Crazy Train
What comes to your mind when u talk of “fair village” or “Mary and Jesus’ entrance”.
Wouldn’t be hard for a Mumbaikar to guess, that these are nothing but ‘Goregaon’ and ‘Churchgate’, or more so “Your head is in curd” would lead you to ‘Dahisar’-the much renowned stations of the Mumbai local trains. Its about the amorphous lives of people, where everyone has his idiosyncrasies, everyone is a dreamer, has a lack of time and an aim to do something in life. The only one meeting point where you can stop and stare is in the luxurious realms of the local train, where you can retire after your diligent stint at the workplace.
I am forced to eavesdrop a group of students pointing their heads in a direction when they say “Cool Chicks!” No, I’m not at a coop where chickens are bred, but at the Goregaon station, with chicks referring to the mystifying female form of the homo sapien species ready to leave for their college. I fought the World war III; no I didn’t side with either Bush or Osama. All I did was board a Churchgate slow, but isn’t that more difficult. I slid myself in through the narrow spaces, hoping to get a seat. I’m trying to sound sanguine when I say that I came across one of the sole descendents of Kumbhakaran.,but I bet if u could wake him up from his slumber and I was forced to give company to the bystanders standing at the gate.
Then comes the next station and a group of innocent students almost 10-12 year olds enter the compartment. But they didn’t seem to reflect their innocence as soon as they opened their mouths. All sorts of expletives and profanities were spat out, the sole target being the Indian cricket team. I couldn’t help but bewilder at the creativity of the words they could use. I gave way to them to come across a fastidious old lady, who seemed to have skipped her breakfast. She was eating bananas with such compelling speed, that nervous onlookers were forced to change their line of vision.
Stations pass by and passengers come and go, some of whom you can relate to for no possible reason, no logical explanation.
Indifference is what people say breeds here, but behind that lies the spirit of the city. Last year during the cataclysmic floods, people left their dry secure homes to help the people on the streets .With water in their eyes, each one was seen offering support and solidarity.
If you are late for work and running to catch the daily local, you can find innumerable hands stretched out in empathy to pull you up. Your fellow passengers, all drenched in sweat and frustrated, can relate with you. They know that your boss or your wife would shout if you miss this train. They will make space for you even if none exists and when they lend you their hand, it wouldn’t matter whether you’re a Hindu or a Muslim, whether you are from Peddar road or Dharavi. All they know is that you are a believer and hold the same trust that one holds on their fellow commuters. A leader in one’s own respect, they say “Come, on board, We’ll Adjust”.
Wouldn’t be hard for a Mumbaikar to guess, that these are nothing but ‘Goregaon’ and ‘Churchgate’, or more so “Your head is in curd” would lead you to ‘Dahisar’-the much renowned stations of the Mumbai local trains. Its about the amorphous lives of people, where everyone has his idiosyncrasies, everyone is a dreamer, has a lack of time and an aim to do something in life. The only one meeting point where you can stop and stare is in the luxurious realms of the local train, where you can retire after your diligent stint at the workplace.
I am forced to eavesdrop a group of students pointing their heads in a direction when they say “Cool Chicks!” No, I’m not at a coop where chickens are bred, but at the Goregaon station, with chicks referring to the mystifying female form of the homo sapien species ready to leave for their college. I fought the World war III; no I didn’t side with either Bush or Osama. All I did was board a Churchgate slow, but isn’t that more difficult. I slid myself in through the narrow spaces, hoping to get a seat. I’m trying to sound sanguine when I say that I came across one of the sole descendents of Kumbhakaran.,but I bet if u could wake him up from his slumber and I was forced to give company to the bystanders standing at the gate.
Then comes the next station and a group of innocent students almost 10-12 year olds enter the compartment. But they didn’t seem to reflect their innocence as soon as they opened their mouths. All sorts of expletives and profanities were spat out, the sole target being the Indian cricket team. I couldn’t help but bewilder at the creativity of the words they could use. I gave way to them to come across a fastidious old lady, who seemed to have skipped her breakfast. She was eating bananas with such compelling speed, that nervous onlookers were forced to change their line of vision.
Stations pass by and passengers come and go, some of whom you can relate to for no possible reason, no logical explanation.
Indifference is what people say breeds here, but behind that lies the spirit of the city. Last year during the cataclysmic floods, people left their dry secure homes to help the people on the streets .With water in their eyes, each one was seen offering support and solidarity.
If you are late for work and running to catch the daily local, you can find innumerable hands stretched out in empathy to pull you up. Your fellow passengers, all drenched in sweat and frustrated, can relate with you. They know that your boss or your wife would shout if you miss this train. They will make space for you even if none exists and when they lend you their hand, it wouldn’t matter whether you’re a Hindu or a Muslim, whether you are from Peddar road or Dharavi. All they know is that you are a believer and hold the same trust that one holds on their fellow commuters. A leader in one’s own respect, they say “Come, on board, We’ll Adjust”.
posted by TANNS at 12:07 AM
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