Mumbai Trains - My travels (or is it travails?) on them - Part 2

Hi people,

The urge to blog is back and hence so am I. The week’s been OK. “Nothing great nothing sensational” as one of our teachers used to say. Last weekend was bad though what with Kimi (& Mclaren) winning. However, Ferrari are starting to rock. If he had a couple of more laps in hand Michael might have pipped Kimi at the post (who knows). Anyway, still a Ferrari 2 – 3 and maybe at `Polis 1 – 2. Saw the Argentina vs. Tunisia match of the confederations cup on the telly. Who knows what would have happened if Tunisia had scored their first penalty. Too many ifs and buts this week. But Bangladesh beat Australia. For me that’s the high point of the week. Will bring the Aussies back to Terra Firma for the time being.

Anyway, without any further ado, I move on to the next episode of my “encounters” with the Mumbai local trains. As already mentioned in my earlier post, I had had my first brush with the famed Mumbai locals during my previous visit to Mumbai.

I arrived in Mumbai, on 19th May 1999 for my MBA. My dad also came down from Delhi, for getting me set up. We had put up in the house of one of our dad’s friends nearby to college. Hence we didn’t have to travel anywhere by train on the first day of my return to Mumbai.

The next day dad was returning to Delhi and I had to shift to the place of a friend who was put up in Kandivali (For the uninitiated non-mumbaiites, the distance between my college and my residence was around 25 kms). I had to take my stuff and shift to his home on the evening of 20th May 1999.

I was carrying a suitcase and a bag (in those days a suitcase and a bag was enuff to carry all my prized possessions) and we boarded the train to Dadar from Ghatkoper. There were at least 100 people in that compartment and I had to board the train with a suitcase and a bag. Other people who were boarding the train with us were looking at us incredulously and maybe in their amazement some of them forgot to catch the train, because we got to board the train reasonably easily. As each station went the crowd increased and the looks of amazement of the co-passengers started turning into glares of hostility because of the roadblock my suitcase and bag were creating. Thankfully, we reached Dadar quickly enough not to get beaten up and my dad (in one of his most generous days) gave up the idea of traveling by train from Dadar to Kandivali and we took a cab instead.

The next day I had to embark upon the expedition to reach my college from Kandivali at 9.30 a.m in the morning. I woke up at 7.00 and thought I had enough time on my hand to get to college in time and maybe even have breakfast. How wrong I was!!!!!!!!

I left home at around 7.45 and went to the station. That I had to wait around 20 mins to get an autorickshaw to get me to the station is a different story altogether. I reached the station by 8.15 and stood in line for buying a monthly ticket (Second class was all I could afford then). In that serpentine queue there were at least 50 people waiting to get their monthly tickets. By the time I was the 5th guy in the queue, to my horror I saw the counter being closed (I asked the guy at the counter the reason and he nonchalantly pointed to a signboard where in one corner it was written that – to – time was time for counting cash).

Needless to say, there was a mad scramble amongst the people standing in that queue to join one of the other queues and in trying to be civil (i.e. not shoulder block or body check other people - actually not wanting to injure myself in the process), I found myself waiting again at the back of the queue at around the 50th position. While waiting I watched people bypassing the main queue and going directly to the ticket counter and getting their tickets in a jiffy. I asked the guy standing behind me (he ought to have been more irritated than me at these intrusions I presumed) what was happening, and he replied with a look of disgust that those were first class ticket holders and they get priority in queues. I stood their and started musing about the Marxist philosophies of equality and why all men should have the same level of earning (I kinda agreed with him then). Finally this time without any further mishaps I managed to get the ticket around 9.15 a.m.

I knew I had missed my first lecture and was really seething with disgust (more because of the missed opportunity to sleep 2 hours more, than because of my missed attendance). I stepped onto the platform and seemed lost in a sea of humanity. After waiting for 2 – 3 minutes a train came. I saw it from a distance and it seemed to me that it was filled to the brim then. How anyone else could get into that train was a question which remains unanswered till this date. When the train neared the platform, people started jumping off it (some crashing into the people waiting to catch it). Seeing that I shifted to the back of the teeming millions on the platform and thought I would save my teeth. As soon as the train stopped thousands of people started to jump into the compartment in front of me with vivid war cries like “Har Har Mahadev”, “Akramannnnnn”, “Jo bole so Nihaal” etc. I thought about letting the same go and catching the next train. (being unaware of the Mumbai ways I assumed the next one will be empty… stupid me). By the time the next train arrived, the platform had filled up again. Again the same story repeated.

To cut a long (sob) story short, it happened that I missed 4 trains and was in grave danger of missing my second lecture also (which was at 12.30 p.m.), so I decided to risk life and limb and stood close to the platform this time. Miraculously I avoided being hit being the UFOs (The people jumping off the incmoing train) and the milieu behind me pushed me into the compartment which had around 300 people inside. I stood jammed in there with both my feet off ground and resting on the shoulders of some fellow passengers. Believe me it didn’t at all feel like flying. Slowly came the harder task of figuring out which side Dadar platform was and being able to get down there. I remembered with much trepidation the last episode of missing the proper station (read my previous post). However, this time being familiar with the Mumbai ways, I asked around and stood with the people trying to get down at dadar and hence was pushed out off the train at dadar.

The second leg of the Journey (from dadar to college) was much easier (it was against the crowd some one told me) and reached college at around 12.20, met people who had suffered the same misfortune as me, missed lunch and went directly into the lecture hall.

The return journey was easier, because I had come to know what to expect. I was trying to figure out a way of beating the crowds and stay in a place which was forever against the crowds. I was informed that those places were in "town" (as Central and South Mumbai is popularly referred to) with astronomical rents and I couldn’t afford them. So I started looking for the easier alternative of getting an accomodation in the college hostel. I managed to get the same after a month of the same aforementioned traveling (by then I had already lost 9 kgs).

Thus ended my second episode of train travails in Mumbai. But the story goes on, Next week I’ll be back with more of my travelogues on the “Lifelines of Mumbai”. Till then keep bloggin’ and enjoy… Ciao all soon.

Mumbai Trains - My travels (or is it travails?) on them

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

My mouche - The long and Short of it - The sequel (Redux too)

Hi friends. Feeling on top of the world today. My first post and 34 views.

WOWIEEEEEEEEEEEE. Time i wrote a book a masterpiece. Booker’s here I come. JUST KIDDING. At least 14 out of them would have been my own views i guess (got too excited about my creative exploits). Got the creative juices flowing too. (Pun Intended).

Anyways, got to carry on with my story now. So i went back to my mouchy ways in college. Same story thereafter. No love, no light in my life, still more propositions & still the same refusal of cupid's arrow to strike the one I was attracted to. The arrows had an atrocious similarity to them. All of them missed their mark and all were on the same one way traffic like the umpteen Mumbai flyovers.

In the meanwhile got admission to a MBA course in Mumbai. Never had to think twice about accepting it. The declared reason was as described in my profile “Mumbai is the financial capital of India, with loads of opportunities etc.” What I actually meant was “Opportunities” of a different kind. My friends of different hues agreed in one voice; “Mumbai main jo gaya uska to girlfriend hona hi hona hai”. So I packed my bags and went off to Aamchi Mumbai Mouche n all. Somehow got admission into the college hostel. More about that later. One of our esteemed bloggers has quite a big grievance against me because of that.

In class within the first few days managed to strike up a great friendship with one of the best looking girls in my class. She was a mallu. Again someone well known around these parts went “BLUE” with envy (Borrowed from the “dumbo” style of speaking perfected by another of our brethren in college). Went around with her for a month or so. Then one night in a drunken state I called her up at around 12.30 in the night. Her sister took the call & that was the end of that. I tried very hard to pataofy her back, but she turned a deaf ear to all my pleas and apologies and promises (to never do it again). So i turned to one of my closest friends (& her's as well) to try and see if he could turn the tide in my favor. One of the first things that he told me was she would definitely be more attracted to me if I shaved off my mouche. After a whole lot of advices later I was almost on the verge of getting it shaved off, when I finally realized (Thank GOD) that mouche or no mouche “Tera kuch nahi ho saakta Kaaliya“ and accepted my fate.

Eventually we happened to go to watch a cricket match at a friend’s place. There the truth came out finally from one of my "friends" (after gulping a lot of beer) that there was a bet on to get me to shave off my mouche. Felt like breaking all the teeth on the B.....'s face and shoving them up you know where. However, GOD smiled on me and the babe he was trying to get laid with saw sense and walked out. A classic case of “Do unto others what you want others to do unto you“.

Went back home on one of the vacations and decided to finally get rid of my beloved mouche, even though i was superstitious it would affect my results. Somehow I always thought that the “Mouche is the source of my energy” and irrespective of whether I studied or not it had some kind of a magical effect on the examiner that I managed to pass always. (Later on I realized that it was more to do with my handwriting, as illegible as ever, than the magical qualities I thought my mouche was bestowed with).

So one fine day i did the hitherto unthinkable and shaved my mouche off. I came back to Mumbai and at least one of the girls was of the opinion that I looked a lot younger than before. Exams went fine as well and my love life also looked up. Will write about the details of that and sum more in the blogs to come.

But to this day I wonder what might have been if it hadn’t been for that one fateful night and that one misplaced phone call. Seeing trailers of Sharukh in Paheli with a well endowed mouche got back all those memories to life once again. Anyways thanks for reading if you still have had the enthu to. Can’t stop my creative urge, now that the genie has been released from the bottle. So guess you all will have to either block all my posts or suffer the consequences of reading them.
BFN, Be back with more Unsure of the timelines. To borrow from one of the oft forwarded mails, “I like deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make while passing by”.

MY Mouche - The long n short of it (Redux)

This was my first blog.. way back in 2005... Transferring from another website....

Bloggin for the first time, so do ignore the little gaffes and faux pas. Inspired from a friend, roomie, quiz partner (when he his other renowned partners deserted him) whose posts on his quizzing exploits and subsequent bike selling adventures has become the stuff of legends here I am told. Will write about him and other species of hostelites who i had to survive with sometime later.

Today i am going to write about my mouche (rather the lack of It). It used to be quite a dilemma that is commonly faced at the time of puberty (and ever after) whether to keep the shock of hair on the upper lip or not; Most of it had to do with the image, mouche = macho, serious, knowledgable etc. In short “mouche nahin to kuch nahin". On the other hand, also heard stories of girls getting turned off at the time of amorous adventures with guys who sported the same. (Only stories coz, me and kissing or anything to do with the opposite sex for that matter were light years apart, other than in dreams of course.

In the end I decided to stick with it since i was to lazy to shave every 2 days. Managed to attract attention of a fair dame for the first time (VICTORY!!!!!! at last) in Class 10, she didn`t mind the mouche. Maybe because we never got closer than holding hands hence it wasn`t too instrusive. However, good times never last (at least for me they don`t) and she left me for this other guy. He was clean shaven (Point to be noted; I thought to myself).

Secondary education completed and i still stuck with it. By now the lack of any further interactions with the opposite sex was driving me into deeper and deeper levels of frustrations. Especially when i used to see guys far beneath me in terms of class rankings etc. roaming around with arm candies. Used to think on the lines of that pathbreaking ad, “Whatz he got that I ain`t got. All of the single and DESPERATE to Mingle fraternity always had an opinion about the non members of the group, which was to the tune of “If this C$%@ could get a babe why can't we?” Till then never dawned on me that my mouche could by the force field that drive women away whenever I tried to get close.

Hence Higher secondary came and went and so did the first year of college with countless propositions made and all rejected. One day one of my knowledgable friends came up with the idea that i would look better without a mouche. I thought about it at length, after all who doesn`t want to look good and be impressive at the same time. After a lot of trials and tribulations and dithering too, decided to get a mouche cut alongwith the customary monthly haircut (Ohh, those were the days!!!!!).

Expected the next day in college to be seen as the equivalent of a rockstar, girls all around me and asking for my number and stuff (Did have a dream to that effect too, if i remember rightly). However, reality was stragely different. No winks. no shy smiles and hence no numbers. All i got was some uncharitable comments from the class bullies about being a unable to decipher my sexual orientation.

However, decided to take all that into my stride and get back into my mouchy ways. Oops... boss has realised that this isn`t the minutes of the umpteenth meeting which i was supposed to send out. Gotta run now and finish off the work.

Watch this space for the concluding story of me `n my mouche (if you are still interested or if you all have such a lot of time to waste that is). Signing off....