35 - MUMBAI LOCAL-LIFELINE?

It is commonly referred to as the 'lifeline' of Mumbai city-the local train.  But I beg to differ, in that, I feel that if you travel by the local, then you need a lifeline to survive.

My experiences of the local train network are varied.  I am a bus traveller, but sometimes it is more efficient to travel by the local because they have a fixed time slot and  one can reach the destination of far flung suburbs faster than by bus.  Besides direct buses are not available to far off suburbs and the bus services are not regular.  Trains are regular and reliable.  But.....

The misery of train travel begins at the ticketing window.  Dirty, smelly, scantily clad urchins or a minor beggar, or an old, half paralyzed beggar, are always on one side of the ticketing window, watching you buy your ticket, making you guilty of spending money on yourself.  Their extended palms and rhythmic banging of a begging bowl, puts one off, the anticipation of the journey is now perforated with sadness and remorse, at the state of the individual that one is expected to appease with cash.

Then the rush of boarding the correct train, and hurriedly plonking onto any vacant seat, before none are left vacant with the hoards that ply on the route.  But finding a seat is possible at the starting points of Churchgate, CST or Virar etc.  If you board at any of the intermediate stations, you will never get a seat.  You are lucky if you manage to board the train at all.  There are just too many commuters for the limited trains on the circuits. My colleagues who travel daily from Nallasopara to Mumbai Central, always board the train at four in the morning and that too, the local that is headed backwards, to the starting point of Virar.  Then they continue to sit in the train and head back towards Mumbai Central.  That is the only way they say that it is possible to be in the train at all, because it gets too crowded to be able to board it at all, after that, even at the next stop of Nallasopara.

 I had to travel from Grant  Road station to Santa Cruz, for some administrative work.  Having managed to board the train, I felt relieved, since it was quite crowded.  All the seats were occupied,  fourth seats also.  Women were standing between seats and along the corridor between the seats and holding the above-head handles and standing between the entrances. A torture to breathe in their smelly armpits that were all around my face.   I got a support on the back of the side seats. 

My attention was diverted to some women shouting from the window seats that overlooked the neighbouring stationary train.  Some of them were shouting encouraging words and some were shouting 'nahee'.  As I craned my neck to find out the centre of their attention, I realized that a young boy was being urged by his mother to urinate at the entrance of the neighbouring train and the boy was hesitant.  But soon he overcame his shame on being encouraged by the women from our train too.  'Becharaa,  bhachcha hai.  Susu karne do nah.  Toilet bhi toh nahee stationpar.'  And then our train took off.

Then the train approached Dadar and what a mad rush ensued.  Women pushing their way in and others pushing their way out.  Abuses and screams and  expletives galore.  All the new entrants started asking the seated women where they would alight, and forming mutual bonds for reserving the seats when the present occupants would vacate them.  I was pinched, pressed, pushed and poked, by the women who alighted and the ones who boarded, in huge waves of onslaught. 

What a torture these travellers undergo daily.  For a novice local train traveller like me,  it is traumatic.  And among all the din of the crowd in the overfull bogie,  the background noise of the metal wheels pulling the train towards each station, the background announcements of the approaching stations,  the audio advertisements of Kubal Masale, was repetitively being played, as though all was well and hunky dory within the bogie.

What a relief it was to alight and be free of the confines of the melee.



 

34 - CHATRAPATI SHIVAJI TERMINUS -CST

Mumbai is my 'sasural' and Pune is my 'maher'.  So travel between the two cities is warranted by relationships and circumstances.  The mode of travel can be by train, bus or taxi.  Shivneri bus services are very regular and reliably safe, but I prefer train travel.  And for that I had to go to CST a few days ago.  The beautiful facade of the station is always a pleasure to behold, but what a torture it was to traverse the entire space from the entrance upto the ticket counter and then upto the platform.  The smooth tiles were wet and splippery and I had to walk very very slowly, to avoid falling.

My train arrived after a wait of two whole hours, because I missed the one I had to  board, because of dahi handi traffic snarls, on my way to the station.

Another hour inside the train, and soon the unreserved ladies bogie was overcrowded and crammed.  But it was not too bad, until our train stopped at Dadar and then it was over crammed.  Four persons sharing the seats that are meant for three travellers, others standing between the seats, and yet others sitting in the passage way between seats.

The one visitor that makes the rounds of every train is the well dressed and immaculately made up 'kinnar' or gay man.  Wearing pretty sarees with extremely stylish blouses, these lady-men saunter through the crowds, tapping persons on their heads, heralding their presence with their typical claps and demanding money.  They target the young men, who giggle and donate currency notes happily.  This particular kinnar, had displayed all his booty of cash, very deftly, between the fingers of one hand, while he 'blessed' the commuters with his other hand.

And among all this, the flow of hawkers that kept coming and going a myriad times.  The main commodity was 'paani' thanda paani.  The next was 'chikki' Lonavla chikki, and garam garam vada pav, chai, adrak ki chai, kafee, bournvita, tomato soup, moongfally, gavtee kakdee, omellete pav, cutlet pav.   A very limited choice.   My repeated requests for sugarfree chai were in vain.  The Lonavla chikki sellers were relentless and numerous.  Young men, old men, one blind woman, one blind man, all shouting out for the travellers to buy authentic chikki, at Rs.30 per packet or Rs.100 for four, but when one passenger wanted the 'Maganlal' brand, it would cost Rs80, he was informed. These chikki hawkers walked up and down, almost 20 times, along  the bogies, that had continued access, with walk through connections.  They may be selling off their wares only through the non-stop assault that they vent onto the commuters.

I bought Karjat vada pav and Lonavla jelly sweets, for my family.  The next day, I returned via the train journey, but this time I made friends with two chatty sisters, who were returning after visiting their brother's family for raksha bandhan. 

They shared some prasad with me and also with the monkeys at 'monkey hill' on the way to Mumbai, where the train slows on the ghats.  They bought tea and discarded the thermocole cups through the window.  They ate vada pav and aimed the soiled paper out of the moving train.  They ate bananas and threw the peels out.  They drank Mirinda and water and both the empty bottles were discarded through the moving train, somewhere along the western ghats, along the rail tracks.  But they were not the only ones who threw thrash into the pristine wilderness.  Almost every passenger discarded thrash out of the moving train.  If  ten trains are commuting along the tracks in that area,  just imagine the thrash that is being discarded along its length,  polluting the ghats. 

To top it all, an urchin slides along the passageway, with a rag, half naked and seeming busy and hard at work, cleaning the floor.  Then he returns and looks soulfully at the passengers, with an extended palm,  all this in mime.  Many of the travellers fill his palm with coins.  At CST, there were only 2 to 3 passengers in each bogie, most alighted at Dadar, and then the dirty urchin was walking off with a very lively gait, his pockets jingling with his earnings.  Mentally, I notched his acting talents, at par with SRK.

As the train passes Ulhasnagar, it is the stench that greets us and then the polluted Ulhas river.  It looks lika an open sewage drain, oily, with floating plastic and all sorts of thrash and garbage.  And then the polluted scenario continues.  The land along the tracks is like a garbage landfill.  What a sorry state of the areas.  It is so depressing to watch the littered and stinking slums and shanties that are on view along the route of the train, until it reaches CST.  And then I had to laboriously traverse the wet slippery platform until I exitted onto the road.















 

33 - SELFIE CRAZE

Every four years,  we Indians look forward to our participants winning any medal at the olympics.  But for the rest of the time, no one cares to nurture atheletes.  Of course, there are a few who nurture themselves and are nurtured by a few dedicated coaches.  That is not the way gold medalists thrive.  Talent has to be recognised and rewarded and encouraged.

Today, as I was watching a TV show called 'dance India dance',  the agility and grace of the various participants was so exemplary and of such a high level.  With correct coaching and guidance, any of them could be gymnasts and could win an olympic medal.  A dancer called Tanmay was exceptional. 

Indians will do anything if only they have a goal in sight.  If we want an olympic swimmer, then we should have easily available swimming pools.  Atheletes need to practice running on a track.  I recall, when my children were younger,  they desperately wanted to swim.  The YMCA only allows holiday learning camps for kids,  that too with 'recommendation' through patrons.  Their school would have a lucky draw and limit the wanna be swimmers to a limited number.  The sport's club at Haji Ali wanted one crore for membership and then only one could use their swimming pool.  The Mumbai Gymkhana declared that they had no spots for any more members even if one crore was offered.  The Mafatlal swimming pool at chowpatty is open only for hindus and Jains.  And the public swimming pool at Dadar,  declared that they had a waiting list for the next four years.  The police swimming pool at worli is only for police personnel and their families.   It was  a futile effort.

Salman Khan can share the limelight by announcing a money award for the participants, and Neeta Ambani can get brownie points on the newshour by some sugary comments on the girls who won medals for India.  Can they do some real contribution by promoting sports regularly?  Even Ramdev baba was quoted congratulating the girls who won.  Dear Ramdevji,  open a swimming pool and a track field and other sports courts and then take credit and share the limelight of the winners. The great Amitabh Bachchan also made it a point to share the kudos with his tweet, of wanting a selfie with the girls who won.  Can you do something for others Mr. Big B, like donating  cash towards a good training gymn for girls who want to train?

Until ordinay Indians, with a spark of sportmanship, are not kindled into a strong flame,  India will always remain medal-less at the olympics of the world.