I love Mumbai..but...

If you know Mumbai, you know local...and if you are female, you know how nasty another female could be when she in that ‘Kewal mahilaye’ dabba. I remember running after a local when one of the four of us suddenly made her mind to catch the train (for dadar). Rest of her followed her excellence. I had a tough time trying to ‘load’ a not-so –light lady into the train. She had already succeeded in pushing her daughter and a woman inside, but fell herself on her knees. I was sincerely trying to get her up but she was not making enough effort except remembering Allah. You already know that she was not-so-light. The two people who were with her had already boarded the train and were also crying for help to Allah. I am not sure if Allah sent him for them but he came running, picked her legs, literally threw her inside the train and went off running. I took a sigh of relief only to hear her excellence telling me- hey we are in the wrong train.
When I came to Mumbai and went for the first local ride, i had to let go three trains before i made up my mind that come what may I am going by the third one.
I remember one of my trainers in i-flex quoting that if you could get on the first local, you are fit for Mumbai. And literally there are times when you are contesting to get your foot on the train with all others who are equally or more competent to get it. And believe the fight is only for a foot and a hand, nothing more, nothing less. If you get hold of that rod and put the first foot in, the second will find its way. :)Some women may try to use your hand or even your neck in place of the rod. You will anyway sort out the thing later. You will hear one of them telling you that she is capable of kicking you. There will be some women who will not even like you to touch them or press against them as if they will instantly get sandwiched. They are the most intolerant of the lot. And yet there will be some who will be smiling at you as if saying- that’s Mumbai...it’s ok...take it easy...it is not all that bad...
Today when I boarded a train from Dadar to Vile Parle, the compartment was crowded like anything. It had everything that could squeeze the life out of you. Of course I was breathing. And this woman with her little son had to get off at Vile Parle too. Let me tell you, if you have to get off at a station, you better plan it well in advance. So when Vile Parle was about the come, and we tried to get near the exit, the little kid was stuck between the ladies. He was crying like anything. His mother could hardly see. She was somehow not bothered about him weeping; she was rather focused to reach the exit. But meanwhile the kid was becoming invisible and more invisible. It was like a stampede for the little kid. I could see his face though. I told him not to weep and that he will have to become like superman to get off the train (I had this idea from some Hollywood/Bollywood movie I guess :D). I think he was convinced as he stopped crying. Then I told him that he should drink more milk to become like superman. And while I was giving him all this gyan I was further pushed. Then one of the ladies, who didn’t like my superman idea, may be, asked-‘Why don’t you pick up the kid?' I had to make it clear to her that see this is not my kid. ‘To kiska hai?’ she spoke in frustration.


Of course everybody eventually succeeded to get off. Only grouse is that the lady had no diffuculty in assuming that I had a kid!! :P