Watch thy neighbour !. Review on Local Trains

One of the privileges, if I may say so of being a daily commuter on the locals of Mumbai is the propitious opportunity I get to observe fellow-passengers. And believe me, its a delight watching people of every ''variety''...some engrossed in the newspapers, some waiting for the opportune moment to pounce upon the seat that gets vacant at the next station, some staring into the middle of nowhere with sullen resentment, some giving you intermittent stares and some busy with their cell phones (half of them busy changing ring tones).

Every time I endure this privileged local train journey, I often make certain keen observations followed by mental-notes of these. And today morning was such a day. Burdened with the excess baggage of a hangover from last night's drunken binge (blame it on my friend who came down from Pune) I began my journey. Over the past three years I have attained some sort of mastery in the art of boarding local trains and with luck under my armpits today, I managed to place myself on the seat by the window. And this wretched window seat is like the Prime Minister's hot seat, as any commuter would tell you...a piece of cushion comforting your behind, that any local commuter would give his left arm for.

The breeze was beating against my face and fortunately the rain had probably been procrastinating for a while (I told you, luck was under my armpits this morning). The minor scuffle between two passengers that I could hear from the other side soon abated as the train picked up speed. That done, I soon got down to the job that I do best when I am seated on the throne next to the window...the pleasant task of observing.

Seated right next to me was Mr.Gastonova, a middle-aged gentleman with a paunch the size of an over-inflated hot air balloon. He had a perpetual problem with his hair. Time and again, he had to pull his comb out from his back pocket, set his hair to satisfaction and send the comb back to where it came from. A few stations later, I immediately took him under suspicion since my nose was finding itself terrorised by some foul smell emanating from his side. Bang on, the suspicion! He had a stomach problem, I assume. Evidently, his rear orifice was whistling for most minutes of the journey. This unpleasant whistling carried with itself streaks of a combination of nostril-devastating gases, making it unbearable for all sitting in his vicinity. Somehow my armpit-buried luck smiled and Mr. Gastonova made an exit at Kurla.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I made myself comfortable by adjusting my legs and realigning my rear. And so did the gentleman who was sitting right in front of me. Soon I found my eyes attending to Shri. SadnMad who was standing about three yards away. Our man appeared completely hassled by the vagaries of life. His self-induced frowns appeared to have transformed his face into that of a burnt potato. Moreover, he too appeared to be fighting a loosing battle of the bulge. His sad expressions sprung up a lot of questions. Was it that his wife had deprived him of his breakfast following a fight that they might have had? Was he troubled that he was again late for office this day (maybe something that he often ended up repeating)? Was he fed up with his wife and boss, alike? I don't know the answers or the problem that had distorted his otherwise reasonably good looking face. The train halted at Cotton Green and Shri. SadnMad made his way out of the compartment with the same expression that I had caught him with.

Life must go on and so must the train. Mr. Hungry4ever was an interesting person and kept himself and the guy seated next to him busy with his lunch box. Imagine, wifey dear would have packed it for lunch-hour consumption and this happy go lucky man was feasting on it at 9.15 in the morning. Maybe he was deprived of his breakfast too. But it didn't appear so. He invited his neighbour to have a dig at his lunch box and the guy dug a pit in it. He very liberally gobbled morsels and morsels of Aloo-Puri. Once Mr. Hungry4ever was satiated, he immediately initiated a conversation with the others, none of whom he knew. The topic of discussion was falling airtime rates and the cellular wars. His excitement went full throttle as he led the discussion. All of them carried out a detailed and elaborate post-mortem of all the service providers (Orange, BPL Mobile, Airtel, Reliance and the incumbent MTNL too). It was almost as if they butchered all these companies, with the local train serving as the slaughterhouse. Mr. Hungry4ever presided over the meeting a second time and enlightened everybody on the tips to be followed while changing to a new mobile phone. With immense pride he explained how he had learnt these tips during the course of his changing 9 mobile phones in the past two years.

By this time we had crossed Masjid and CST was next. I vacated my throne, as did Mr. Hungry4ever and his henchmen. Three different guys had kept me entertained for one whole hour and I was sure that I would write about this. The train pulled into the beautiful and former Victoria Terminus. The station clock read 10.00, reminding me that I was left with all of 15 minutes to reach the meeting venue.

© Milind Gadagkar 2003