Why I flirt with death every day?

A photojournalist friend who works with another city broadsheet meets me either on social networking sites or on railway tracks. Exchanging pleasantries between the Nizamuddin-bound Garib Rath and a Churchgate-bound fast local is not exactly polite or pleasant but, what with our clashing schedules, it’s impossible to meet her otherwise.

The net is understandable but why the tracks? Well, both of us, residents of Jogeshwari, are jaywalkers. We’ve heard the terribly composed jingle cautioning us against crossing the rail ki patri and others drawing our attention to the existence of two foot over-bridges (FOBs) at the north and south ends of the station.

The northern bridge, which connects a slum colony in the east with the market in the west, does not connect either to a bus stop or an autorickshaw stand. Using it will mean negotiating slums, fish mongers, piles of garbage, long queues outside public lavatories, bovines ruminating beatifically, and men in various stages of undress lolling back on charpoys, on the way to the Western Express Highway that is a good 2.5km away. The area is peaceful by night, except for the gangs of ferociously territorial mongrels that are on the prowl and want a bite out of anything that moves.

As for the southern one, the wise guys who designed this FOB were surely aiming for nothing less than an international design award for cultivating patience. With six levels, five turns, an equal number of differently-sized stair flights and no indicator, this stupid bridge should be the model for an obstacle course.

One can be reasonably sure that none of the 90,000-plus daily commuters looks for an adventure trail on the way to work. He or she simply flirts with death and crosses the tracks.

I have often wondered why I put myself at risk as I stand with other commuters with my back to the wall and my nose barely two inches from the footboard of a moving local train speeding to platform 1. I admonish myself, but the next day, when I’m late again, I try to outrun speeding trains coming at me from opposite directions, hoping the X and Y coordinates continue to mismatch.

One look at the neon board proclaiming the station’s name is enough to suggest how much care and empathy is on the mind of rail authorities. In a font as large as me, it misspells: JOGESHARI.

The railway staff at the station says the civic body will not move hawkers or illegal stalls to create space for the bridge to be re-designed. The BMC ward office says it has to be careful as it’s a sensitive area. And the local corporators laugh it off as a non-issue. So until better sense prevails and this becomes an issue, pray for me.