amchi local...

How often have you been nestled between sweat and arses? I don’t think an average guy undergoes this most innovative torture too many times. But if you ever happen to experience this more than twice in a single day I guess you wouldn’t exactly call yourself fortunate. I fell prey to this monstrosity thrice in a single day in arguably the most overly populated place in this world, the Mumbai local train. After the great wave of people got me on to the train with little effort of my own I wormed through the rubble of hope to get myself half an inch of space to sit. Luckily I did find some place on the last berth and quickly plonked myself on it; needless to mention the hanging portion of my body in the air.

There is a tacit understanding amongst the travelers of local train in Mumbai. Irrespective of the fact that the seat that is made to host just three average sized arses you must attempt to make space for every extra feature that comes along requesting. So every time someone came close to the seat with a glimmer of hope in his eye and the swift requesting movement of the hand to make some space for him to sit, all of us on the seat would try to push the last man sitting next to the window out of the train with collective and well coordinated force. After attempting this gang murder for a few seconds at every new request and realizing much to the chagrin of the hopeful Charlie that the task is beyond the cumulative bench strength, we would simply turn to him and nod our faces in a left-right movement communicating our failure. Disappointed, the gentleman would merely hold fort of the 2 square inches of space that he had managed to win and was standing on. The space that each man occupies in the train comes under constant challenge by the new comers who try to snatch some of it every time the train comes to a halt at stations. This battle of travel space reminded me of a statement that I had read somewhere- “all of us are at war all the time”. “How true”; I softly told myself.

So, sitting on the berth I was bending forward and looking down for a while, facing the floor of the train. I don’t remember what caused me to look up but whatever it was had to be coming from the devil’s den. I looked up to brush the tip of my nose against a gentleman’s arse. His arse was at kissing distance from my face and he could well be saying in his mind; “Kiss my arse!” I carefully turned to my left hoping to get a better sight when I realized I was successfully ambushed by posteriors. I felt like a prisoner of war caught in foul space and I strangely thought of the term callipygian. Now don’t ask me why. Ok, I agree I had read Norman Lewis’s Word power made Easy. But that was long time back. Four years if I am not mistaken.

Anyway, my face only had a cubicle like space to breathe in. I commanded my olfactory nerves to retire for the day; at least for the moment, to prevent a casualty in case either of the gentlemen decided to let go. A thick film of sweat took birth on my forehead and a stream had already begun to slowly flow in a straight line formation on my back. I was feeling miserable in my new found confine waiting for a divine rescue when suddenly the train stopped and my prayers were answered. Dadar station is where the biggest exchange of travelers happens. It was my destination too and I was happy to get out of the train to lose myself in the swarm.