Although shielded
from direct impact by the majestic Albizia saman trees lining the
street, an umbrella couldn’t prevent her from being thoroughly drenched. It
didn’t help that she had an enormous suitcase to take care of and the winds
just made matters worse. The rain had bombarded the city ceaselessly since it
had begun four hours ago and as was apparent from the intensity of light
reaching the surface of Caesar Road, it would continue to do so for the for the
next few hours- a period which was of immense importance to her. It was 10:45
am and she had exactly 55 minutes to reach the train terminus and board the
northward-bound express.
Despite the distance
being less than 7 kilometres, leaving from Amboli for Bandra Terminus just 75
minutes before the train’s scheduled departure time, even on a bright, sunny
day in May, is a significant risk, given the city’s unpredictable traffic-
unless, of course, you can manage to manoeuvre yourself and your luggage in
(and out of) an impossibly crowded commuter train compartment. On a rainy day
in July – a time of the year when half of the city’s roads simply disappear –
it is nothing short of suicide. Rains can make your travel plans go haywire in
‘n’ different ways. Water-logging can cause traffic-jams, grind some suburban
sections to a complete halt. And for some reason (which I have never been able
to understand), heavy rains always make it impossibly hard to find vacant auto-rickshaws.
Having stood on
the street, in a rather unforgiving spell of rain, for nearly 20 minutes,
without encountering a single vacant auto-rickshaw, she was already repenting
not heeding her mother’s desperate urges to leave early.
‘Wouldn’t the
train be delayed as well?’ It was a reassuring
possibility. But with a sinking feeling she realised that many trains from
Bandra Terminus would be running, at least till Borivali, on the eastern-most
track, which is dedicated for long-distance trains and therefore, immune from
any delays on the Western suburban line. Delays on the Western Line, where
instances of water-logging are rare, are never quite as severe as the woes of
its ‘Central’ counterpart, a line that runs through some of the city’s worst
affected areas during rains.
At ten past
eleven, after what seemed like an eternity, a BEST bus turned left (as the
Caesar Road, initially running west to east, takes a southward turn towards JP
Road), to reveal a single headlamp, gliding very low on the road, trailed by a
black and yellow, doorless vehicle- which made her heart miss a beat. As the
auto neared, it appeared (you can never be certain, as the possibility of a
small individual camouflaged right in the corner of the passenger-seat cannot
be discounted) to be empty. The autowallah miraculously managed to hear her
scream (“Autooo!”), amid the rain and the traffic and steered his vehicle to
the edge of the pavement.
“Bandra Terminus?”
she asked, her fingers crossed. The autowalla’s reaction couldn’t have been
more annoying. He barely exercised either his vocal chords or any of his facial
muscles before speeding away in the rain.
Dismayed, she
kicked a small stream of water flowing on the road, grabbed her suitcase and
started walking, the umbrella (now folded) tucked under her arm. She reasoned,
her only hope of boarding the train was to walk till the junction where Caesar Road
meets SV Road, hope to quickly find a vacant auto (and a cooperative autowalla)
and also hope that the train would depart at least 10 minutes late.
She was about to
step onto the kerb on the other side of the road, when a cry of pain made her
turn around. A man was rubbing his right big toe, which was exposed in his
sandals. The sharp leg of her suitcase which had been trailing behind her had,
clearly, caught him.
“I’m really,
really sorry! Are you hurt?” she exclaimed.
The man, who was
wearing a funny, yellow poncho, put on a strained smile and said, “I’m fine, I’m
fine. It’s alright.”
And then they
parted ways. She made her way towards St. Blaise Church, as fast as she could. The
man in the bright, yellow poncho was quickly forgotten.
While she had been
walking furiously, the man in the bright, yellow poncho had crossed the street,
exhibiting extreme recklessness in his short journey to the other side of the
street (prompting three different men to scream out some very precious words in
three different languages). He looked to his right and waved his arm. Within seconds,
an empty auto stopped near him. He got in and the vehicle pulled away from the
kerb.
It was 11:25 by
the time she walked past the church and crossed SV Road. Tired, cold and
frustrated, she found herself hoping for a miracle. The rain had eased a
little. Traffic appeared to be reasonably smooth, at least on the southward bound
lane. She felt her prayers were answered when an auto drifted near her and a
middle-aged couple got out. Without waiting for the woman to finish settling
their fare, she got into the auto and announced her destination (“Bandra Terminus!”).
She received no response from the autowalla for the next minute or so, while
the woman (whose husband was holding a United Colors of Benetton carrybag)
demanded that the autowalla return her change- a sum of Rs. 3/-. The autowalla,
quite irritated, gave her a 10 rupee note instead. He shook his head as the
woman walked away and said, “Did you say Bandra Terminus?” It was 11:29 am.
They travelled
with surprising swiftness and she found herself praising the municipal authorities
for having done a reasonably good job at maintaining the roads. She was
relieved to find the perennially crowded section of the road near Andheri
Railway Station to be relatively traffic-free. They took the Andheri Flyover to
cross over to the eastern side of the railway line. A short wait at a
traffic-signal (the 30 seconds at that junction felt like an hour), followed by
a smooth ride on the Western Express Highway and an amazingly quick transit
through the densely populated neighbourhood of Bandra (East) brought her to one
of Bombay’s four main railway termini.
She handed the
autowalla a 100 rupee note and without waiting for him to return the change hauled
her suitcase out and started running towards the ugly white-washed building. She
sprinted (rather awkwardly) past the ticket-booking windows, past the
cafeteria, into a corridor that led to the platforms. Halfway towards the
pedestrian subway, she realised she had absolutely no clue which of the six
platforms the train was departing from. She doubled back to the main hall,
narrowly avoiding knocking down an old man and dropping her umbrella in the
process. Her eyes desperately searched for an electronic display board. She lost
twenty-five more precious seconds before locating one, half obscured by a
meshwork of cables and wires. Paschim Express was on Platform 3.
She dashed back
towards the subway, oblivious to the curses directed towards her. Thankfully,
the subway had sloping ramps in place of stairs. She threw herself down the
slope and nearly lost control of her suitcase. Within seconds she was at the
bottom of the slope, terribly out of breath. But there was no time to rest. The
signboards for Platform 1 and 2 passed her in a blur, as she adjusted her course
onto the ramp leading to Platforms 3 and 4. Dragging the suitcase up the slope
took much longer. She glanced at her watch as she finally reached the top. It
was 11:52.
It took her a few
moments to fully comprehend the information collected by her eyes. A train was
motionless on Platform 4. Its name-plates suggested it was Vivek Express and
judging from the mood of the people around it, the train seemed to have just
concluded its 40 hour journey from Jammu. Platform 3 appeared empty. But near
the northern end of the platform, a yellow ‘X’, next to a red, blinking light,
was just disappearing behind a bend.
Inside the WAP-5 locomotive of Paschim Express the two Locopilots (they are never ‘engine-drivers’!) were having a conversation.
“It
was close. You risked your job, you know.” – Man 1
“I
know, I know. They might still suspend me!” – Man 2
“They
asked Patel to cover for you and he wasn’t pleased” – Man 1
“Of
course, he wasn’t! But he shouldn’t worry, now that I am here.” – Man 2
“I
think you must have set some sort of a record today!” – Man 1
“Possible!
But what matters is that I reached sixty seconds before the scheduled
departure time. Technically, I wasn’t late. And the trains are late today, anyway.” – Man 2
And
then he removed his bright, yellow poncho, hung it on a hook and went back to
his seat as the train eased into its first scheduled halt at Platform number 8
of Andheri Railway Station.
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