Mumbai Local

When I think of Mumbai and its wonders, it is very difficult to avoid the Mumbai local train. With 7.24 million daily commuters, amounting to 2.64 billion annually, it is truly the lifeline of Mumbai. One day’s disruption of its services during Mumbai’s atrocious monsoon leads to several empty offices and huge opportunity losses. All through these years, I have had a gamut of experiences which I share here.

My First Swear!

I would be 7 then, when my parents and I had to travel to Borivali. We took two full and one half tickets and were waiting for a train at Ghatkopar station. At that time, I realized that there was a separate ladies’ compartment, which Mom would board. She asked me to join her. I refused- “I am a boy. I can’t travel in ladies’ dubba!” She smiled. I would soon realize the reason behind the smile. As Dad and I stood, a crowded local arrived. My Dad, being him, tried to board it [missing a train would hurt his ego (something which is probably in my genes!)].

Ok, the train was crowded, but not as crowded as the picture above. However, I was so tiny that as I stood, I could barely breathe and had to jump to gather some air. “How many stations”, I asked. “5!” Kurla gave me a few seconds to breathe, but it was short-lived, as more people got in than got out! I started sweating. No air. Like a little warrior, I pushed people aside to make some space, but in vain. And in midst of all this, one man stamped on my foot, and I uttered the then unthinkable, “Saale! Kutte!!"

I quietly followed my Mom into a ladies’ compartment at the changeover of trains at Dadar!

“Pudhil Station: Ghatkopar….

Agla Station: Ghatkopar….

Next Station: Ghatkopar”

-         -  Oh!! Shut up!!!

I know many of you would have slowed down and recited the above lines in the typical sing song way it is announced in trains! It’s irritating, agreed, but yeah, useful. But I don’t understand why the same station is differently named in the three languages- Vandre, Bandre and Bandra, the last one pronounced as Ban-draa, almost with an accent! Also, the platform announcements about delay/ cancel of trains is only in Marathi. So, some foreigner who wishes to travel independently and waits for a train scheduled at 5:07 will never know it is delayed. But then, the Railways will ask me two questions:

1      Why the hell will a foreigner risk travelling alone in Mumbai trains? He’ll either be robbed, or will never dare board the train!

2       Has the 5:07 ever arrived at 5:07? He can catch the next one!

Cheating!

Ok! This one I have observed personally and regularly. I was once waiting for a fast train to Thane, when there was a platform announcement (in Marathi only, of course) that a slow train to Thane is arriving shortly on another platform. Now, the difference between the travel time of a fast train and a slow train is merely 10-15 mins. But these are 10-15 mins of a Mumbaikar’s life! So I inferred from the announcement that the fast train might be delayed and it’s better to catch the slow one. I climbed up some 30 stairs to the bridge, climbed down 30 stairs to the other platform and what do I see? The fast train had arrived! And the slow train arrived a good 10 mins later. 

What the @#$*! 

At another instance, when a friend and I were waiting for a fast train, a similar announcement was made. He asked me to change the platform. I asked him to hold his ground. 2 mins passed. He got fidgety. He almost climbed up 10 stairs and literally pleaded with me to change my mind, as we were getting late. And then, Voila! The fast train arrived first! 

You may be smart, Miss Platform Announcer, but experience makes one smarter!

Virar fast

My love with fast trains landed me on a Virar fast once, when I wanted to reach Borivali. So there is an unsaid understanding for the Virar fast- the long distance train stops at fewer stations and saves a helluva lot of time for people boarding from Borivali. So if you were to alight at Borivali, better board a train whose last stop is Borivali, as such a huge number of people board the Virar fast at Borivali that it is virtually impossible to alight there.

Naturally, I didn’t know this! “Borivali, which side”, I asked a guy, who twisted one of his eye brows and reverted, “Want to get down at Borivali? This is Virar Fast! Get down at Virar!” 

Me, “???” 

And then he explained me the situation. So what did I do? I made the cutest puppy face I could, brought small tear droplets to my eyes and pleaded to be allowed a chance to get down! I stood right at the door, as Borivali approached. Loads of people waiting for this train. Shit! I jumped out when the train reached a comfortable slow pace, but still running. Moments later, I gathered myself and my twisted glasses, reached out to my pocket to see if my wallet was in place. And it suddenly dawned upon me- I had done the impossible!!

Disclaimer: These stunts are performed by people riding on mere luck. Please do not try this!

Ticketless Travelling. Really?

I love fast trains! Not this time, though… A friend and I ran and caught a fast train at Dadar towards Dombivali and had bought tickets to Ghatkopar. Now, usually fast trains stop at Ghatkopar. This one didn’t. We realized it, when the word after ‘Pudhil station’ was Vikhroli instead of Ghatkopar. (Ya! I actually prayed that Agla Station and Next Station were followed by Ghatkopar, but weren’t.)

We helplessly saw ourselves zoom past Ghatkopar station and alighted at Vikhroli. The station master caught my friend and asked for his ticket. Now, he asked just him while I was quietly walking past, as swiftly as I could, when the little Einstein called me, “Devarsh! The TC is asking for ticket.” 

Me: “……”! 

We paid a fine of 200 rupees, as the TC wouldn’t listen to our ‘story’, despite me explaining him that if we truly intended to travel ticketless, why the hell will we buy tickets till Ghatkopar as well? Sigh! I’ll never forgive the two!

Amazements!

The Mumbai local is an epitome of efficiency. An unbelievable number of people stand on a 5 feet 6 inch width’s space. The three-seater bench is almost always occupied by at least four people, the fourth guy saying, “Thoda baaju jao na!” and placing half his ass on the seat.

Mumbai local has taught me how to sleep while standing; there is no space for you to fall! There are advantages as well: you don’t wear any perfume before travelling and would smell of at least three different perfumes when you get down. Getting down, despite being in a crowd compartment, isn’t a problem though- just ask the guy in front, “Utarna hai?” and ask the guy behind you- a typical affirmative answer will translate to “Utaar denge tumhe!” 

The railway station is also a primary address for many singing beggars, coolies and shoe-polishers, not to forget pickpockets, typically thriving on mobiles, chains and wallets. But hey! If caught, the Mumbai crowd vents out its frustration of the delayed train on them vehemently.

It’s truly an experience travelling in the Mumbai local. Witnessing a Hindu and Muslim in an almost hugging posture, the relationship of wave-buddies who know each other just because they travel in the same train and same compartment every day, the interest unknown by-standers show on your cell-phone game while secretly praying you win, the representation from almost every strata of the society – beggars to mill workers to students to job-owners to businessmen in a single compartment is really unique

Mumbai Locals show you struggle, help you understand the value of time, make you realize how small you are in the scheme of things, ultimately teaching you the way of living life. 

I love you, Mumbai Local! Muah to you!!
Uggh! What’s that taste?
Tobacco? 
Yuck! I hate you!!

The Last Breath

An oil lamp was lit quite some time back. All this while it shone brilliantly, doing its job efficiently, the job it was born to do. But now, only the last few drops of oil remain. The darkest corner of the room, lying right beneath the lamp’s feet, is waiting patiently, waiting for the time to strike; the time isn’t too far. A ferocious wind blows across trying to end the lamp’s life abruptly. But, the lamp fights on. It has stamped on the darkest corner all its life and will continue to do so, till it lives, till the last breath…

‘All good things come to an end’ (and so do all the bad ones) was how my school Assembly used to end. Sometimes, one knows the end is near, while at others, it comes as a rude shock. At times, you choose your end and at others, fate has different plans. But I wonder how it feels to undergo those last moments, how does one find the courage to move on.

This question struck me when Sachin Tendulkar decided to quit a 24-year old international cricket career at 40, an age considered too old for the sport, a career, people say, was stretched way past his peak. I was almost convinced it was against his will; be it his body not supporting him (which he later admitted), his reflexes slowing down or the pressure from the BCCI and media, it was not what he wanted. A hurriedly arranged tournament was fitted in Team India’s already busy schedule and matches were held at Kolkata and Mumbai as per his wishes. Articles running lengths in miles were written and a whole nation emoted the frenzy. The man deserved every single adulation and gesture; he had earned it, but amidst all this madness, he would have still thought- ‘Last match! I mustn’t fail!’

I witnessed the feeling in college when two of my closest friends ended up playing, what could have been, their last competitive match, and lost them. Both cried uncontrollably thereafter and kept pondering over what could have changed the outcome: should I have run faster, should I have practiced longer?

What is with these people, champions, in their respective fields, that the last event matters so much? No one would dare give them lesser credit if they fail in their last outing. Yet, a Don Bradman or a Saurav Ganguly will not forget his last match where he was out without scoring. Retirement becomes impossible to accept for a Michael Schumacher, who has got nothing left to prove, but still makes a come-back with a non-Ferrari team and a Shahid Afridi, who has made several retirements and come-backs and continues to lack consistent form!

Yes, an indomitable passion runs in these people’s veins for a field that has created their identities. For them, leaving their identities behind themselves and moving on, is like unwillingly living someone else’s life. But I also don’t understand what gives my grandfather, all of 80 years, having accomplished all desires in his life, the zeal to still actively work in the stock market, why does accepting retirement become so difficult and what leads Sachin to ask his wife, “Can I still go for cricket practice after I retire?!”

Just about two drops of oil remain in the lamp. The end nears. The darkest corner knows the time is nearer. He begins to dance furiously, trying to overpower the light from the lamp. But, the lamp is still alive! It shines. The light is brighter. However, the grip of its feet, under which lies the darkest corner, loosens. It gives out one last smile, and the room is brighter than ever before, one last fight, which it knows it might lose. And then, the one last breath… and darkness takes over.