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....

60 Hours

Forth from the darkness they came,
The pallbearers, the messengers of doom,
To set our world aflame

None had the power to stop them,
Armed they were, with our flawed systems,
An eternal web, trapping all in the blame game

They blazed flame, their weapons poured fury,
Smashed and mangled men and machine to utter penury,
They said, this was justice, without judge or jury.

A few bravehearts rose to be counted,
And, without a thought for their beloveds,
Into the arms of death they bounded

The soldiers of death laid siege
They went on destroying, all that lay in their path
Evil in their soul, madness in their eyes, reveling in the gory bloodbath

None; men, women, child, were spared,
For none in humanity, these devils cared,
Till they met the harbingers of peace, for victory they had come prepared

Forth they came, to meet the devils in a deathmatch,
Their weapons spewing venom, at the demonic perpetrators,
Fearful wrath, of a nation reviled and raped

Back and forth they fought, fighting fire with fire,
Their black masks gleaming in the deathly light, eyes that never tire,
Blow upon blow they laid on the enemy, pushing them into a quagmire

The anger and despondence, of the brutalized humanity, they brought to bear,
To win they had arrived, to make the devil despair,
To win back honor, to vanquish the enemy, to banish the deathly stare

Finally it ended, victory for the forces of truth,
They lost some of their greatest, who fell defending their beliefs,
The right to live, not to exist, on the face of this earth

Their supreme sacrifice, is it all in vain,
All they fought against, the forces of extremism, bigotry and pain,
They live in our backyards still, these “leaders” of men

Will we allow them to fail, our beacons of light,
Will we stand by them, the forces of the right,
Will we show all the cowards, try as they might,
We won’t fade away into darkness or night,
United we stand, all humanity, despite our plight
Till we vanquish all devils, and remove these blights.