It was December 1994 and my first trip to Bombay (was yet to be rechristened as Mumbai). I was there for two whole months on an official training. Coming from Nagpur, a regional town that seemed like a big village back then, Mumbai was radically different. Every moment was a source of amazement and revelation. Armed with only a pocket-calendar-sized card giving all three Train routes/ lines as my guide, I explored the city by travelling on local trains. Never before had I see such stark class differences co-existing side by side. Neither had I witnessed before such a strong will to live and survive, whatever the circumstances. It was an exciting time and I had several memorable experiences. It was like a big canvas portraying different expressions like ........ poverty, grit, obscene wealth, beauty, art, pain, joy, greed, contentment, will to liberation, struggle, re-creation ..... all at the same time. Mumbai was like getting a crash course on Life and Living. I was moved by these experiences and tried to capture some of them by writing it down. These two pieces were written one evening after I returned from another such exploration.
(written on 23/12/1994)
Dadar Overbridge
I Pushed my way through the crowded station over-bridge. It was lined with people on both sides. Standing by the smoking dark iron parapet, they were craning their necks for a glimpse of the train that was still at a considerable distance. In the middle were the Milling hordes trying to rush down the stairway to the platform below.
The concrete staircase was chipped at the edges revealing the black wrought iron framework inside. It had become shiny smooth due to the countless pairs of feet walking upon it. The walls of the over bridge were plastered with handbills and Posters selling every conceivable thing from New Year Parties to new improved sex life; in between was a small poster announcing a reward for information about a teenage boy missing from home. The gaps between the posters showed the background wall that Looked lustreless and patchy with reddish brown blotches of kharra and paan spit showered by the unconcerned masses.
I was relentlessly pushed forward by the surging crowd behind me. I looked down to catch sight of a ‘fast’ local thundering past with hooters blaring and people hurriedly jumping across the tracks, shortcutting to the platform on the other side. There was a shout and I turned to see a man in a striped tie and spectacles jump on to the platform in the nick of time. If he had been just a second late, the train would have hit him. I got perturbed. The people on the platform were unruffled. They gave the scene a mere glance and went their way calmly. He too walked away without a backward glance.
I marvelled at the casual manner in which these people took such risks and banged into somebody or rather something. It was a basketful of chikoos that the fruit vendor was hawking. She looked up from her customer to glare at me angrily. I hastily apologised and without giving a chance to utter a word, pushed my way swiftly through the milling horde that jostled, pushed and rushed past, all wrapped up in worlds of their own.
I Passed on lost in thought, both admiring and despairing the lives of the people in this city, who seemed to have no time or thought for anyone, not even their own self. How do they become so Uncaring and aloof, I wondered?
Railway Platform
Through the milling crowd
I passed on
Lost in thought.
All at once, I felt a tug
Looking down, I saw
A little girl, with matted hair,
In tattered rags and no footwear;
With wistful eyes and outstretched arms
She implored every passerby.
I pressed a coin into her hands
And walked on ….
Unseeing, uncaring, ignoring;
But her eyes held me,
Vacant and reproachful,
Frightened yet defiant.
They seemed to say
Perceive me, tell me
Am I not human?
****
This post first appeared on It's Hard To Lose Something You Never Had, please read the originial post: here
