There is something very mysterious that happens to us when we step into a lift.
Outside the lift we are one of the most talkative civilizations on earth. In trains we discuss politics. In buses we analyse cricket. In queues we offer medical advice. Sit next to someone for three minutes and he will know where you studied, where you work, and whether your boss is a tyrant.
But step into a lift and suddenly the entire population becomes silent philosophers.
You enter the lift with six neighbours. Perfectly familiar faces. People whose doors are ten feet away from yours. People whose pressure cooker whistles you can recognise through two walls. People whose children have borrowed your newspapers, footballs and occasionally your patience.
Yet inside the lift nobody speaks.
Everyone becomes extremely interested in the lift buttons. One gentleman studies them as if preparing for an examination. Another stares at the glowing numbers moving from three to four to five as though observing an important scientific experiment. A third person inspects the ceiling with great seriousness.
Even neighbours who have lived in the same building for fifteen years behave like undercover agents who must not reveal their identity.
Once in a while a courageous soul attempts conversation.
“Going down?” he asks.
This is a remarkable question because the lift is clearly moving downwards. Yet the others nod gratefully, relieved that someone has broken the silence without actually requiring a real discussion.
Most of the time however, silence wins.
Which makes me wonder whether housing societies should introduce a small reform.
Instead of the usual notices inside the lift like “Do not overload” or “Close the gate properly,” perhaps we could add one more helpful notice. A friendly little board titled:
Ten Ways to Greet Each Other
Good morning neighbour.
Hello there.
How are you today.
Nice to see you.
How is the family.
Did you watch the match yesterday.
Surviving this heat.
Lovely day isn’t it.
Hope you have a good day ahead.
Nice meeting you.
Passengers could simply choose one and say it. Imagine the transformation. Instead of eight silent statues staring at a metal door, we might have eight human beings exchanging a sentence or two of ordinary kindness.
And here is the strange truth. Friendships in buildings rarely begin in drawing rooms or society meetings. They begin in small accidental moments. A greeting in the corridor. A smile in the parking lot. A brief conversation during a thirty second lift ride.
Those tiny moments slowly turn strangers into neighbours.
So the next time you step into the lift, ignore the button panel for a moment. Look up. Smile at the person beside you and say good morning.
Because perhaps, like one of our national leader’s who cannot speak without a teleprompter, we too need a little prompter in the lift to uplift our silence…!