Racing across the overhead bridge, I flew down the fight of stairs, bumping into some old lady who gave me a look which said...why you li'l son of a.....
Man, I hate these places.
But couldn’t help it, could I?
Okay, let’s get this straight. I don’t hate getting into the local trains…it’s just the staying in it part that gives me the ulcers.
I used to travel a lot by these ‘community living centres’ a while back but then a bus always offers you a much more comfortable (that word just took away my right of being called a Mumbaikar) ride and well, sucker that I am, I fell for it.
So began my love affair with buses but like every homely, loving, affectionate man, I do go off to regular sojourns with my mistress. Doesn’t take much does it? A show of the legs, an eyeful of cleavage and we all fall down into the abyss of temptation. Well, this short visit was more due to desire than lust. The goddamned Bus Co. went on strike just ‘coz they want their daily, weekly, monthly whatever raise and so they decide to rest “the cute li’l red boxes” back in the depots. I would have loved taking the car out but in a city where a guy’s age inside a car is twice than when he’s outside it, I’d prefer taking the public transport…..call it if you will….system.
Panting, I finally reach the platform. Squinting ahead, I try to place the digits on the info display system.
21:13
Not bad, seven minutes to go. Searching around, I find a store and get a drink to drown my parched throat. Ahhhh… feels like heaven. Just as I was about to sing a glorious ode to the exquisite Appy, I saw the crowd dissolve away from the tracks. The train must be approaching. I quickly moved into position, geared up my rucksack, crossed myself twice, said a little prayer, thought about my mom and waited with bated breath. There she blows! Finally, it sputtered to a stop. The train heaved and out came the passengers, weaving through me as I stood there thanking my lucky stars. I’d survived. Survived the onslaught of a Mumbai local.
I quickly scuttled into the compartment. Then, it struck me. No wonder. This local wasn’t gonna leave until the guards changed. It started from this station.
Dejected but somewhat relieved, I found a seat and sat down, still gulping down my Appy. But then I got up soon enough when I saw a family of four with two little kids shuffling between the passengers trying to make some room in the cramped compartment and offered my seat. Couldn’t afford to risk my Appy, could I? ;-)
As I stood near the door watching the passengers scurry into the train, I saw him. Yes, that was the moment when I saw him. Saw the smug smile on his face as he hobbled his way looking at the hungry, tired faces of the passengers. Good business, wasn’t it gonna be? Flinging his tray onto his shoulders, he stepped aboard. And then it started. His feeble and quite amusing attempts at advertising his wares. Hawking…gawking…no matter what it took, he enlisted all the details of his wares. Peanuts, along with a wide assortment of nuts and fried snacks. And like a true Indian, he spiced it up with a sprinkling of chilli powder, coriander paste and chippings of the choicest onions from the fields of
Soon, he had started quite a riot.
His bonhomie and amusing ways soon had the entire compartment smiling. Singing and drawling, he soon had all those tired passengers humming. The deftness of his hands while he crafted pieces of paper into perfectly shaped cones won many admirers. The way he mixed all his ingredients and topped it with a sizzle of lemon juice had the entire coach talking about the delectability of his simple snack. Working consistently, he trumpeted about the delicious nature of what he called the perfect snack. Collecting the cash, soon after selling his ware, he stuffed all those notes into his pocket and continued to urge people to taste his appetizing snack. Soon, he started a new wave of publicity. “Don’t you dare forget having onions, sir; they help increase your blood flow. They also clear up your digestive tract”. He went on with his rant about the health benefits of eating onions with such confidence, almost as though half of the docs at Breach Candy had been hired at his suggestions. “Would you like some more onion chippings, sir?” “Don’t you worry sir, your mixed special is on it’s way. This train’s not going anywhere until I serve you”.
Looking at him go about his job with such absolute aplomb and carpe diem, I wondered what my uncle, an advertising professional, would think of him. I smiled. Somehow, I had a feeling he would have hired him right away to teach all his students a thing or two about advertising. Soon, more passengers filled in and the train was about to leave. With a thoroughly satisfied look on his face and quite a thick bump where his pocket once was, he got off the train.
As I saw him swagger to his spot on the platform, I realized one thing. That life’s a gift. A treasure meant to be honored. And the only way to redeem it is through survival. That’s what he was doing. Surviving. That’s what all those guys in the compartment were doing. That’s what we all are doing. But sometimes we forget that what more important is to be smiling through it. Maybe smile to survive. For then, you’ll survive ….to smile.
Or maybe all of this meant nothing at all.
Just another day in this miracle called Mumbai.
