Culture >> Browse Articles >> Lifestyle
The Art and Science of Commuting on Mumbai Locals
Featured Author:
Saravana Pat Bhava
Saravana, an ex-Naval Aviator and deep sea diver is a man of varied interests. After his premature retirement from the Indian Navy, instead of taking up a cushy commercial pilot’s job, he opted to get entrepreneurial and started an Indian quick serve chain, which is at its humble beginnings now. He finished his schooling from RIMC Dehradun and graduated from National Defense Academy Pune. He is a keen sportsman having excelled in boxing , swimming and also competed in various National and International sailing regattas. He also happens to be an occasional writer and has some of his works published. By virtue of him having had the privilege to serve in the Army, Navy, Airforce and the CoastGuard, he has lived in almost all parts of India and is also well traveled in most of Europe, Africa and America. He now lives in Tampa Fl with wife Chitra and his 4 year old daughter Shrisha.
January 31, 2008
Ever since I had landed in Mumbai, it had been raining without respite, adding to the already uneasy feeling rising inside me. The musty smell of rain coupled with the smell of cheap cigarettes hanging in the air at the motel was driving me crazy. I couldn’t get any sleep nor could I wait there any longer.
As the rain eased up to a drizzle, I dressed quickly, modestly, without turning on the lights. As instructed I made an effort to blend in the crowd, wearing my well worn jeans and a faded brown t-shirt. I pulled up a somber trench coat to keep the rain and chill out. Picking up my briefcase, I rechecked the directions written on a piece of paper for one last time and left for the railway station on foot. It was still dark and the streets were deserted and wet. I walked fast through the slushy streets. Dodging a bunch of cows squatting on the side walks, I felt a little uneasy.
- Join a discussion: Why Do You Love Mumbai?
- Want to switch careers? Find a degree program here.
- Need money for school? Find a scholarship here.
The railway station was already bustling with activity considering the unearthly hour. I checked my watch, the 5.32 Fast Local was due in six minutes.
My mind was constantly going over the plan and my part in it. For the first time since I left the Motel, I glanced around casually studying the people around me. Couple of fisherwomen sat nearby on the floor, huddled, with their bundled fish baskets, boisterously arguing. The stalls in the platform were still closed except for one chai shop belching out bile churning aroma of freshly brewed tea and batatavada. Swarms of people around the stall were munching hot fried batatavadas and slurping their chais. The shopkeeper’s little boy was walking around the platform trying to entice the fence sitters like me with his steaming six pack of chai dangling from this fingers. I resisted the temptation and focused on the job at hand. Six minutes seemed like eternity. There was some thing strange about the man standing at the edge of the platform, tall, stocky build and pock marked. He was oblivious to the rain drenching him, intently focused along the direction of the train’s arrival. He was carrying a huge parcel in one hand. By the look of his veins bursting from his forearms, the package was heavy and he had been carrying it for a long time. He turned around and stared at me directly. I stirred within, taking care not to show it. My fingers tightened around my briefcase and looked the other way checking my watch. I told my self ‘in 90 minutes every thing would be over – at least for a while’.
Just then the lifeline of the city came into view screeching against the cold steel rails. Packed, but not to the brim. As the train was slowing down, I leapt into the fifth compartment as I was told. I worked my way up the aisle and stood between two rows of jam packed seats. I then carefully lowered my briefcase and rested it firmly between my legs, all the while scanning the multitude of humanity around me.
Eight minutes passed by but nothing happened. Every body seemed to be in a trance swaying rhythmically to every movement of the locomotive. My throat was already beginning to dry up and blood drained from my out stretched arm holding the rail above. As the train slowed for the next station, my scan around me increased vigorously. A young man in his twenties sitting to my right straightened up and showed renewed interest in the humanity around him. His eyes rested on my brief case and then looked up at me, and reached for his back pack. My heart beats grew loud enough for every one to hear it above the screeching sound of the brakes. I picked up my briefcase and readied myself for the exchange. Beads of sweat trickled down my temples despite the chill outside. As the train jolted to a halt, the man pulled out a magazine from his back pack and started flipping through it. I breathed a sigh of relief and commended myself for not acting prematurely. The feel of the briefcase between my legs was comforting. Breaking away from my chain of thoughts, I glanced at my watch and realized that 56 minutes had passed. Fatigue was setting in and my arms were growing numb. I was determined not to let my guard down till the last moment. Twelve more minutes passed and I was still waiting, watching, and searching. Just then the same old hefty pockmarked lard ass started fidgeting with his parcel, reaching inside. My head started racing and I thought ‘could it be him?’ I looked my watch, 7 minutes to go. Our eyes met and in that one look I was sure, cursing myself for not realizing it before. I bent forward and gripped my briefcase with my numb and sweaty palms and stepped across as casually as my composure would permit. I was already at a point of no return as I was already committed in my maneuver for the exchange. Fatigue and anxiety was getting the better of me.
Just then ‘my man’ got up with his parcel in his hand. Due to the early start I had no one was in a better position for the exchange but me. Just as he moved out, I eased myself down on his warm, spacious seat with a sense of achievement, unparalleled. As my muscles relaxed and blood flow resumed its normal path, I looked at my watch and said to my self ‘six minutes to destination- that is better than yesterday’s four’. Given the fact that I was posted to Mumbai just a week ago, I was quickly moving up the learning curve. As I recuperated in sheer ecstasy of seated comfort for the next six minutes, I continued to wonder “Is traveling by Mumbai local an art or science.”
Pat is IndiaOn’s Entrepreneur of the Month. Read his story here
