Foreign affairs aboard a local

A majority of you must have seen the VIP luggage ad, in which a foreigner is pushed, pulled, jostled (surely touched and felt-up too) when he makes the mistake of entering one of our local trains during the peak hours.

When Mumbaikars themselves get pushed, pulled, jostled and molested, a Londoner used to travelling in the tube, with zero knowledge of our trains, surely needs practice and perhaps a Mumbaikar in tow.

But that’s exactly what a friend of mine tried to do.

During peak hours, our local train looks like a dead cockroach, which has an infinite number of ants crowding on it, trying to secure some bit of space. The number of people dangling outside would be a small yet substantial figure in itself. Not to mention the ones sitting on the roof.

Despite explaining all this to my friend, he insisted on travelling in them. And for some weird reason he simply had to visit Gateway of India in the morning on his very first day in the city. I didn’t want to get up early but didn’t want to seem rude either. So I offered to take him. But no matter how much I tried to convince him that it was better if I accompanied him, he refused to let me. I later found out that another Mumbai friend who shuttled between London and Mumbai (yeah, she is filthy rich!) had bet him to do this.

The winner was to pay for the tickets and a backstage pass to a Coldplay concert that was to happen in London in some time.

This is how my poor ignorant friend’s morning began…
8.00am: Boy, it’s hot! Man! Look at the crowd! I guess I’ll take the next one.

8.30am: (After letting about seven to eight trains go) Right, I just have to now. I can do it… it’s no big deal… I am strong enough…

8.35am: (Plunging himself headfirst into the sea of people) Woah! Hey, what are you doing? Don’t push. (*It was the pushing that helped him get on.)

8:36 am: Once inside, he was not a master of his own movements. He moved when somebody else did. When he tried to open his mouth to speak, a fat, sweaty arm plonked itself in front of it. With one hand up, the other down and head twisted in a weird direction, he survived standing in that more than constipated posture, surrounded by sweat, farts and burps.

9.00am: Finally, deciding that it would be impossible for him to continue this way till Churchgate, he managed to tumble out at Dadar station (with external force from behind, of course). He hailed a cab with a hope of reaching his destination in peace. Alas!

9:05 am: Outside Dadar station.

9:10 am: A few inches ahead

9:15 am: Few more inches.

9:40 am: Siddhivinayak

9:45 am: A little ahead

9:50 am: Little more

And the journey went on…

He never told me at what time he managed to reach his destination, if at all. He had already lost the bet (and face) for getting down at Dadar instead of Churchgate.