The Harbour Local

Finally an uneventful week has passed. Have been traveling in second class of the luxury train “The Harbour Local” to work for the past week or so. The balance on my chequebook, which I later realized did not include 1 month’s salary credit, which I’d forgotten to add due to the new years weekend, prompted this particular decision/drastic measure. The deed was already done by the time I was aware of this “slight” error.

I had no idea of the adventure waiting for me the next week. Although well aware of the crowd in the train I was encouraged by the fact that 2 of my office buddies & another colleague travel in the same train in second class (and also the fact I kept bumping into my boss in first class every morning, whom I’d be able to avoid was about the only silver lining in the whole episode).

The first day of second-class travel I made it a point to reach the station a bit earlier & check out the opposition that is when I realized I was short by 2 teammates, my office buddies had gone on offshore vessel servicing for the week. I had just lost my 2 pilots, who would help to clear the way before me as I boarded, I was on my own for the week. The target, as I had been briefed the week before, was to be the 1^st coach after the ladies coach (as the distance from the exit at the destination is less), this too, I realized late, is common to all the stations resulting in that coach being extra crowded. As the train entered the station I hopped in as awkwardly as only I can, which made sure I kicked a couple of passengers who were trying to board in alongside me, but since being kicked at least once while traveling is common they let me off.

As I walked into the compartment (rather got pushed into it) I saw my office colleague already sitting by the window seat, I never saw him get on, for a moment I wished if I could’ve kicked him instead. I went & sat next to him, what was to follow was hell.

As the train left the station everything was fine as I sat enjoying the morning’s newspaper the only difference being the hard wooden bench & a person sitting on fourth seat on a 3 seater bench, pretty normal for second class. As the stations passed & the crowd started to increase I realized the mistake of getting into the first compartment. By Khar we were 7 people sitting on a bench for 3 people, it reminded me of the displays on republic day parades where 101 BSF Guards balance themselves on an Enfield motorcycle, with the commentator going in the background “…look how majestically the jawans of BSF ride on the motorcycle…”. (Why & what that proves about the BSF I still have to figure & majestically? How?) I wasn’t feeling majestic being one of the 7 people sitting on a single bench meant for 3 people. I had become the newest member of my colleague’s traveling group. This group to my (added) misfortune also included couple of eunuchs these guys/gals also have “call signs” (or professional names) apart from their real names (samples: Heena, Kum-Kum, Deepa & Ashok!! Yes Asok!!!, I believe Ashok is still an apprentice & hasn’t been allotted a call sign yet, I pray to God everyday that let it not be me, the new member, who has to suggest a call sign when he/she is ready, although I’ve already kept a couple of names ready just in case). I am of the belief that they are the comic relief, they are the ones on whom the nastiest of jokes are directed, all the frustration of traveling is directed, I cant help but feel sorry for them.

Finally as it is time for me to alight I find there is no way through to the door. With the habit of 1st Class I take my bag & hold it down in my hand & ask everyone to excuse me (which apparently no one understands). My colleague who is by now laughing at me asked me to hold my bag on top of my head (with one hand) & grip the nearest handlebar for the final shove. It was the most scariest part of the whole journey it was “ejection” rather than “alighting”. As the station neared there was this large shout of “Reay Road”, the battle cry had gone up & the assault would begin, I had to just hold my bag tight over my head & the mob was to do the rest, I held my breath as the “push came to shove” (learned the actual meaning of the term) & then next thing I realized I was outside the compartment & almost entering the station masters office, the shove was so strong I just stood as I was thrown out hard almost crossing the breadth of the platform before I could come to a stop.

To avoid this madness I even changed compartments, but ended up sitting in a “bhajan mandali” compartment (this is the compartment where a group passes time by singing bhajans) It is loud, irritating & the worst part is that even though they sing in Marathi I cannot understand a thing of it, not even to which god they are accusing for putting them in the “Harbour Local”.

(I promise more later, if I make it through this month.)