Rat Race the Indian Style(2)

filed in India, Travel on May.11, 2006

continue from Rat Race the Indian Style(1)

We wander to Churchgate station for the suburban rail lines. A first class ticket costs 50p, ten times more expensive than the second class. No need to queue at the box office though. The coach has no doors. A spacious landing area links both sides of the platform. Inside the coach, basic but efficient plastic seats are designed for massive transportation.

Only a handful passengers travel in first class. Look over second class coach, it only differentiated by two yellow strips painted on the coach. The interior settings are exactly the same as in first class. No many passengers are in second class either, maybe it is Saturday afternoon. We had heard some horrible stories of Mumbai suburban rail, and had been strongly advised against it. Now seemed it is much too ado about nothing.

Interestingly nobody seemed to care to check our tickets. Platforms are open-plan with no entrance or barrier. No ticket conductor on-board either. It seems whether to buy a ticket, or what ticket to buy is entirely relaint on the morality of the public.

Our initial judgement is that there will be many people dodge tickets – it is technically possible. Observe the platform, there are long but fast moving queues gathering around ticket booths. If you think it over, there are two possibilities. The first is that the suburban rail could be heavily subsidised by the government – tax payer fooing the bill, so rail operators don’t care about the revenue. The second is that the convenience and efficiency is back by a set of severe penalty rules and enforcements. The higher the penalties, the less likely people will take the risk. If dodging-ticket is encouraged, there will be more people avoiding tickets. And the rail service would, therefore, be unsustainable.

The nostalgic aura sets in with the setting sun. Sun ray streaks through the treetops into the coach. Jingye and Danni stand with one hand holding on to handrails, half of our body swing out of the coach. School kids are playing on the fields. A cricket test match is showing in the meadow of the Navy Club. A train comes to meet ours, runs alongside then thunders away, reminding an energetic, vibrant city.

Back from Dhobi ghat, we take the second class instead; yet near empty coaches. I can’t help but laugh inside that we are right not to take the advice from Lonely Planet forum-of ‘taking taxis throughout‘. It is nice to have a taxi for wherever you go, but a metal shell sets you away from local lives. It cuts at least 70% of the fun.

We have dinner at Colaba. Buy a prepaid mobile phone sim card and then go back to CST station to collect our rucksacks. We buy another set of suburban rail tickets to LTT station (actually Tilak Nagar station, about 100 meters distance). This time – of course – second class. After this we found the AC class passenger waiting room and took the most refreshing cold shower of our lives. With two huge backpacks, we blend into the ocean of people, moving quickly to the platform for LTT station. It is now 21:30, the train is to leave from LTT at 22:50. The window of time is steadily closing up.

Jingye double-checks train schedule with a young Mumbai gentleman who is also waiting for the train. He is in late 20s, dark colour long sleeved shirt neatly folded into a waist belt, black trousers, black shoes, a small artificial leather briefcase under his arm, he could be a white collar worker in those tower buildings with flashy neon lights. He could be working for the Natwest Bank’s India customer service centre. He could be the guy named ‘John’ who served my banking queries over phone a few days ago.

‘John’ carefully writes down our destination on the back of the ticket (in after thought this is in actually quite funny). Jingye asks him ‘How long it takes to Tilak Nagar?’ ‘About 30 minutes.’ He checks his watch, ‘I think you must take this one.’ It is 9:46 now.

A few minutes slip by. He walks over to us, quietly says ‘this service WILL be very busy, be careful.’ We think ‘Sure, everyone says that., but this is not our first time.’ ‘You should get off the train from the other side’, John adds.

We are yet to realise a stormy crisis is already set in.

‘It is Saturday today, some of you work half a day right?’ Jingye asks. ‘No, not really,’ a helpless smile floating upon his face ‘there is no Saturday in Mumbai. We all work a full day. Only Sunday is the weekend. Right now it is commuting peek hour.’ He pauses, ‘Everyone is rushing home’. We look around, indeed there are many people waiting at the platform. We didn’t notice probably because it is ALWAYS crowded here.

John notices our worrying, he points to Danni ‘she should take lady coach.’ ‘No thanks. I think we are better not to separate.’ Danni has a quick think ‘I could live with the crowding more than losing you on the first day.’

So this is the rat race Indian style. It is impossible to take the train after this and we don’t have enough time to buy first class tickets. Jingye dismisses the idea of boarding the lady coach with Danni, fearing the embarrassment, and the idea of being thought as a foreign pervert. In worst case scenario they may throw Jingye out of the train.

John twinkles and reassures us, ‘we will try to get some seats, at least one seat’.
At this moment, a disturbance approaches. The train is pulling into the platform, along with screaming, shouting, even in the massive background the noise is very distinct. Some impatient passengers are holding door-rails and running along with the slowing down train, jumping into coaches before the train comes to a stop, chaotic, like a sudden tornado wraps around the train. At that very moment the train comes to a completely stop, all the waiting people dash into coaches, in two seconds-must be less than that, for two seconds one still needs to count ‘one thousand, two thousand…’

With two huge rucksacks on our backs, we neatly block the doorway. So it isn’t too troublesome for us to get on the train. There are many people on board but it is not overly crowded – at least, it is still okay to turn a round. Only now we notice a few arriving passengers get off the coach. Jingye wonders ‘Does it have to be like this for a seat?’ John ‘occupied’ a seat and waves to us. Danni doesn’t make it, there are just too many people to squeeze pass. Some one gives up an aisle seat to her. A few other passengers remind Jingye again ‘Tilak is from the other side of the landing.’ Meaning take your chance and squeeze over.

More and more people force into the coach. The pressure from Jingye’s back is building up. After a few stops, his back, lower back, waist and butt are pasted to another trunk like a stamp (now he understood why a seat is worth the fight). Sweat soaks up the freshly changed T-shirt. Nobody is able to move. All packed into a tin box like square meat. Any movement from anyone immediately transfers to the other side of the landing passage. Although the air is dense with suffering, everyone is clam and quiet, bacause waiting ahead is home, wives, kids and the weekend. Maybe they just got used to it. At the next stop, more people join in. Jingye’s chest is crushed into the wall. He rudely, but forcefully pushes backwards. Immediately a screech of pain comes from the back.

Mumbai Suburban Rail
It says ‘Piccadilly Circus’ :-)

(Danni continues) Counting time and stops, we ponder our escape route. People are still flooding in at every stop. I have never been so terrified before, it just feels like mission impossible. Missing a stop couldn’t be easier, the train stops for 20 seconds regardless of whether people still boarding or getting off. It is just unthinkable if we miss the stop.

Apprehensive, Danni discusses the escape plan with Jingye yet cheers herself for the challenge of human walls. Only two stops to LTT, Danni tries to get up and put on the day bag – doesn’t even think about the possibility of putting on the rucksack. Jingye forces a space to put on the rucksack as a mean of breaking apart the crowd. Finally both stand by shoulder to shoulder. Feeling the growing pressure, we try and force our way through yet the human pies hardly move at all. We talk to the people around and finally swap a few places.

Suddenly someone shrieks. Jingye says he can’t move anymore – the guy hangs on to the door will be pushed off the train. In the darkness, we can feel fresh air flowing in. Train is steadily rolling forwarding careless of the tin meat she is carrying.

Eventually, the moment comes. Feeling the train slowing down, Jingye moves to the door step. Danni has her day pack in front of the chest, holding her breath, dragging her rucksack out the way with 120% strength. Suddenly, she feels there is an uninvited hand on her inner thigh. Though the coach is over crowded, one can still feel this unusual movement. Danni knock of the filthy hand firmly, stare at the dirty pervert angrily and keeps pressing on. The culprit keeps as if nothing happened.

The train is even slower, Jingye has half his body out to the air. He attempts to find the ground with his left foot, finding balanced position. He jumps off the landing. In the dimmed light, he immediately reaches back and pick up something from the still moving train. Encouraged by his success, Danni finally breaks out of the crowd and gets off the train. Only to find in the last few seconds another filthy hand tries to get on her. Still very unsettled, the train leaves us and continues her journey in to the deep darkness.

(Jingye remarks) I must get off the train in 10 seconds, and opens a passage for Danni. Lucky though, I found my strayed sandal before it is too late.

The anxiety eased though hearts are still pounding fast. 22:25, we have another 25 minutes – should be enough. Leaving Tilak station, we walk towards the lights of LTT station.

However, there is another hair-raising incident waiting for us.

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