Brian Mendonça
This Ganesh holidays we were in Mumbai and did a lot
of travelling on the Mumbai local train.
Admittedly in the not so recent past I was terrified
of travelling on it, lately it has become second nature to me. Steered
purposefully by Queenie, a denizen of Mumbai, our little son has also got into
the act and nimbly steps on and off the Mumbai local without a care.
We mostly used the Harbour line, transiting mainly
from Kharghar in Navi Mumbai to Kurla, a distance of about 35 minutes. The trains used to start at Panvel, a couple
of stations away and come down to the spacious, clean and uncluttered Kharghar
station where we used to hop on for the ride to town.
In almost all the instances we boarded the train
young lads got up and offered a seat to Dwayne or to Queenie. I began to
actually rely on their goodwill and used to tell myself, ‘Just get into the
train and we’ll be alright.’
As we were swept into the train (or swept out!) we
learnt to manoeuvre ourselves between
the seating areas in the train and place our bags – each of us carried one – on
the luggage racks above. This left our hands free to hold on to the handrails
and clasps for support and balance.
Once, after a weary day, I placed my black haversack
– everyone carries haversacks on the Mumbai local trains, some of them carried
in front of them rather than behind – on
the luggage rack above, along with our other bags. Next to it was another black
haversack to which I paid no heed.
As Mankhurd station approached I watched one man
gather his things from the luggage rack. I looked at our bags and noticed
something amiss. My black haversack had suddenly sported yellow lettering on
it. I panicked. The bag was not mine. A person had taken my bag by mistake –
and he was about to get off!
I began to shout in the train asking anyone with a
black bag to check his bag for it was the wrong one. No one paid much attention
to me. Then Queenie got up and shouted and people started listening. There was
a murmur from the crowd primed to disembark and lo and behold I saw my own bag
being passed on by helpful hands from the exit towards me. I swiftly passed on
the black bag with the yellow lettering and within seconds the train stopped.
I have a penchant for the Harbour line, having done
my schooling in Bombay. A dear aunt of
mine used to stay at Wadala. I wrote a poem titled ‘Harbour Line’ in 2001: Harbour
line you make your way . . . / I grew up with you from boy to man . . . For
me travelling once more on the Harbour line – this time from Navi Mumbai -- was
like coming home and reclaiming my past.
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Published in Gomantak Times Weekender, St. Inez, Goa on Sunday 4 October 2015. Pix source: zeenews.india(dot)com
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