"Chill out yaar! Pass hai!" - Darius Mistry

Greetings to all,

Yes it has been a long time since I have posted anything. I've just been feeling too lazy and I decided to take a little sabbatical from blogging and to kick back and read others' posts for a bit. Right, down to business. I do have a lot of experience, epiphanies and discoveries that I probably need to catch up with. One of these would of course have to include the college Annual Day, or as it was popularly entitled OLE 2005. There shall be a completely new post dedicated to that particular night of...celebration.
But before we get to that, gather around children, and read on about what happened on that morning on my way to college, for Sudhakar's 9 am lecture, the last one before the vacations.

Right, so I got up at around a quarter to 7, got out of bed, brushed my teeth, and after a quick fire breakfast of jam and toast with some tea, I headed for a shower. When I got out though I found that I was running a little late to leave so I hurriedly got dressed and decided to hop on a train from Vashi station instead. I thought I'd get an empty one too, since there was a train that was due to start from there in fifteen minutes.
I caught a rick to the station, handed the fellow a little over ten bucks (it's highway robbery in New Bombay) and got onto the platform just as the train was pulling away. I just managed to jump onto it as it caught a little more speed. So there I was, over the Vashi bridge, balancing precariously, one foot in the train, locked into that pole in the centre, and the other dangling out, with one hand holding onto the pole and other to my notebook (it was wise on my part to leave the bag home) And this is in First Class! You could probably now picture the kind of hell I have to go through every morning on the Harbour Line. Now I'm not the sort of guy like your typical Bombay commuter. I think it's pointless and retarded to hang from the door, endangering both yourself and the two assholes in front and behind you. But I was running late, so on this particular occasion I was probably justified in catching this train. I did think however that if it got worse; I'd get off and catch the next one. But it didn't really get all that bad. The crowd thinned after we reached Govandi station. By that, I mean that I managed to get both my feet on solid ground and well behind the door.

The train pulled into Chembur station. Now here’s the thing about Chembur. There’s only one platform for both 1 and 2. On one side are the slums and on the other side, is a wall. Behind this wall is the bridge to get off the station and the road leading into town. I was facing the side of the wall. From where my coach was standing, I could see the steps of the bridge behind me. I looked around the wall, at the various posters. These posters always fascinate me for some reason. Some will be about the latest Marathi blockbuster, others will be political slogans, or numbers for the best sexologists in the neighbourhood. It’s the very essence of this city that is captured on these walls. But something else grabbed my attention after a little while. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a figure running down the steps of the bridge just behind me.

It was a guy of about 60 years, a torn yellow shirt, grey shorts, very hairy legs, a beard that made him look a lot like Saruman the White. HE seemed to be in a hurry to catch the train I was in. But there was no way he’d make it all the way across the bridge and onto the platform. So he debated for half a second. I watched, mouth hanging open in awe, as this dude climbs onto the railing of his steps, gauges himself, and JUMPS onto the roof of the train! I hardly have time to mouth the words, “Sonnuva bitch!”

Before this guy takes three steps to climb onto a window, stretch his arms and one hairy leg over towards the door, of my compartment! Within roughly six seconds, the mutha is standing next to me with a toothy grin on his face. And by the way, the train had started moving at the point of impact of him onto the roof.

Now the guy behind me was the first to get back to his senses, and held onto the guy with affirm grip and he asked him.

“Oi! This is First Class!”

To which our geriatric friend replies,

“Chill out yaar! Pass hai!”

And he reaches behind his short jeans and produces a wallet. He opens it and shows us a cleaner photograph of him, with a First Class Railway Pass for this month. The guy let go of his arm. With a smile, a namaskaar, and nod, the bloke disappeared into the crowd behind me. I watched him go, still trying to fathom what had just happened. I laughed at it after a bit, and thanked my luck that I did in fact catch this train to be here to witness this incident!

Happy Holidays everybody!