Delhi Diaries from Universe 25: Crowded, Cranky, and Kinda Cute

The Harsh Reality of Life: Are We All Mice in Delhi’s Universe 25?

Every day I step into Delhi, I feel like I’ve accidentally walked into a live-action social experiment—one that the universe forgot to end. The crowds, the chaos, the honking, the “Sorry, no change” moments—it’s all too familiar.

Turns out, someone did run this experiment. In the 1960s, ethologist John B. Calhoun built a mouse utopia called Universe 25: unlimited food, water, and nesting space—no cats, no rent, no traffic. In other words, paradise.

And what happened?
They destroyed themselves.

So naturally, I looked around Delhi and thought, “Hmm… déjà vu?”

 Universe 25 v2.0: Delhi Edition

Calhoun’s mice started as eight cute roommates. Within months, they turned into 2,000 stressed tenants in a 1-BHK. At first, all was well. Then came the chaos—fights, isolation, grooming addiction.

If this doesn’t sound like your average Delhi life—then you’re not commuting from Noida/Gurgaon/Faridabad 

The males fought for space. The females stopped nurturing their young. Some mice just sat in corners, cleaning themselves obsessively—Calhoun called them the beautiful ones.
Today, we call them influencers.

 The Behavioral Sink: Delhi Metro in a Nutshell

In the experiment, even when free space was available, mice clumped together. Sounds like every metro platform at Rajiv Chowk at 6 p.m.

Humans do it too. We squeeze into overcrowded compartments because “the next train might be worse.” One hand holds the phone, the other your dignity. Someone’s backpack is in your ribcage, and the guy next to you is watching motivational reels titled “How to Stay Calm in Chaos.”

Welcome to the behavioral sink, Delhi-style—overconnected, overstimulated, and emotionally undernourished.

 Rudeness: The New Delhi Dialect

Calhoun’s mice got aggressive. We got sarcastic.
Road rage? Check. Queue-cutting? Check. “Bhaiya, ek plate golgappa, par jaldi dena”?—that’s our polite version of territorial dominance.

We yell, honk, side-eye, and tweet outrage by noon—then attend yoga classes for inner peace by 7 p.m. It’s not that we’ve become rude; we’re just emotionally overbooked.

Think about it: in a city where people spend three hours in traffic daily, patience isn’t a virtue—it’s an endangered species.

The Rise of the “Beautiful Ones”

In Universe 25, some mice stopped engaging entirely. They just preened themselves—flawless, detached, unbothered.

Sound familiar?
We’ve turned into selfie-ready versions of those mice—posting quotes about “self-love and boundaries” while ghosting half our contacts.

The more polished our online lives become, the messier the real ones get. We spend hours editing a caption but can’t find two minutes to call our parents. Our grooming habits have evolved—from fur-licking to filter-selecting.

The Digital Overcrowding Problem

Calhoun’s enclosure had physical walls. Ours have Wi-Fi.

Every scroll is a crowd. Every comment section is a brawl. Billions of us share one global feed, screaming for attention like the mice that huddled in a corner for warmth they didn’t need.

Social media is our new cage—overcrowded, hyperactive, and strangely comforting.

We keep refreshing, hoping to feel connected, and end up lonelier than ever.

At least the mice didn’t have notifications.

Abundance Without Purpose

The most haunting part of Calhoun’s study?
The mice stopped reproducing—not because they couldn’t, but because they didn’t want to.

They had everything, yet nothing to strive for. Sound like modern adulthood?

We’ve replaced meaning with convenience.
We don’t gather stories anymore; we collect screenshots. We don’t chase dreams; we chase weekend brunches. We’ve built a world where everything is available—except purpose.

And like the mice, we quietly stop creating, connecting, and caring.

Escaping Delhi’s Universe 25

Here’s the twist—unlike Calhoun’s mice, we have a choice.
We can redesign our enclosures.

Start small:

• Smile at the guard who checks your bag 400 times a day.
• Let someone merge in traffic without performing a honk symphony.
• Look up from your screen; the world won’t collapse (yet).
• Go outside without the need to post “feeling grateful” on Instagram.
  

Civility isn’t weakness—it’s rebellion. In a society drowning in noise, kindness is punk rock.

Final Reflection: Delhi Doesn’t Need a Lab—It Is One

Every evening, as the sun dips behind the smog-wrapped skyline, I imagine Calhoun peeking down from the heavens saying, “Yep, same results, just bigger enclosures.”

We’re the only species that can see the behavioral sink forming—and still hit “snooze.”

Maybe the real lesson of Universe 25 isn’t about overcrowding. It’s about purpose.
When life turns into survival of the rudest, the only way to evolve is to care again—loudly, awkwardly, inconveniently.

So next time you’re stuck in Delhi traffic, take a deep breath and think:
You’re not trapped. You’re participating in the longest-running human experiment.

And the only way to pass?
Don’t act like the mice. Act like the human you still remember being.