My TRAINing

I got to know what life in the fast lane is once I became another local in the locals of Mumbai. 7:44am- time to run to Thane station for the 7:46am fast. Wow!! What a great crowd, I say to myself not when they wait like thirsty dogs, but when the public touches the fast moving metal box with respect. My 40 minutes of mixed human-jam processing starts. The rush in and the flush out are so meticulously executed that I learned the value of seconds in my watch. People get so evenly distributed that, once if a count is taken, it will be exact in every compartment. Now the concentration shifts to getting a space to stand. Once you know to board the second class, the net sessions are over and you are deemed fit to be a local train passenger. Here I was enlightened on why a square feet of space is so dear and costly in Mumbai. Balancing life on one foot and one hand and sometimes just on a finger of my toe made me dearer to my dear life. In the mad pursuit to acquire a seat the word civic sense remains out of question, yet even the ruthless who never lent a helping hand are forced to help the co-passengers by placing and handing over their bag from the rack. Anyone and everyone are packed airtight as the locals turn a rare locale where no discrimination based on class and creed is entertained. Now I read the amusing advertisements announcing the cure for AIDS with a new drug, and I wonder why they didn’t earn a Nobel.
These days I have even stopped pressing my shirts, as am sure that it's going to be. And who knows!! Years later some folklore will fascinate the world with a tale that the Mumbai locals propelled the invention of wrinkle free dress. The sandwiching crowd that eats away my breakfast calories replaced my morning drills. And if you are like me, not too tall with a frameless specs, then there is nothing much to do than to stand like a buffalo, holding its head out of the water while swimming. Mostly the dancing lobes in the trains are not required for me to hold on. Occasionally as sweat and dirt mouths an awful smell, the ceiling fans and tubes too join the game of hide and seek. But all in between flows the chimes of the hymns and my peace of mind, as ‘Ganpati Bappa’ lends the air a charm inexplicable.100 different poses on how to sleep, 100 different ways of reading a newspaper- these are not books published, but my Mumbai local views. Different languages, different cultures and what not other a mini India is my daily train. Surprises never stop here, as I watch with disheveled hair on my forehead, all the classes merge on arrival, busy as usual, to carry out their individual responsibilities. A remarkable wonder is this mode of travel which gives the proud feeling of victory, on a journey accomplished. I know I had tamed the local, some thing which can never be done in my god’s own country.