Life on the fast track..

As long back as I can remember, I have always been fascinated by train journeys . There was something about sitting by the window seat for hours.. with so much life whizzing past you.. the slow and steady rhythm of the changing tracks beneath you.. the fight to sleep on the middle bunk bed.. which made me so happy as a kid.. But these train journeys have long been replaced by road trips and flights.. so much so that I cannot even remember the last time I was on a looong train journey.. (Oh was it to Shimla..and that horrid 15 hour train delay nightmare? Hmm..maybe that’s the reason why we resorted to family road trips thereafter?!)

Anyways, I knew my romantic bubble of illusion about train journeys was about to burst in Mumbai.. After all.. hadn’t I heard about the infamously crowded compartments..seen images of people hanging on for dear life at the door and even on top of trains.. heard stories about how the local trains are the lifelines of the people here..and also about the chaos that erupts when disaster strikes these very lifelines.. ?

So it is with much trepidation that I venture out that first day, on my solitary journey of discovery to figure out how the gigantic railway system works in Mumbai.. I clutch my ticket tightly as I fall in step behind the teeming humanity hurriedly making its way to and from the many platforms.. As I slow my pace down slightly to scan the perplexing acronyms on the neon board announcing the train schedule.. the woman behind me bumps right into me..gives me a look of pure disgust and without so much of an apology rushes past me at a half-run..

I remember what my uncle in Mumbai once told me..”If you walk slowly..(by Mumbai standards) people recognise that you’re new here..” More so to look as if I belong..than in any hurry, I increase my pace slightly. To my utter relief the announcing lady has just told me which platform, the number of compartments , and the speed mode of my train..which will arrive in 1 minute.. As I make my way to platform No 5, I have already been required to make a number of decisions.. one way Ticket/return/coupon booklet or season pass? Slow/fast train? General/ ladies/first class/second class compartment? And also when I exit..East exit/west exit? (which I learnt the hard way can make a huge difference on your rickshaw metre reading)

But surprisingly, on that first day, when the train stops in front of me..I have no problem in getting in at all.. I even get a seat to sit down.. which all lead me to believe that maybe I’m in a first class compartment.. still clutching my 4 rupee ticket in hand, I think.. Pah! this is not that difficult after all..

It is only later that I learn.. that the time of the day will directly decide the rate at which you will get pushed around before you finally manage to get in.. and that a first class compartment has red stripes on the outside and its ticket does not cost 4 bucks..( Don’t blame me! I was drawing from my Kolkata metro fare experience!) So anyway, contrary to all the horror stories I’d heard.. I manage to have a very pleasant maiden local train journey. These days, I meditate on that memory to keep my sanity whenever I am squeezed and lodged somewhere in between a whole compartment of women who oh.. just happen to sweat profusely courtesy the very pleasant weather outside..

Of course, if you want a crash course in people behaviour..there’s no place like a local train to start your schooling.. All the years of practiced restraint and courteousness go for a toss when the train groans to a stop in front of you at the platform. That’s when the savage in you awakens from its deep slumber..as you push and shove your way ahead on pure instinct..it is the survival of the fittest mate!

It’s amazing too, how random people can set the tone and affect your mood for the rest of the day.. I remember this woman the other day, who was obviously in a foul mood from the moment she stepped inside the crowded local that I had somehow managed to squeeze myself into, despite the evening peak hour. As she prodded and coaxed many to make way for her and proceeded to hijack an empty seat which should have rightfully gone to this girl who had been standing there all along.. a loud and long drawn argument ensued between the two.. significantly altering the mood of everyone around, what with the whole compartment at large being subjected to constant taunts by the woman for the rest of the journey.

I learn a lot each day.. like how it’s a bad idea to have your cellphone in your hand while walking on the platform.. as random people running (as if their life depended on it) to catch a train.. may send it flying from your hand only to scatter into 3 pieces on the floor and that attempts to find the tiny memory card may threaten to cause a mini stampede.. But then you also realise how helpful people can be, as within minutes three people ask me what’s wrong..and one of them (with eyes of a hawk) spots the tiny chip immediately and hands it over to me in triumph!

But despite it all..everything around is anything but a pretty picture. Abject poverty greets you at every station that you get off.. all begging for some attention and a few coins to spare..

Well fed from the weekend visit to my uncle’s house, I’m standing in the long queue to buy a ticket at the Kurla station. The girl at my feet is hard to miss..her voice reaches you before you can spot her.. somewhere between the rows and rows of impatient human legs. She chants a long and earnest plea on a loop.. appealing to all her brothers around to have mercy and spare a couple of coins for her and her younger siblings.. her loud and continuous chant is visibly jarring many people around her. She is still there the next weekend.. when I’m buying the same ticket..still repeating her relentless appeal.. on and on.. in a never ending loop.. I see a girl in tattered clothes on the train today who was positively younger than me, carrying in her arms a baby that looked like it was maybe born just minutes ago.. barely able to open its eyes and with what looked like a huge bump like wound on the top of its head..

You can scarcely blame people from becoming immune to all these sights around.. after all these stories are found a dime a dozen..every few steps that you take..how many can you possibly help?

My first month here is fast drawing to a close.. my music player is my new ‘commute best friend’..the crowd and rush barely register a blip on my irritation radar these days..(especially since I know it could be a lot worse during a train motormens strike..which threw the entire transport system out of gear for 2 days..) Brisk walking to catch the local which will reach platform no 3 at any moment now, I find myself getting impatient with a woman in front of me, walking at a slightly slower pace than I am. As I hurriedly overtake her, shooting her a nasty look..she looks confused.. ‘Newbie’ I chuckle to myself..as I brace myself to squeeze into yet another local..