GlobalGyan Blog

There's nothing more irritating than seeing the local train leave the platform right in front of your eyes, particularly when the next train on that platform is about ten minutes later, sure to result in the disapproving eye-brow from the big boss. And my project manager had ended the previous evening with a 'let's catch up first thing tomorrow morning' threat of more work. Platform 7 was to offer me no relief, so I proceeded to the overbridge, looking for options. It's easy to generate multiple "strategic options" on a slide but Andheri station, that morning, was in no mood to support my cause.

Back of the envelope calculation revealed that a Slow train after 8.25am would not work; there was no option but to go for a Fast local. I had come to this conclusion even before I had reached the top stair of the bridge, all I had to do now was to go to the correct platform. They don't teach you in b-school not to jump to conclusions too fast, they don't teach you in life too. You have to learn it the hard way, so there I was running fast to catch the next Fast.

All the while, there was a song playing in my head, just refusing to go away. Chaiyya Chaiyaa. With Jhankaar Beats. It had been playing in the auto that brought me to the station and the words looped tunelessly in my mind. It was perhaps coincidental that I was reminded of this song, featuring a train and others, at a train station, but at that time, it was just a background score.

I shall not go into the painful details of how I got into the First Class compartment of the next Fast local: it was from Virar and painfully over-crowded, there were even some chaps sitting on top of the local train! Getting into a Virar-Churchgate local during peak hours was obviously a very stupid thing but such was my dedication to work that I took the chance. Luckily, I did not suffer much physical damage while I was pushed inside; I managed to find some space to stand and held an overhead handle tight. 

Whether it was the gentle swaying of the train or my night-out with Harry Potter, I felt drowsy. Standing. My mind's iPod continued to play Chaiyya Chaiyya in a repeat mode. 

I must admit that I had always been fascinated by that song. Of course, Malaika Arora was mind-blowing and Shahrukh Khan outdid himself in this foot-tapping song, but the most exciting part for me was its picturization on top of a moving train! What a fun way to experience the thrill of a train journey and the beauty of nature all-around. If you had friends with you, some steaming chai and hot pakoras. Aaah! And, yeah, if someone like Malaika was dancing too, then it would be heaven. But, nah! that only happens in movies, so I would settle for the rest. 

I guess my fascination for train-top journeys began in a more sober setting. Ben Kingsley, playing Mohandas Gandhi, joins other passengers on top of a train in his discovery of India journey. What a moment in his realization of what the true India was. Even today, almost 90 years later, hundreds of people travel on train roofs, often because there is no space for them elsewhere but sometimes because it offers the best view, conversations and air conditioning. I had never travelled on a train roof in spite of my several train journeys across India. Wouldn't it be fun to try it out sometime?

My thoughts turned to other famous train roof-top scenes from my favourite movies. Young Indy making his escape from the circus train in Last Crusade and of course, the climax of Mission Impossible. Too much! Well, I could do with less adventure, I suppose. But, the chai and pakoras were a must. 

The train stopped with a sudden shudder. Irritated that my pleasant reverie was disturbed, I opened my eyes and looked around. We had stopped in between stations and there was some commotion from a few compartments away. There was a buzz in ours too. Somebody must have pulled the chain, was the most popular view. Maybe the power has failed, ventured a few others. A couple of guys who were sitting close to where I was could not bear the uncertainty and got up to conduct an inquiry. A few people jumped down from the train and moved towards the source of the noise.

I seized the opportunity and sat down. If that guy returned later, well, it was his fault; he didn't have a reservation for this seat. I retrieved the Economic Times from my bag and looked at the crossword. Why did it have to be in the inner pages and not conveniently in the last one, I cribbed as if that would help me crack more clues! A few minutes passed and the train remained still. Would I lose the Fast train advantage due to this halt? I went back to looking for the anagram clues. Chaiyya Chaiyya continued to compete for attention.

Five or more minutes passed, I reconciled myself to seeing the boss' eyebrows shoot up today; others were also discussing their respective excuses at work. Suddenly there was more buzz, some guys climbed back into the train (quite a feat, that!!) and the train's horn indicated its readiness to resume the journey. Some adventure and a major waste of time, I thought.

The check-shirt guy, surely a broker, whose seat I was occupying did not seem to be in a hurry to reclaim his position. He was in an animated conversation with others standing around him. The buzz in the train refused to die. Unable to hold my curiosity any longer, I looked up and asked, to nobody in particular, 'Kya hua?'  I must have spoken loudly because there was a sudden break in all conversation; the broker heard it and said, "Ek ladka gir gaya train se, abhi zinda hai lekin serious. Shaayad current laga tha, train ke oopar baitha tha." (A boy fell from the train, he's still alive but in a serious condition. Probably electrocuted, he was sitting on the roof.)

Gandhiji, SRK, Indy, Ethan... I am not joining you on the roof, thank you.

About ten minutes later, I was in an auto, sharing it with some other guy who I only knew as the guy with a discman. He usually sat by himself in the train and listened to music till we reached Churchgate. In tough circumstances such as those of that morning, you made friends with anybody, particularly if the other person was getting into an auto alone. We hardly spoke during the fifteen minute ride to the station; this auto, like many other new ones, was fitted with a tape-player and a T-Series cassette. Kumar Sanu was belting out some old Kishore hits and that was sufficient excuse for us not to engage in conversation.

It was almost 8.15 by the time we reached the Juhu Galli-SV Road junction signal, the final barrier before we hit the entrance to platform 7. The signal had just turned red and we waited impatiently, urging the driver, "Chalo, chalo," almost willing him to break the signal and get ahead. The auto-driver was not really in favour of such heroics at that five-way junction; he fiddled with the springy thing that was hanging from the rear-view mirror. As the signal turned green, Discman and I settled our accounts with the driver and got ready to jump out of the auto. Our three-wheeler, in pole position at the junction, got into the one-way lane towards the station ahead of five others that were vying for the honours. Changing gears, he led the race to the platform entrance. The train stood on the platform.

Having entered the auto later, I was the first to get out. I crossed the road and was climbing the steps when I heard the train horn. The train had decided that it would not wait for me. I did not give up - oftentimes these train drivers would have a false start and be called back to the starting line. And the First Class compartment was right there, in front of me. So I ran.

I glanced backwards to see if the Discman was also giving chase, but he was still at the gate and had obviously given up. The backward glance, as they often say during cricket commentary, lost me two precious seconds and was to prove costly. I was (and am) a tall guy; I was (and am not) quite fit and agile. I decided that I could get into the 8.19 with a bit of effort. Any well-reasoning guy, like Discman, would have told you that it was just not possible; the train was cleared to leave the platform and the motorman, obviously well-fed that bright and sunny morning, was raring to show his moves. He took off with a vengeance. But it was one of those times when reason takes a quick nap to permit perverse foolishness to take over (some call it adrenalin). So I ran faster.

Pushing one or two by-standers, I made a dash for the First Class compartment. It is not very easy to run on any Mumbai suburban platform, particularly when you are wearing formal shoes and have a shoulder bag filled with McKinsey Quarterly and HBR print-outs. However, I was possessed and got pretty close to the compartment door. This is the moment where Hindi movies like DDLJ get it all wrong: you feel that jumping onto a running train and getting hold of a handle is quite easy. I mean, it's been done countless times, and Shahrukh Khan's always around, no? Let me tell you, in case you are planning to attempt a similar stunt in future, that not only is it very difficult to coordinate so many parts of your body and the train at the same time, but it is also very dangerous, given the liberal gap between the train and the platform. So I jumped.

I may have alluded to it earlier, now is the time to clarify that the 8.19 was a very popular train and left Andheri station with 200% capacity utilization. Not much floor space in the train, even in the First Class rake, was left spare for idiots like me. Whereas I was hoping to get my left foot on the train floor and the left hand on the pole that bisected the entrance, said floor and pole were fully accounted for. But like the Light Brigade I had no option to turn back, I was committed. My left shoe made an uninvited entry to the shoe party on the floor; my left hand sought friendship with a strange other. It was a precarious situation, my left limbs were trying to make themselves wanted while most of my body and bag were experiencing loss of gravity. We were now out of Andheri station.

Although nobody outright rejected the intruder, there weren't welcome songs either. Instead of the violins I heard a few people cursing me and my family for my stupidity. Those words probably helped clear my mind and woke reason from its slumber. I was terrified. The sweat in my palms did not help my grip and my foot was still trying to find space for itself. I shifted my body inwards and tried to force my right foot also into the party. At that point, the train shivered a bit as it changed tracks. My hand began to disengage and I knew that something bad was going to happen. He held my wrist and pulled me in. Whether it was extreme-fear induced adrenalin or that guy's strength, I don't know, but two seconds later I found myself mostly inside. My right hand groped for support and found something, my feet too were on something solid. I was breathless and out of my wits for a while. We reached Vile Parle station and more people got in. I managed to stay on my feet, held in place by everyone else around. By the time we got to Bandra, I had been pushed right inside and finally, had some space and air. 

I looked around, remembering that somebody had helped me get in, nay, saved my life. I had no clue who it was, there were too many people all around. I didn't know which one of them was my Shahrukh Khan.