Every weekend I board the (in)famous Mumbai local train to get to my class all the way in South Mumbai from the suburbs. Having stayed away for about 5 years, I thought getting used to the local train again would be as painful as it is for any newbie trying it out. Turns out, I was happily mistaken. Yes the crowds are much larger and there is no real difference between peak and non peak hours. On my first ride (after 2 years easy), I did have to look around a bit to figure where the bunch of women were waiting - indicating that's where the ladies compartment of the train stops. As the train approaches, the tension increases. People are still hanging by the footboard and travelling. The crowd on the platform surges forward, pulling me along with them. I sway with this wave of women, dragging my bag with me to enter that 2nd class compartment. I am in .. Safe ... and what do you know, my bag is entangled on the doorway pole. A 5 second struggle follows, with the women standing around and thoroughly amused. Needless to add, noone helps.
One of the ironies I have always wondered about is the joy of standing on footboard when there is space to stand inside the compartment and sometimes a place to sit. I quietly settle at the corner of a regular train bench already occupied by 3 women. I get no dirty looks; its normal - with no regard to the size of the women, their bags or the bench there's always room for a fourth (or ninth in case of the longer bench). I pull out my iPod and plug my ears with the sounds of Pitbull; I assume it will let my mind drift and not bother about what is happening around me. Sadly mistaken !!! The volume of my iPod cannot overpower the sound of 4 women chatting around me. The topic on the floor was the great woes of the household with special focus on the saasuma (aka Saasuji, Saans & mother in law). As my music is drowned by stories of how one women is tired of only making aloo sabji coz that's what the saasumaa wants everyday, the other interjects and dismisses the story as regular..."that's nothing to complain about... meri saans toh daayan hai"; As the story telling session begins, out comes a pack of fruits and a knife - a snack is needed. We go past Bandra station n I am a silent listener, intrigued by the story of the daayan mother in law; the one who is feeding her grand child chocolates after every meal, making it a bad habit for the child, who pretends to fall sick every third day and blames it on the daughter in law's (aka our narrator's) cooking . I get to know how the husband prefers coming home late rather than being party to these arguments in the house. By this time, the arguments take a different course. This is the time the saans and bahu of the reel life (read TV soaps) take center stage in our narrator's home. The arguments turn to defending the behaviours of their on screen counterparts ".. aaj kal ki bahu; koi izzat nahi hai"... The other women in the group nod and agree with their friend - it seems the scene is the same in every household. Their admiration of the TV soaps depicting their real life story is evident and definitely amusing.
It is now about 30 minutes later and I can see the train pulling into Churchgate. The remaining fruit is packed up along with the knife and put away in the bag. The women adjust their sarees and pick up their belongings. As the train stops, they disperse, probably meeting next on their way back home. As for me, I zigzag between the crowd and rush to class; awaiting my ride back and all the stories that come with it.
One of the ironies I have always wondered about is the joy of standing on footboard when there is space to stand inside the compartment and sometimes a place to sit. I quietly settle at the corner of a regular train bench already occupied by 3 women. I get no dirty looks; its normal - with no regard to the size of the women, their bags or the bench there's always room for a fourth (or ninth in case of the longer bench). I pull out my iPod and plug my ears with the sounds of Pitbull; I assume it will let my mind drift and not bother about what is happening around me. Sadly mistaken !!! The volume of my iPod cannot overpower the sound of 4 women chatting around me. The topic on the floor was the great woes of the household with special focus on the saasuma (aka Saasuji, Saans & mother in law). As my music is drowned by stories of how one women is tired of only making aloo sabji coz that's what the saasumaa wants everyday, the other interjects and dismisses the story as regular..."that's nothing to complain about... meri saans toh daayan hai"; As the story telling session begins, out comes a pack of fruits and a knife - a snack is needed. We go past Bandra station n I am a silent listener, intrigued by the story of the daayan mother in law; the one who is feeding her grand child chocolates after every meal, making it a bad habit for the child, who pretends to fall sick every third day and blames it on the daughter in law's (aka our narrator's) cooking . I get to know how the husband prefers coming home late rather than being party to these arguments in the house. By this time, the arguments take a different course. This is the time the saans and bahu of the reel life (read TV soaps) take center stage in our narrator's home. The arguments turn to defending the behaviours of their on screen counterparts ".. aaj kal ki bahu; koi izzat nahi hai"... The other women in the group nod and agree with their friend - it seems the scene is the same in every household. Their admiration of the TV soaps depicting their real life story is evident and definitely amusing.
It is now about 30 minutes later and I can see the train pulling into Churchgate. The remaining fruit is packed up along with the knife and put away in the bag. The women adjust their sarees and pick up their belongings. As the train stops, they disperse, probably meeting next on their way back home. As for me, I zigzag between the crowd and rush to class; awaiting my ride back and all the stories that come with it.
