A journey by local

Today is Friday, the last working day of week. And like most of the people, I wait for this day, because weekend doesn’t seem far, because booze and party is all I live for. As the clock ticks past 6.30, I pack my bags, shut down my system and jump out from my seat. Finally, I think, it’s time to leave. I catch a local and get down at Mumbai Central. I have to see off my mother, who is returning back to our hometown by train after a month’s stay in Mumbai.

You can hate it, despise it or love it, but being in Mumbai, Mumbai local (the train) becomes part of your daily life. If you stay far from your office, there is no getting away from it, even if you own a vehicle and don’t want to get stuck in mind numbing traffic in the morning and evening. The grumpy people, frustrated from their work, hustle for space to put their feet on the floor and to stand straight. At rush hours, trains are so much packed that the air inside the compartment re-circulates within itself. Smell of sweat, bad breath, tobacco, flatulence, all gets mixed and become one powerful cocktail, indicating the unity within diversity of our country.

After biding adieu to my mother, I wait at the platform to catch a local back to my home. It’s peak of rush hour and locals are running late, I expect one hell of a ride, but had no idea what was in store for me. After a long wait, one fast local arrives and people jump on it, I also get pushed inside the compartment which is already packed.  As the train leaves and I regain my composure and realize that I am standing against a beautiful girl and her male friend. A girl travelling in peak hour in non-ladies compartment is a rare occurrence, for obvious reasons. There is no dearth of men who will look for opportunities to brush their body against her, to get momentary pleasure. Couple of men are already ogling at her. I feel sorry for her; she shouldn’t have boarded this train. His male friend is talking loudly over the phone in a very fake English accent, “ya...sooo ye dow one theing, mayke a reservaytion fo twyo o’ us...” Disgusting, I think. I need to get away from here and block his accent hitting my eardrums. I move ahead to a corner, little far for them and take out my noise isolating earphones. Playing Amy Winehouse and swiping candies in the game of candy crush. This solves my problem; I block my senses, ear and eyes from outside noise. I believe, earphones are one of the best inventions of mankind so far. In fact this is how everyone survives the local journey, by blocking their surroundings. If you will notice, some are deep engrossed in novels, some are standing with their eyes closed, humming a song. Everyone tries his best to get away from this realm of reality for sixty odd minutes.

The local halts again, it is Dadar, more people get in and hardly anyone gets out. I feel someone pushing against my back and butt, but I ignore it, what choice have I got. “Mumbai local is gay men paradise” one of my friends used to joke. The train picks up speed and people sway back and forth. The person behind me collides with me a couple of times, I can’t see him, and neither do I want to, but I can feel the warmth of a body pressed against mine. I try to ignore it and engage myself on my phone, playing Candy Crush. The local again halts at Bandra, and just when I think the crowd will ease a bit, lot more people get inside. I get further pressed in the crowd. I can now fell the pressure on my butt, my knee and my back.  I am now pressed tightly against a body; I can even feel the sweat of other person on my shirt. As the train picks up speed, I feel a thigh swaying against my knee and butt rubbing against mine. No matter how the build of a person, butts are always soft. I am now experiencing a kind of body to body massage, like the ones they give you in Pattaya , only 10 times more intense! Damn, I try to ignore it again, but whoever this is, is either enjoying it or completely oblivious of sensations of touch. I prefer to believe in the later. The train jolts again, Andheri is coming. The person behind me collides with me again, this time almost falling. Enough of it, I think, I have been victim of this seducer for more than half an hour and glance backward to face the unknown lecher.

Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second and then she looks away. It’s the same girl accompanying the ‘fake accented’ person. After a brief pause, she says in a sweet voice, “Can you move over a bit, I need to get down”. Dumbfounded, I comply like a robot, all the while wondering in disbelief. I watch her get down at Andheri, for the first time, realizing how beautiful she is. She looks back at me, our eyes meet again and she smiles. Too confused to react, I manage to pass a feeble smile. I couldn't believe it was a girl all this time!

I pack my headphones; put back my phone in the pocket and kept thinking about the incidence for the rest of the journey. When I get down at Goregaon, intuitively I put my hands at my back pocket. Wallet! My wallet! I cried, where is my wallet? In a flash, the brief episode of seduction struck me. Bitch.....did she steal it?

I always keep some money in my bag for such crisis situation. I take an auto to the nearest police station; I have to file an FIR, all my credit cards, PAN card etc. was in there. I can’t believe that bitch was stealing my wallet. As I get down from auto and open my bag to take out the money, I see my wallet lying inside my bag, looking at me and laughing. Now I remember, I had put it inside the bag after buying a platform ticket, I smile back.

Sigh! I should have asked her phone number.