Travelling in a train does become interesting because of the conversations of the most unlikely co-passengers that one gets to hear. This time my co-passengers, a muslim woman, one Hindu, another Hindu from UP, and five women that were three generations of another bhaiyya family, were choosing copper rings from a vendor, which triggered a conversation among them about gold jewellery. One of them recounted how Hijras had visited her home recently, and taken away her gold ring, in exchange for blessings for her newborn grandson. This led to rejoinders from the others about their horrific experiences when hijras have forcibly taken away gold necklaces and silver anklets from the new maternal and paternal grandmothers, by threatening them with dire curses if they do not comply. Since I am a Zorastrian, their experiences were new to me. It seems that hijras demand new and expensive sarees, food, slippers etc, from anyone who has a newborn in the family.
As the journey continued, the crowd in the general bogie got bloated to beyond its capacity. The crowd swelled the most at Lonavla. A very rich lady, with very very expensive luggage and three minor sons was one among them. The youngest son, about seven, whined on loudly and complained about wanting an AC bogie. The older sons were quite happy to play with their expensive mobile phones. And the women pampered the kids and offered them space to sit. Toward the end of my journey, at Dadar, a very young girl, hardly eighteen I guess, was selling clips and hairbands, with her three year old, and since the crowd had shrunk now, she sat with her baby, who kept howling, and only kept quiet when she took out her mobile, an I phone, and let him handle it for a selfie. So the conclusion is that whether rich or poor, very young children are only pacified with a mobile in their hand.
Soon, a female chikki seller joined the clip seller and sat on the unoccupied seats. Since she had kept her bag of goods near me, I picked it up to check out how heavy it was. I could hardly lift it, it was very very heavy, with chikki packets and jelly sweets. Striking a conversation, she recounted that she boards the afternoon train and goes up from her home at Badlapur, and s peddles her ware in four rounds, between Pune and Mumbai, upto twenty two hours.
Then a blind beggar joined them and began choosing hair clips. Although blind, she insisted on choosing a specific colour. All three, the clip seller, the chikki lady and the blind beggar, chatted with each other until we arrived at CSMT.
Along the journey, I was observing the station name boards, and they were all diamond shaped, unlike the Grant Road sign that has become oval now.
All the rivers along the train journey were swollen and muddy. The scenery between Khandala and Karjat is extremely verdant now, with pretty waterfalls along the steep cliffs. But the Ulhas river is still black, with green oil stains and lots and lots of garbage all over. As our train passed along Ulhasnagar and Vithalwadi, groups of young men could be seen and heard, practising drums, for the upcoming ganpati festival. Quite a pleasant sound.
Most of the passengers doze off during the five and a half hour journey. I make sure that I stay awake to take in the awesome views that the majestic western ghats offer. The Monkey Hill stop was a real treat this time. There were a hundred monkeys of all ages, jumping up and down a huge tree, coming down to grab the foodstuff thrown toward them.
A window seat is everyone's coveted place. It offers the best views of the western ghats. If another train passes by, it gives a zoetrope effect, and the view beyond the passing train is still visible through the windows and gaps between the bogies of the speeding train, very aptly demonstrating the principle of 'persistence of vision'. At whichever age, a student learns about this principle, he should be allowed to experience the phenomenon with a train journey. That is what I call 'education'.
Alighting at CSMT and then having to exit the platform and to exit the intercity concourse is very painful. There are three electronic entrances which have people rushing in and it is almost impossible to exit. The authorities should have an 'IN' and 'OUT' status for each entry and exit point.
A recent addition is a open car moving around the platforms, aka the airport vehicles. It had this message painted on it, 'This car is for hire. Asked for a lift and make us happy. Rs. 40 per ticket.'
Most of the travellers are too poor to pay so much, just to go upto their bogie, or from their bogie upto the exit. So many beggars are on the platforms and inside the trains, without tickets or the Rs.20 platform ticket. And no one cares. Yet the police are stationed at every entry and exit point, behind sandbags, with machine guns pointed at the public.
Somehow, in the melee of people, I manage to head home safely.
As the journey continued, the crowd in the general bogie got bloated to beyond its capacity. The crowd swelled the most at Lonavla. A very rich lady, with very very expensive luggage and three minor sons was one among them. The youngest son, about seven, whined on loudly and complained about wanting an AC bogie. The older sons were quite happy to play with their expensive mobile phones. And the women pampered the kids and offered them space to sit. Toward the end of my journey, at Dadar, a very young girl, hardly eighteen I guess, was selling clips and hairbands, with her three year old, and since the crowd had shrunk now, she sat with her baby, who kept howling, and only kept quiet when she took out her mobile, an I phone, and let him handle it for a selfie. So the conclusion is that whether rich or poor, very young children are only pacified with a mobile in their hand.
Soon, a female chikki seller joined the clip seller and sat on the unoccupied seats. Since she had kept her bag of goods near me, I picked it up to check out how heavy it was. I could hardly lift it, it was very very heavy, with chikki packets and jelly sweets. Striking a conversation, she recounted that she boards the afternoon train and goes up from her home at Badlapur, and s peddles her ware in four rounds, between Pune and Mumbai, upto twenty two hours.
Then a blind beggar joined them and began choosing hair clips. Although blind, she insisted on choosing a specific colour. All three, the clip seller, the chikki lady and the blind beggar, chatted with each other until we arrived at CSMT.
Along the journey, I was observing the station name boards, and they were all diamond shaped, unlike the Grant Road sign that has become oval now.
All the rivers along the train journey were swollen and muddy. The scenery between Khandala and Karjat is extremely verdant now, with pretty waterfalls along the steep cliffs. But the Ulhas river is still black, with green oil stains and lots and lots of garbage all over. As our train passed along Ulhasnagar and Vithalwadi, groups of young men could be seen and heard, practising drums, for the upcoming ganpati festival. Quite a pleasant sound.
Most of the passengers doze off during the five and a half hour journey. I make sure that I stay awake to take in the awesome views that the majestic western ghats offer. The Monkey Hill stop was a real treat this time. There were a hundred monkeys of all ages, jumping up and down a huge tree, coming down to grab the foodstuff thrown toward them.
A window seat is everyone's coveted place. It offers the best views of the western ghats. If another train passes by, it gives a zoetrope effect, and the view beyond the passing train is still visible through the windows and gaps between the bogies of the speeding train, very aptly demonstrating the principle of 'persistence of vision'. At whichever age, a student learns about this principle, he should be allowed to experience the phenomenon with a train journey. That is what I call 'education'.
Alighting at CSMT and then having to exit the platform and to exit the intercity concourse is very painful. There are three electronic entrances which have people rushing in and it is almost impossible to exit. The authorities should have an 'IN' and 'OUT' status for each entry and exit point.
A recent addition is a open car moving around the platforms, aka the airport vehicles. It had this message painted on it, 'This car is for hire. Asked for a lift and make us happy. Rs. 40 per ticket.'
Most of the travellers are too poor to pay so much, just to go upto their bogie, or from their bogie upto the exit. So many beggars are on the platforms and inside the trains, without tickets or the Rs.20 platform ticket. And no one cares. Yet the police are stationed at every entry and exit point, behind sandbags, with machine guns pointed at the public.
Somehow, in the melee of people, I manage to head home safely.
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