Hi all,
Let me now move on to the initial events which I had wanted to write about on this blog. This has a far greater significance in some of our lives than “My Mouche - Or the lack of it”. I want to share with you all the part of my life and times spent on the Mumbai local trains.
I got my first experience of the Mumbai local trains in February 1999, when I had come down to Mumbai from Calcutta (It seems blasphemous to spell it as Kolkata) for my MBA GD and Interview. The day started of well when me and my cousin (he was working in Mumbai then) took a bus from Vile Parle to Ghatkoper. We boarded a BEST bus at around 10 a.m. and reached Ghatkoper after what seemed like an eternity (the time by my watch then was 12.00 but my paining backside spoke of quite a different length of time). Maybe it is because the BEST buses consider themselves to be the ON ROAD versions of the “Flying Rani”... (it flew over all the speed breakers encountered on the way). GOD knows why they are called Speed breakers in the first place. The driver seemed to get all charged up as soon as he saw one (maybe he saw too much of motocross on TV and played it with equal zeal in the umpteen video games parlors of Mumbai), or maybe he was the country cousin of Sandra Bullock / Keanu Reeves ( a la SPEED).
Anyway without dithering too much on the bus ride (Its a different matter altogether that just reminiscing about that ride made me shift in my chair thinking about the state of my backside then) lets move on to the main course, the Train ride back home.
The Interview went off quite well (or so i thought... and for a change i was proved right since i got my admission in the same institute) and i met my cousin at Kurla station. He took the tickets and we boarded a pretty empty train (I had seen the state of locals in Howrah station) from Kurla. We managed to get a seat (manna from heaven!!!!) and a group of young boys sitting just behind us started puffing away to glory right under the No smoking sign. Being a smoker myself (erstwhile) I wasn’t too concerned with it unlike the other passengers. We reached a station called Wadala Road and I got off the train to take another train to Vile Parle. Till then I had only changed Autos to get to any place and it was a new experience for me.
While crossing over from the Harbour Line to the Western Line (They were like Greek and Latin to me then), we encountered two Ticket Collectors who asked us to produce the tickets. My cousin whipped them out of his purse like John Wayne and with a smug smile showed it to them. The look on their faces first changed to consternation (After all who wants to miss out on two bakras waiting to be slaughtered, maybe they thought we actually had the tickets) and then to utter glee. It was vice versa with our expressions as we felt a sudden panic within. They informed us that we were on the wrong train and that instead of going from Kurla to Wadala and further on to Vile Parle, we should have gone from Kurla to Dadar and then to Vile Parle. Though I did not quite understand what the difference was as the destination was Vile Parle anyways, I chose to keep my inquisitiveness to myself as my cousin without further ado moved on to negotiations with the TCs about the fines to be paid (He tells me that it stood him in good stead in his corporate life). After a million apologies and pleadings later (interspersed with my cousin pointing at me saying that I was from out of town etc.), the venerable guardians of the law let us off with a fine of Rs. 60 only (it had started off with Rs. 60 per head). All through this episode I was trying my best impersonation of “George of the Jungle” with only two words in my vocabulary..... “Sorry Sir”. The kindred souls that they were they made us buy two tickets from Wadala Road to Vile Parle also (which we readily acquiesced to thinking of more such Guardian Angels waiting at Vile Parle Station). We managed to return to my cousin's home without any further mishaps.
The next morning I was going back to Calcutta from Victoria Terminus Station and to celebrate my interview my cousin and his friends finished four bottles of Smirnoff the night before. They were firm believers in the joke sent around:
“Daru bahut buri bala hai... Yeh logon ki zindagi kharab karti hai..
Aao hum ise pi pi ke khatam kar de”.
and without too much of difficulty they turned me around to having the same view and I found myself downing 8 pegs of smirnoff quite easily. I woke up the next morning at 4.00a.m (if anyone has ever done that here, 8 pegs of Smirnoff, sleep at 1.30a.m and wake up at 4.00 am and he / she will know what I’m talking about) and got ready. I made my cousin wake up too and he stared at me as if he was seeing the devil himself looking down at him. However, we managed to leave at around 4.45 and there was nobody on the road apart from a few stray dogs who were quite excited at the sight of us (Fresh meat, they thought probably). We luckily managed to find an autorickshaw which took us to Vile Parle station and we boarded a train to Churchgate. The train was crowded with as many people as one would probable find in the entire city of Calcutta at that unearthly hour. This time we didn’t have to face the trouble of enquiring which route the train was going to take as it was a direct local to churchgate. We reached from Vile Parle to Matunga Road at quite a fast clip when the train suddenly halted between Matunga and Dadar.
The time was 5.10 am while my train was at 6.10 am from VT. My heart gave a serious of anxious tremors as the precious minutes ticked by.
5.15 am: I asked my cousin what was holding us up. He in turn asked a co-passenger (half asleep) the same question and was met with a stoic silence.
5.20 am: I asked him the same question again (Heart beats getting rapid now). Being true to his vocation and hence going by “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction” he asked the same question to his neighbor (asleep) again. With much consternation he replied that it was waiting for some outstation train to go by. I became paranoid thinking that maybe he was talking about my train to Calcutta itself. My cousin tried to calm me by saying that my train to Calcutta was on the central railway and this was the western railway. Little consolation to a drowning man though.
5.25 am: (Heart almost stopping) I was wondering about the next course of action and my cousin also was appearing fidgety by then. We thought of getting off the train and try to get back to Matunga station and take a cab from there. However the all enveloping darkness outside quickly made us change our minds. Then the (T)rain GODs finally took mercy on us and started to move.
5.55am: Without any further unscheduled halts we reached Churchgate station when my cousin informed me that we now had to go to VT station and I almost fainted thinking another train journey was in store. However he assured me that there were cabs available and we ran out (as fast as 8 pegs of Smirnoff and a kit bag would let me run) and caught a cab.
6.02 am Reached VT station and found out the platform that my train was on. I have never till that date prayed so hard that the trains should stick to their designated ISTs (Indian Stretchable Time). My cousin insisted he wanted to take a platform ticket and that we would be on time. Obviously he did not want to warm the coffers of another Upholder of the Law but a fine of Rs. 60 ( I had thought that was the standard bribe one had to pay every time) compared to a loss of Rs. 1500 (AC 3 tier) seemed absolutely inconsequential to me.
6.04 a.m My cousin wasn’t still back with the platform ticket and i was feeling weak in the knees, when he cam running back saying that the bloody S........ (Choicest epithets) didn't have change for Rs. 10. Hence I paid him the change and he ran like Ben Johnson (My cousin was in high spirits too) and got the tickets and came back.
6.08 a.m We ran almost like Carl Lewis and Michael Johnson together and reached in front of my compartment. (Thankfully it was near to the engine). We just had enough time for a quick hug and handshake and I boarded the train seconds before it started off.
Since then I have always preached my dad about the wisdom of buying AC tickets as these compartments are always closer to the engines. However, they seemed to fall on deaf ears as he in turn preached me the values of timeliness. I wasn't aware of the Just In Time (JIT) concepts of quality then or i could have enlightened him with my knowledge.
Also, since then i have decided to take a cab every time I have to catch a long distance train to anywhere from Mumbai. Don't think my heart can stand any more of such John Grishamesque thrillers and frankly the practice of the concepts JIT should be left with the people who best understand them - The Machines.
Adios amigos and will share with you some more of such mind numbing adventures of mine in the local trains of Mumbai. Write to me if you please at debanujc@hotmail.com
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