Domain Maximus

Of local trains and other sober things…

There is a certain pregnant expectation in watching the piercing light of

a local train approach. The beam sweeps in, with the menacing mass of the

engine whining behind. Sometimes its as if the light itself propels the

train, pulling it along. The circus begins, however, when the 12 coach

slow rushes into the station, yielding to the eddy current brakes. I can’t

think of any other term to use except “multitudes”. There are two

distinct movements. First there is a withdrawal as the engine passes by.

To me its like the first move a long jumper makes, when he leans backward

before his run up. Then, perfectly timed with standstill, the multitudes

rush forth. If you havent seen a ruch hour sequence at Dadar Station, then

you are one of those who find the fight scenes in Lord of the Rings purely

imaginary. No dear friend… such things happen, and they happen right

here in Mumbai.

One experience I will look back with awe will be that of the local trains

in Mumbai. Nothing you’ve heard prepares you for it. Impossible things

happen. Yes people can hang to a train with only the fingertips of one

palm. Wny not the other one too? No no. That will hold up a marathi

crossword. All this for a man who is missing power poles by a whisker. I

bow my head down and pile drive into the coach. A seat is a mere dream.

Having your entire body inside the coach is the holy grail.

But the night trains with noone have a mystery of their own too. The

trains shake a lot more. And there’s something poetic in the way the

handfull of people, and the dozens of worn, yellow painted handholds

resonate in their gentle movements. Oscillating as the train rattles past

station after station. Jerking forward as it stops. I think I have had a 3

rupee lime juice at every station from Charni Road to Jogeshwari. A fair

distance I might add. And every single place it tastes exactly the same.

Mass customisation mammu.

And for the literary types, there are the mysterious adverts and fliers

pasted to train walls. They all fill up black squares stencilled onto the

coach walls. As is every single word the railways has to tell us.

Stencilled in, bad grammar, spelling and all. “Pull chain for emergency”.

Everything from coaching classes, v.d. specialists to Rupa underwear. The

other day, I think the day of the elections, I was quaking my way from

Andheri to Grant Road. This kid started cleaning the bogey with a one foot

broom. India Shining indeed, I thought. Couldnt be more than four or five

years old. Kneeling in the collected refuse of a day of locomotion. For a

few rupees. As I handed over a rupee to him, I wondered if democracy makes

sense to him, all this EVM and “Vote for your rights” seemed bizzare.

People, sometimes I think all this talk of good and bad in giving and

taking is all crap. Sometimes, like in that train, I think having is a

crime in itself. Enough of melodrama.

More as I go around the country on my journey of discovery and hernia repair.

This entry was posted on Thursday, April 29th, 2004 at 12:59 pm and is filed under Big Kahuna, Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.