Stranger than non-fiction

If you’re vella enough—which i’m sure you are—you can zoom into the above picture and note a guy in blue shirt. He was about to cross the railway track this morning. So engrossed was he in a conversation with the guy he’s standing next to that neither of them paid attention to the approaching train. I’ve seen people walk into death and i’m certain he too would have had i not screamed at the top of my lungs. To put it very immodestly, i saved his life! And this is not the first time i’ve done this. Each time i've done it—like any other Mumbaikar who must have done the same for me earlier—there’s a weird catch to it. The stranger whose life was saved won’t go around thinking that you did him/her a huge favour because that’s how we function in a city. Life is cheap and time, too precious. Dead ironical, isn’t it?

Noise, sound and god

Local trains in our city happen to strike almost every element known to humans. And that includes sound. Pleasant or unpleasant in nature, sound can’t possibly escape a moving locomotive. Regardless, the less we talk about the noise that’s created inside train compartments, the better. There are hawkers, peddlers, beggars, unruly citizens, drunkards creating a scene, babies bawling due to lack of ventilation, people playing annoying songs on their cellphones and the list goes on and on. Ironically, the thing that’s supposed to make a sound is muted—television—even when it’s not telecasting funny clips featuring Charlie Chaplin from the silent cinema era. On the contrary, one can’t overlook a group of men banging manjeeras and singing bhajans in the morning. They may not have the sweetest of voices around but they sing with utmost dedication. The folk music is unmistakable and unbearable at times, too. Not every co-commuter might agree with this method of expressing oneself but nobody complains either. Perhaps it’s better to avoid interrupting divine intervention; especially in a tolerant city like Mumbai where noise and music coexist. Like one of the crooning passenger asked, “Why do you think train accidents don’t take place in our city?”

Morning drill

You're standing on the platform waiting for your regular local train to arrive. As it snakes in, you notice that certain things don't change—at all. Crows stay perched on the overboard electric wires making you wonder why they don't drop dead electrocuted. A dog is lazing on the platform unperturbed by the hustle-bustle of humans in its vicinity while fellow male commuters are removing their bags from their back so as to hang in on their front. This practice allows 'smoother' entry into an overcrowded compartment. About a hundred yards away, as usual, some jaywalkers are trying to cross the track before the approaching train could hit them. Daredevils of the mundane types they are! Would it be right to call them idiots or wrong to call the train a mass murderer? As a daily commuter, you don't answer such disturbing questions. After all, you've got some place to be on time.

A matter of balance

Call this city loud, stinky or whatnot but there's one thing that we all take for granted: Mumbai's ability to let us just be. Although it's buzzing and almost tearing at the seam with its rising population and shrinking space, the fabled peace of mind is seldom far away from where we are. After all, Mumbaikars get used to the pace within no time leaving little scope for regrets. This quality—if you may—is something we ingrain during our stay here. And it applies to the non-human creatures as well. Be it the rat on the railway tracks nibbling away the litter or the crows who later meal on the fat rats who failed to cross the road. It'd be suffice to say that there's a balance in motion on a daily basis. Like for instance, my brother recently caught a dog (which I'm sure must have spent the night chasing cars) dozing peacefully under bright sunlight against the blaring noise of passing local trains. Well, who can you blame when this island city refuses to submerge at once?

Small dosage of magic

You're sitting in the middle of two hefty men in the second class compartment of a local train. There's no space left for the imaginary fourth seat. To kill time, you take out your tablet and start playing Hayao Miyazaki's The Wind Rises from where you last left it. Within seconds, three pair of eyeballs are fixed on your small screen. Blame this behaviour on the irresistible magic of animation. As the film moves on from one fascinating frame to another, none of the three audiences bother to check which station is it outside. And then, the inevitable happens. The buzzer reminding that the battery is too low starts resurfacing again and again. You keep clicking the 'OK' button as stylishly as the villains die in a Hollywood franchise. After all, you don't want to disappoint your newfound fellow-cinephiles. Regardless, the tablet shuts down. You act cool while hearing "Tsk. Tsk. Tsk." on your right and neck crackling on your left. As if you rudely woke up babies from a long peaceful slumber.

On the line

In this city, commuting accounts for about half of the work done. As commuters, you've got only two feelings: anger and nothing. They are impatient. [Speaking of patience, those travelling on the Harbour Line redefine patience everyday.] It's not just about the local trains. It's about us. We officially become Mumbaikars when fellow commuters stamp on our toes by mistake and we don't even realize it. Push comes to shove and vice versa. Train mein dhakka nahi toh kya lottery lagega? When daily commuters sit on the edge of the seat, there is nothing exciting about it. But public behave as if they've never seen a seat before, let alone sat on one. No wonder men stay seated because they can't stand a woman standing closeby. Moreover, when somebody is fighting for space, enjoy the show. It never lasts long. Besides, people who quarrel in local trains deserve to commute in them. Oh, did you know elbows are the weapon of mass destruction? Dangerous. However, as long as commuters are ready to assume weird positions to finish reading newspapers, there is hope for print media.

People and places

Crowd is synonymous with this city and there's no way one escape it. Especially when you're at or around a railway station. For a newcomer, this is quiet difficult to grasp given the pace at which people and things move. One such poor fellow—presumably hailing from UP-Bihar belt—had a shock of his life when he was literally manhandled his way out of the train compartment. On touching the platform—somehow in one piece—he had two unforgettable quotes at his disposal. One gentleman reminded him, "Yeh Bambai hai", only to be interrupted by another who said "Yeh Kurla hai meri jaan." Unforgettable lessons, per se. 

Figment of reality

The moment a train drags itself to a halt, the passion (for lack of better word) exhibited by passengers is worth a dekko. Civility is the last thing on the menu as the animal instincts take over. Wait, can animals stoop this low? Once the commuters get in, the struggle is to find the space to stand—if not a seat to sit on. This often leads to trivial arguments about that imaginary fourth seat guaranteed by the railway department. Some passengers budge and let the fourth guy sit on the edge of the bench while others don't. Nevertheless, this results into interesting conversations. In one such confrontation, "Baatne se pyaar badhta hai" was replied with "Lekin jagah kam hoti hai." Indeed.

A rare specimen

As i'm growing older and seeing my hair grey and teeth decay, i'm understanding how this world really functions. The element of surprise is lost on us. Maybe because we've stopped looking for it. Much against the ongoing trend, i recently bumped into a fellow commuter who exemplified coolness. He wasn't this look-at-me-i-am-so-cool cool. He was far better. Must be in his early 20s, he was standing near the door with his concentration locked on his smartphone. And as the train approached Kurla, the crowd got panicky as nobody wants to land up in Virar or wherever they think the train will take them if they don't behave like they're about to be set free by their masters. Coming back to our guy, he got pushed and as bad luck would have it, he lost grip on his phone. The poor thing flew and crashed on the platform. I couldn't feel the pain of such horror unfolding in front of my eyes but i could relate to his upcoming grief. The only catch here is he wasn't sad. Or anything close to it. He didn't even lose his temper. On top of that, he didn't even bother to look back to see who really pushed him. He calmly got down, collected the scattered chassis of his phone and reassembled it. There was a smile on his face throughout. And off he went shaking his head. Either he thought he was at fault for not being able to take care of his non-living friend or he's about to buy a new model so wouldn't mind any less. Whichever way you look at it, that was a rare sight in a city where people just need a reason to valve off their long-accumulated fury.