The Localite… 

Walking down a little has taken the breath out of me. Patiently I wait for the Lady of the dreams. I have often called her so, as she is often characterized by making me wait for long durations, in daylight and in starry nights, with all those signals and lonely wooden chairs. Don’t get me wrong. I am not talking about my girlfriend. I am talking about my lifeline – or maybe everybody’s lifeline – The Inevitable Local i.e. the suburban train.

She comes out of the darkness, shimmering lights on the longing platform crowd. The usual cracking sound of the wheels screeching along the rails, and the gushing rush of the crowd to board and secure a place – to sit or stand whatever one aspires, or rather what destiny has in store for him/her. What I do, is simply start gazing out of the window, and what happens is thoughts start flowing in all directions…..

This 12 car/bogie train, wields diversity with it along the two railed path of its life. In the morning, when most of the commuters are drowsy due to sheer lack of a good night sleep; most probably the first local of the day; there is this old man with a wrinkled face, gazing silently at the deep withered lines on his palm. Then there is another, a serviceman travelling for the ‘paapi pet'(The sinful stomach). Then one gets to see those young children all packed with tiffin boxes and rucksacks for school. Also there is the youth like me travelling to colleges spread out in the city. Perhaps a study-engrossed damsel, some door-standing ‘chhapris’ (rowdies) and a lot more…

You may find a ‘weighted’ individual believing the local to be his legacied inheritance, and there is an irate fourth seater who is angry at the non-budging occupants of the seat. Then there are informants- people like me who shout about the following stations up ahead, just to ensure that people get up in time.

There are times when except for the rattling of the wheels, silence ensues for a little while until some salesman starts displaying his marketing skills.” Sabhi yatri yahan meri awaaj ki taraf dhyan de.”(All passengers please listen to my voice). You might have the chance to find young talents singing “Badi mastani hai, meri mehbooba”, with such grace as might shame an artist, coupled with the taal (beat) provided by just two pieces of cement tiles.  Falling ahead of them is the usual blind man which is sure to generate enough pity in the commuters’ minds to have a rupee or two of them; just enough to sustain life with.

You might surely see some old man, selling chocolates or lemon drops. He might not advertise his product, all he does is look at you with such pain in the eyes, that you will, hundred chances out of hundred have the feeling to somehow help him by buying at least a packet or two. Then there vendors selling “Safar ka timepass- Masala popcorn” with great pomp.

The real fun starts when a Ticket Checker squad enters the bogie in such unhurried countenance. They manage in catching red handed at least one to two rogues and other hapless commuters who have conveniently ‘missed’ purchasing a ticket. Some try to run away by juggling past the officer but alas! The team of TC’s never travel alone. They board in groups and catch in groups.

Then there is a concept called “My place”. A regular train commuter is well versed with this concept of sitting in the same place everyday in groups, securing places for fellow men and obstructing other passers-by exclusively. I tell you, this second class compartment is a broad gateway to conversations, arguments, discussions, and friendship in general. Time passes in a jiffy, and we get down at the destination as if it was just another cozy chat with friends in a garden.

There are also certain peculiarities while getting down from the train. People usually have the habit of vacating their seats for the next station in advance and queuing up in the gangway. Sometimes I wonder whether the etymology of the word has its roots somewhere in this crowd…! There also is an occasional lazy guy who has to be shaken to get up and reach down to the platform for his destination. There is great physics even in the act of unboarding the local. Just wait and watch, The crowd force gives velocity, display inertia with fellow commuters and disembark like a hare and stride along on the narrow foot over bridge like antelope.

The local trains is a great place to think. Sitting in the window and penning down some good poetry becomes the favourite pastime. The reasons are as such- Gently moving panorama of trees, blooming cosmos flowers, converging and diverging railway tracks, red yellow & green signals. At times that long haired young beauty boarding the general compartment, overjoyedness, her finding the way across the plethora of people and luggage, sitting beside you, at that moment you get to see her boyfriend’s hand. Sadness, you become once more very busy in your poetry. Still, watching whether that beauty is about to get down at the same stop as yours… What I love the feeling…

It happens sometime and particularly with me this has happened countless of times. Sitting on a fourth seat is pathetic, the lower part of the body is agonizing and as I offer the place to some elderly lady or gent, blessings sum up in their eyes. And just after a couple of stops, someone gets down and I get a window seat. Help helps!!! There is an occasional mother fighting that her child should get ample space to seat for the simple reason that she has paid for it. (The burden of proof lies on whom, don’t know).

There is also a usual anti railway campaign going on after a train delay or such similar event. People shout, abuse the authorities but again they cannot possibly leave their lifeline.

Now, when I am, with due effort, typing away this essay in my mobile, somehow adjusting to the ‘largely’ available space in the window seat, I hear far away somewhere, an aunty plainly advising her kid to go stand in the window near ‘Dada’ and at the same time a thought for maybe a fifth seat for the kid, is about to enter her mind. I am, as always showing deep interest in the mobile with sacred indifference to the twisted faces and abuses that already have been said in my ‘praise’….

I continue my commute along parallel tracks….