WATCHING THE TRAINS GO BY
One moment, it's just another lazy, hazy afternoon of a Bombay summer. And
then Gracie tugs at my sleeve. Dutifully, I step off the tracks. Four seconds
later the train's upon us, out of nowhere, like a sudden monsoon downpour.
Quite literally, come ...and then gone in a flash.
Two tracks, up and down. The Harbor Line comes out from the city on the inland
coast, takes a sharp turn right, passes here in Govindi just inside the official
city limits, and then crosses Thane Creek headed for Madras and the South.
You know when you're in a train, nearing the end of a long journey, and you
start to pass built-up areas. Huts, houses, cars, bicyclists and pedestrians
waiting at level crossings, then the backs of brick factories, all the windows
broken and blackened.
You gaze out of the window and think "Soon be there." Do you ever
think what it must be like to live next to the railway line? To have railway
tracks as your backyard? Day in, day out?
Well, for this one afternoon, the railway is my backyard. I'm happily ensconced
on a chair next to a tiny well of clear blue drinking water.
And inside the little well, swimming happily round and round, is a turtle.
I don't know why he's there. I don't know if he's a plain and simple animal,
for eating. Or if he's really a god to bring good luck to the families that
live in the huts and shacks that are smack bang up against these railway tracks?
Bombay would strangle itself if it didn't have its railways. They're the spines
that link the mainland and the distant suburbs to downtown, twenty miles away.
They're all electrified. A train every two minutes, to Churchgate or VT. And
they're packed. Every single train, every hour of the day. Standing room only.
That's why I don't take them because equipment just gets wrenched out of your
hands and off your back.
The local commuter lines have Ladies Only carriages. Supposed to protect women
from Bottom-pinchers, or Eve-Teasers as they're called in India. But they're
no better. My wife says she almost suffocated when she travelled in an all-female
carriage.
When I was a kid back in England, my father used to take me down to the village
railway station on Sunday afternoons in summer. We'd sit on the platform,
soaking in the rays, waiting for the train to pass. We'd note down the number,
the type, the bogies. My father was a train spotter, and proud of it.
Trains were steam in those days. You can still find steam trains here in India,
especially in the North, on branch lines. But like everything else, they're
going fast. Electric here. Diesel in the rest of the country.
Above our heads, a 747 makes a leisurely descent towards the city.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we will shortly be landing at Bombay - Santa Cruz
Airport. Please fasten your seat belts and extinguish all smoking materials."
My father would have liked spotting trains here in Govindi. It's warm, not
too hot. Peaceful, pastorale. I keep on thinking this reminds me somehow of
some fishing village on the Mediterranean.
Some of the kids use the railroad ties as imaginary hurdles - in an imaginary
Olympics.
And ever-constant, ever-there, the soundtrack of fat, black crows - and Hindi
film music somewhere the other side of the tracks.
Seven million people a day use Indian railways. Seven million! For most of
them, it must just be for work. Some will be heading back to the heart of
the country, to Nasik and Shollapur and villages a half day or more by bus
and bicycle from the nearest town.
And how many will be nearing the end of journeys that started in those same
dusty towns days, even weeks ago, with just a few Rupees in the folds of their
saris and some stale chappatis and vegetables in a little tiffin to keep them
clean and warm?
How many Sakinas and Sagiras and Lakshmis coming to start a new life on the
pavements of Byculla? Faces pressed against the window, looking at these signs
of the rapidly-approaching city? Wondering if they've done the right thing?
A mixture of expectation and fear? And a gnawing hunger between their ribs.
How many Balis and Kuldips stowed away in the toilets to escape the ticket
inspector? Running away from home? Headed for the bright lights of Mumbai,
the City of Gold, the city of Dreams?
I'll make a bet with you that's Asha Bhosle and Kishore Kumar on the radio.
Two of the most famous of all playback singers. No Indian soundscape would
be complete without them, and the crows.
Time to brew some chai, time to gossip, time to relax. Still a few more hours
before Sulakshana will have to start the evening meal for her husband Parab.
I had a date to meet Parab this afternoon. But the Muncipal Workers are on
a one-day strike. So Parab took the train in to the city to take part in the
demonstration.
Another 747 glides in over the Western Ghats.
Oh, by the way, this place that I find so idyllic today is also where Parab
lives. Ten feet away from the railway line.
Essay
Episodes 1 - 4
Episodes 5 - 8
Episodes 9 - 12
Episodes 13 - 16
Episodes 17 - 20
Episodes 21 - 24
Episodes 25 - 28
Episodes 29 - 32
Episodes 33 - 35
Main
Episode List
Cast of Characters
Credits
MP 3
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