala, don’t grumble too much. Look around, smile, and enjoy the theatre of the ordinary. After all, standing in a queue is not just about reaching the counter; it’s about discovering the humour, humanity, and maybe the hidden ecstasy of the wait itself or even the strange joy of realising we are all in this line together!

vivek.gundimi@gmail.com