Bon mot

If you're standing—or at least trying to stand because being seated is the kind of stuff dreams are made up of—in an jampacked local train, you never know what's going to happen next. There could be an annoying piece of music playing anytime soon on someone's cellphone or better still, an argument breaking out between two fellow commuters who are primarily furious at the city but have targeted each other for the time being. An overcrowded local compartment is an amusement park where you can't take a walk. Some of the rudest, sharpest, kindest and funniest people are found inside it. Speaking of which, we recently stumbled upon an interesting episode on the Harbour Line. With the evening trains being delayed—as usual—the crowd that managed to bombard into an approaching train defied both logic as well as the sense of safety. Commuters who managed to sneak in were stuck to each other with every inch of space occupied. As the said train was about to reach Chembur, somebody innocently asked "Ab kya aane wale hai?" Before anybody could provide him the correct information, a smart aleck promptly replied, "Hawaa."

In times of luggage

Ever since our city became the target of various kinds of attacks, the general reaction of most commuters is to refrain from meddling with any unattended piece of luggage. So bags perched on overhead racks in trains are safe from prying hands. But when trains are so packed that people themselves have no space to stand, squeezing a bag onto a crowded rack becomes a Herculean feat. Never deterred, enterprising Mumbaikars  have found a way around this dilemma, too. The solution is simple: carry a hook as religiously as one carries one’s season railway pass.

Mob justice

What is it about our cops that makes people prefer to stay away from them? Instead of approaching the police to resolve problems, often the public decides to take things into their own hands for a speedy solution. Something of this nature happened on Wednesday night at Govandi railway station. With the rain beating down in the background, three men were taking turns—as if they were Bollywood heroes—beating the daylights out of a suspected pickpocket. According to them, he had tried to nick a wallet from one of them. When i intervened and suggested that they should hand him over to the railway police, they brushed me off, saying, “Public dhulai se hi aise log seekhte hain,” and continued bashing the man. This went on for a while before the trio called it a night and let their 'perpetrator' go free.  

For old times' sake

It was evident from the wrinkled face of that old man standing in the super-packed local that Harbour Line is the worst. It's worse for senior citizens. And the younger lot seldom stand up for what is right. They somehow remain seated. I don't know if that poor fella was expecting anybody to give up one of their seats but what i know for sure is—as expected—none did. 

Is shehar ne jaanwar bana diya hai hamein; aur humne ise chidiyaghar. 

I sincerely hope the grand/fathers of all those who overlooked him last night find someone kinder in their commutes. It's as if they couldn't keep their ass from touching a surface for even few minutes. Apparently, running is the only non-gymnastic function in which gluteal muscles get to work. Otherwise, all these internal organs are good at is expanding. 

For the dismal record, Mumbaikars run only after public transport. Makes sense when they over-credit themselves for finding a place to sit.

At times i wonder why isn't there a separate compartment for oldies, especially when there is one for the womenfolk and the disabled. Lastly, why not an Oldies Special in the line of Ladies Special?

The train and its trainee

Harbour Line has to be Indian Railways' stepchild. Nothing else can explain the kind of treatment it (we, the commuters, that is) receive on a daily basis. Today, the trains were more than an hour late. That is 60+ minutes, numerically speaking. On top of that, it was pouring, thus providing the authorities a reason to hide their inefficiencies. Whatever. I too waited along with half the population of Bangladesh at Kurla station on platform number seven for 300 years. But not a train in sight. 

The drama unfolded here. 

At last, a locomotive lost its way and reached us. Full to its brim, there wasn't an inch to be budged. But then, in a  Mumbai local train compartment, there's always space for one more person. In this case, however, there was space for at least a dozen. I tried my luck but couldn't grab anything so i did what my amma would NEVER want me to. I climbed onto the steel steps on the back of the compartment. Yes, the space between two bogies. In my defense, i wasn't alone. There were six more of us. None of us exchanged a word. Space management at its best. I've done this before but never in a downpour. Everything felt wet and cool before pain crept into my limb joints. The thing is it's difficult to stand in such an uncomfortable position for long. Approximately 22 minutes of heroic ride from Kurla to Vashi platform number three.

The real drama unfolded here. 

This train i was hanging on to my life—quite literally—was supposed to go till Panvel but the motormen halted their 'office' at Vashi itself. They even switched off the light: an indication that the local will be moving to car-shed at Juinagar and all the passengers should alight. One can imagine the kind of reaction the public must have exhibited at this point. And they did. Perhaps they were high on Turkey protest news. Some started banging the door of the motormen's compartment. Others tried to break the glass in front of the train. Two fools even managed to slap the motorman (poor fellow got slapped twice while his colleague didn't even receive one) for not listening to their demands. This went on for like 12 minutes before another train headed for Belapur reached platform number two. 

The bigger drama unfolded here. 

Six of the most violent-looking men rushed towards the Belapur local and threatened the lonely motorman not to move the train. Being afraid (read: sensible) after observing the gherao on the right hand side of his window, he didn't make a move and stayed put. The born-again protesters felt as if they have conquered Timbuktu and once again diverted their  attention to the train on platform number three. 

The bigger and better drama unfolded here.

As soon as they moved back to the Panvel train, i went to the compartment at the forefront and asked the Tamil-accented motorman to start the train. He seemed surprised and relieved at the same time and hit the alarm bell pronto: a green signal given to the motorman on the other end of the train. As soon as that happened, I quickly ran back and found myself space enough for my right foot to place and hanged (again!) on the footboard from Vashi to the next station.

The biggest drama unfolded here.

On reaching home, i told dad that i saved thousands of people from unnecessary frustration by making a motorman do what he was supposed to—hit the gear and run the train. Funny he listened to me. The funnier part is not many can claim that they've made a train move although many can claim that they've made a train stop. The funniest part is none of the above mentioned episodes is untrue.

Protesting against oneself

Your station is approaching and you're peeking out of the window. You know you've got to get down. But you somehow don't. You stay seated as if you're protesting against yourself. You don't have the will to move your ass and leave the compartment for good. Maybe you're too elated to have finally 'earned' a window seat and you don't want to relinquish it. Moreover, you don't even care that if you fail to act within the allotted 18 seconds, you'll have to get down at the next station. And commute back home. However, the countdown begins. Mumbai's local trains, like time and tide, stops for none. You keep looking out of the window, staring into the nothingness that makes you travel between this point and that. You don't even know anymore what is nice and what's unnice. You don't expect anything interesting to happen to your existence. Your friends from school are yet to stare out of the window. Or maybe they are better off in some other place where humanity is not humiliated in overcrowded public transports. You are one of the zombies now and you've accepted your future. You're probably never going to walk and explore or stand and stare. You've learnt that your life is going to rattle on the railway tracks within the periphery of this godsmitten city. You'll never escape the loud throes that engulfs everybody on this island nor will you ever travel alone again. You'll always be in the company of strangers who smell worse than you. They'll be called your co-passengers and they shall fight for those imaginary fourth seats that lie in front of them. With such fellow-morons around, perspiration will become your act of silent defiance. You must surrender yourself to make it or else you'll be left behind. On the platform. Outside the train. The city is not to be blamed nor are its inhabitants. If you really wanted to break free, you would have. By now.

Hearing the unsaid

There's always something unsaid. That part of you dies with you. Lest that happens, we try to blurt it out and make those words survive a few more days. Perhaps verbal posterity matters in this ever-decreasing space. Don't believe me? Ask that guy who fell for this girl he saw on a railway platform. It was a bright day with mild wind teasing the otherwise humid climate. And like thousands others in the city, he was waiting for the local train. But before the serpentine stretch of boxes could arrive, somebody else did. This angel lookalike with her hair bouncing on her shoulders was walking towards him but not to greet him. The ladies section was a couple of steps behind the spot our hero was standing and this girl was sashaying at her own sweet pace to reach there. He just knew what to do. More importantly, he knew what to say. All he had to do was wait for the point when she's exactly linear to him. As soon as that happened, he leaned forward and whispered in her ears "You're beautiful!" while she brushed past him. Unfortunately, she didn't even look back or laugh or smile or wink or frown. Sometimes you don't hear the voice of emotions and sometimes you simply overlook. However, that afternoon, something else happened. Despite our hero's brave efforts, words remained unheard. Loud music on earphones often does that to humans.  

The tale of a seat

It was an overcrowded train as usual. He was standing near the window reading newspaper as usual. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed an old lady with a small suitcase entering the compartment. He thought someone will stand up and do the needful but nobody did as usual. At this point, he decided to be the hero. He smiled at the old lady who reminded him of his grandma because she promptly smiled back. Then he proceeded to ask the fourth guy on the nearby seat who was barely sitting to vacant the place for the "senior citizen". That guy just gazed at him and then the old woman and then looked at the window. The decision was made: He won't give up his hard-won precious seat for no old-timer! Strangely enough, the old lady wasn't expecting much and signaled to him that it's OK. But it wasn't. How can our hero let such a gross inequity take place like that? He decided to proceed further and take matters into his own hands which were holding a newspaper a few minutes ago. He went closer to her and clapped so as to garner attention. No matter how packed a bogie is, this strategy always works thanks to years of being accustomed to goods-sellers-on-wheels. Almost everyone turned their heads towards our hero. He then loudly said, "Brothers and sisters, this is my grandmother. She's not well and can barely stand. I'm hoping somebody from you will offer her your seat...." Even before he could finish this extempore speech, his newfound grandma almost laughed and wanted to blush but geriatrics didn't allow her the permission. In the end nobody stood up to offer her a seat...as usual.