Good Samaritan Day

Its just another day on the Mumbai local. I have had a lovely evening with M, but still it has not done much for my overall mood which has been quite abc. Abc because, I don’t know quite know
how I feel.

I am been down on company lately. Do not want to meet anyone. Anyone means anyone. Given a choice I would lock myself in a room and cry myself to bits thinking about how lonely I am. Self inflicted, yes.

It so happens that this evening at 10:30 pm, as I am trying to get back home from Grant Road station, I have a lot of company. But, just the kind of company I need – strangers.I am sitting in the train, relaxing, for the lack of anything better to do. I make two random phone calls, which I ‘should’ and even secretly wanted to. I was hoping that they would liberate me of my abcness.

M calls and we talk irrespective of the fact that we spent the last 5 hours together. The wind is nice and soft and I raise my legs on to the seat.

Suddenly a man enters. Rapping a huge stick on the edge of the seat, he says - Bandra. I jump fearfully only to realize that the train is now empty and he is animatedly asking me to get off. I mutter a thank you and urgently leave. Turns out this train is not taking me home and the last thing I want is to sit in a dark train at the khar train yard feeling abc.

I hang up on M and get into the next train to Borivali. I get pushed into the train just the way I like it, floating, with no effort, but for a woman ahead of me who refuses to move forward and is holding fort as if we are in a war. I try to reason with her but she refuses to budge and I am amazed at her fierce spirit.

She wishes to get down at Andheri and is following the strict instructions her sister gave her – get in and do not move until Andheri. She persists with a monologue of how she hates trains and crowds and though the buses take longer, at least one does not get pushed around without any respect whatsoever.

Somehow, indigenously as always, everyone gets comfortable even the old koli woman who had been rattling off in her Marathi at the young girl who shrieked at her for her fishy smell and the huge crate she had hosted at the entrance. The koli woman was still muttering and I caught much disdain in her voice for the youth who considered fashion more important than human beings.

I was in a pathetic enough a mood to actually enjoy what was happening around me. Lodged between the crate and the exit, I was looking around humoured and amused. On my right, a woman in bright blue hanging by the door was about to vomit. It was the fish smell. The old koli went on about how a true mumbaikar should eat, sleep, breathe fish and though historically, she is correct being the first inhabitant of this island city, but much has changed since she the 1800s. The vomit woman was told to take deep breaths to avoid puking. She was stationed at the door in such a way that if she did, she would puke outside but at the same point of time, the wind would not carry the puke to the window next to the door.

While this physics was at work, a younger koli woman (probably the old koli woman’s daughter) was asking the old koli to shut up about the benefits of eating fish, which was making a mighty lot uncomfortable.

Meanwhile I kept apologizing to a huge woman next to me. My elbow kept running into her full breasts. I kept saying sorry repeatedly but I doubt she had any clue what my sorry(s) were about. On my left, taking the door’s support was a girl dressed in a sober brown salwar kameez. She had deep-set features and spoke a strong Hindi with occasional awkward English. She was chatting away throughout with one hand holding onto the door and the other on the phone. She had all the top phalanges on her hand missing and it was unbelievable how she held on to the phone with such incredible ease.

Andheri finally arrived with me making hesitant conversation with the old koli women in my urban twanged Marathi. I continued to stare at the girl with the missing phalanges and her hand struck me so pretty. I wanted to tell her how beautiful her hands were but she was lost in the crowd as I helped the old koli women bring down her crate.

Strangely, I didn’t feel abc anymore.