Mumbai Meri Jaan

“Did u get a place to sit?” “Are you kidding me? I barely got place to breathe”. Just how tight packed are sugarcanes in a bundle, such is the scene in each compartment of Mumbai local trains, jam packed with people. If u have been to Mumbai and not travelled in local trains – either u r super rich who can afford to spend a bomb on petrol or you are just scared of being killed in a stampede by a flood of people, who no one knows where originated from or where will it end? Staying in Mumbai is tough but even tougher is commuting in Mumbai. My roommate is from a very small village, she would get up early in the morning to ring the bells of temple and pray that at least today she must get to enter the train. This is the plight of the people who come from elsewhere (they don’t want a place to sit, but just a place to stand). Others would just push each other and make their way through it.

Standing on a platform, waiting for train, I like to look around and observe people and how their conduct changes when the train is approaching the platform (especially ladies). They’ll laugh, chit chat, complement each other for what they are wearing, enquire about each other’s well being, harmonize or simply exchange smiles. But all this while, the only thought that is running in their mind is “I have to somehow push her back and grab a seat” or “Cool! she is wearing heels today, I can just hit her at the corner of her shoe” or “She looks depressed coz of the tragedy at home, I can surely win to her”… And the moment train arrives, no one knows nobody, each one for themselves, survival of the fittest. Every saying seems true. They would just hit, beat, slap, punch everybody around them and find a place to relax their back and listen to music. Almost 90% of ladies get hurt during this process. Either they crack their nails or get bruised or lose their accessories or even worse drop their hand bags under the train. And when the train is set on motion, once again everything is back to ordinary. Ladies are laughing and cit chatting again (Nobody minds the bloodbath, since that is what is on everybody’s mind). Even though they can’t move their head or reach their up hand to mend their hair or even if they are hanging in air squeezed between other ladies, they will somehow manage to eat their tiffin, read their prayers and take a small nap (all of those daily routine activities which they couldn’t complete at home as they were hurrying up to catch this train).

When the train is approaches the platform and ladies tying up their dupattas, changing their slippers into shoes, holding their hand bags tight and getting ready for the battle, I wait and watch. I am awed by this skill of fitting an entire gamut of people in a place meant for a hand full only. How much can you squeeze in so as to make a place for a whole bunch of people, when you thought that this compartment could not be more compactly packed? Isn’t it an art in itself?

Another fact linked with local trains of Mumbai is – The filth. Even if the dust bin is just a foot away, people would rather litter and keep up the tradition than try and make it clean. Pan spits everywhere, chewed gums sticking to everybody’s shoes and fat giant rats on the tracks under a pile of garbage- if this is the scene then “Mumbai Rocks”.