Aloha, reader. Let me confess something. The next paragraph was supposed to kick off a hair-raising, blood-curdling, heart-wrenching adventure. However, a quick dip into the dictionary was enough to scuttle that ambitious description, which is why it has been downgraded to an average tale of woe. Such is life.
The week was a pretty usual one. Dreary days and slightly longish, weary nights, culminating in the abomination that plagues the godless corporate world no end. I mean of course, the Friday morning, 10 am meeting with the client at their office. Which, for good measure, will be located in a part of the city you would not banish your worst enemy to. Common consensus and sense should tell you I refer to Andheri East. Since the Bombay weather is trying to give Turkish hammams a run for their money, I arrived for the meeting looking (and feeling) like a damp and mildewed towel. By some miracle, the presentation went well and I scurried off, hoping to leave from my own office later that afternoon as early as legally possible, since I also planned to be in Pune for the weekend.
Around 4:30 pm, I furtively exited the place without inviting the teeth-grindingly 'creative' Indian bit of commentary, namely "Arre, aaj half day?" On reaching Dadar station, I quickly made my way to the MSRTC bus depot, fleetingly noticing that the Bombay-Pune Taxi Stand was rather crowded. The reason for it soon became obvious. The depot was deserted and the solitary guard gleefully let me know that the bus drivers had gone on a flash strike, derailing a number of passengers' weekend travel plans, yours truly being one of the victims. Since Bombay is a lively, buzzing, metrop in the 21st century, of course there seemed to be no taxis available since the line at the rank hadn't budged an inch. I considered waiting in the queue, imagined the number of vehicles that would now have to ply on the Expressway to compensate for buses and blanched. But then, I suddenly remembered something.
The Bombay-Kolhapur Sahyadri Express (a barefaced lie since the train is so ponderously slow, the only way to do justice to that last word is to express one's feelings freely and volubly) which passed through Pune, would halt at Dadar at about 6:10 pm, giving me about 20 minutes to get a ticket and board the train. And so, dear reader, I purchased what is known as an 'Open' ticket, which lets you board the train legally and leaves the rest up to the almighty or the ticket collector; whoever is feeling more omnipotent at the moment. If it's your lucky day, the open ticket can be converted into a 3AC ticket just by paying the difference. I'd done the same thing a few years before so I confidently boarded the train, looking forward to the bracing effects of air conditioning and a well-earned 'bread + cutlet' meal.
The train was packed to the fucking gills, I kid you not. With nary a smidgeon of space to be had for love or considerable money and the train already moving on, I swiftly accosted the TC and explained my situation with hope in my heart and a winning smile on my lips, only to recoil inwardly at the man's flat glance of indifference. His decidedly non-avuncular bit of advice was that I should hoof it to the General section and try my luck over there. I dutifully did so at that temple of chaos, also called Kalyan Junction, where people attempted to enter the train with the enthusiasm of a Gujarati mob at a free-for-all vegetarian buffet. Getting a seat was out of the question so my only aim was to find a comfortable standing spot near the doorway and hope for the best. Or at the least, ventilation. Having achieved this, I hunkered down for the journey ahead.
To be continued.
Song for the moment: Tidal Wave - Portugal. The Man
The week was a pretty usual one. Dreary days and slightly longish, weary nights, culminating in the abomination that plagues the godless corporate world no end. I mean of course, the Friday morning, 10 am meeting with the client at their office. Which, for good measure, will be located in a part of the city you would not banish your worst enemy to. Common consensus and sense should tell you I refer to Andheri East. Since the Bombay weather is trying to give Turkish hammams a run for their money, I arrived for the meeting looking (and feeling) like a damp and mildewed towel. By some miracle, the presentation went well and I scurried off, hoping to leave from my own office later that afternoon as early as legally possible, since I also planned to be in Pune for the weekend.
Around 4:30 pm, I furtively exited the place without inviting the teeth-grindingly 'creative' Indian bit of commentary, namely "Arre, aaj half day?" On reaching Dadar station, I quickly made my way to the MSRTC bus depot, fleetingly noticing that the Bombay-Pune Taxi Stand was rather crowded. The reason for it soon became obvious. The depot was deserted and the solitary guard gleefully let me know that the bus drivers had gone on a flash strike, derailing a number of passengers' weekend travel plans, yours truly being one of the victims. Since Bombay is a lively, buzzing, metrop in the 21st century, of course there seemed to be no taxis available since the line at the rank hadn't budged an inch. I considered waiting in the queue, imagined the number of vehicles that would now have to ply on the Expressway to compensate for buses and blanched. But then, I suddenly remembered something.
The Bombay-Kolhapur Sahyadri Express (a barefaced lie since the train is so ponderously slow, the only way to do justice to that last word is to express one's feelings freely and volubly) which passed through Pune, would halt at Dadar at about 6:10 pm, giving me about 20 minutes to get a ticket and board the train. And so, dear reader, I purchased what is known as an 'Open' ticket, which lets you board the train legally and leaves the rest up to the almighty or the ticket collector; whoever is feeling more omnipotent at the moment. If it's your lucky day, the open ticket can be converted into a 3AC ticket just by paying the difference. I'd done the same thing a few years before so I confidently boarded the train, looking forward to the bracing effects of air conditioning and a well-earned 'bread + cutlet' meal.
The train was packed to the fucking gills, I kid you not. With nary a smidgeon of space to be had for love or considerable money and the train already moving on, I swiftly accosted the TC and explained my situation with hope in my heart and a winning smile on my lips, only to recoil inwardly at the man's flat glance of indifference. His decidedly non-avuncular bit of advice was that I should hoof it to the General section and try my luck over there. I dutifully did so at that temple of chaos, also called Kalyan Junction, where people attempted to enter the train with the enthusiasm of a Gujarati mob at a free-for-all vegetarian buffet. Getting a seat was out of the question so my only aim was to find a comfortable standing spot near the doorway and hope for the best. Or at the least, ventilation. Having achieved this, I hunkered down for the journey ahead.
To be continued.
Song for the moment: Tidal Wave - Portugal. The Man
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