Walking On The Tracks

The daylight glaring into my face from my open bedroom window woke me up.  It was actually intended that way, because the alarm, the husband and that red mark in the office muster weren’t enough to get me out of bed in the mornings.

 

I looked out.  It was raining cats, dogs and elephants.  The road outside my window was flooded, ankle-deep.

 

Like a true office going Mumbaikar, my first thought was, would local trains be running?  Highly likely they would.  Because the Mumbai locals are as resilient as the Mumbaikars.  And besides, the road outside my window gets flooded even if the rest of Mumbai and the farflung suburb of Kalyan where I live, remain bone dry.

 

I was in the mood for a nice, relaxed holiday.  Little did I know what kind of a “relaxed holiday” was in store for me.

 

I got up from bed, finished the household chores and got ready for work.  In between, I also messaged a colleague, asking whether trains were running.  To my dismay, he replied that they were, indeed – and on time.

 

My family didn’t want me to go.  Nor did I want to.  But the foolhardiness in me made me set out.

 

Trains were running a bit late.  That was normal.  The crowd was also normal.  From the conversations around me, I gathered that no one expected anything other than normalcy, even though it was pouring in sheets by then.

 

I got my double fast.  It moved ahead at its normal pace, halting at Dombivli, Diva, Thane, Mulund..

 

As the train left Mulund for the seven minute journey to Ghatkopar, the news started trickling in.  The tracks at the low lying Sion area, which was much further ahead, were waterlogged.

 

The discussions by the commuters around me started.  As usual, I preferred to silently listen in.

 

The train left Ghatkopar and promptly halted at a signal soon after the platform ended.  And refused to move.

 

That’s when my fellow passengers got into their “flood mode.”

 

Well, I can see you wondering, what is that “flood mode”?  Ah, here it is.

 

When a Mumbai local is halted by waters flooding the tracks, these commuters, read half the compartment at any given point of time, start calling up people.

 

First, the bosses.  “I’ll be late.”  Then at least one of them will grumble.  “My boss has asked me to come, no matter how late it gets.”

 

Then a potential candidate for the Best Employee Award will pipe up.  “Oh God, I MUST reach office today.”  No, that’s not me.  I opted out of that race ages ago.

 

Next, call the family members.  Soothe the children.  Pacify the elders.  Give instructions to the family members.  Repeat the instructions.  And repeat again.

 

Now, the work is done.  The timepass begins.

 

Call up colleagues.  Find out whether they’ve reached or where they’re stranded.  Inform them each other’s position.  Ask everyone about the level of floods at every station and in between every two stations.

 

Grumble about the grass being greener on the other side.  That is, if you’re train is on Central Railway, point out how efficient Western Railway is.  And vice versa.

 

Take, share and receive pictures of submerged tracks, people wading through them and the crowds inside and outside the compartment.  Repeat till the mobile battery screams for a recharge.

 

Discuss with fellow commuters.  Analyse.  Worry.  Contemplate jumping down and walking on the tracks.

 

And me?  I inform the boss and the family and sit quiet, listening to all this.

 

I may be the freak here, but I sincerely believe that when I’m trapped along with a hundred people, at least fifty of them are there to worry about the situation.  And worrying is not going to solve the problem anyway.  Besides, I’ve always prided myself in staying resolutely inside the train, no matter how many hours it takes to start moving.

 

And this was exactly what I was doing right now.  Sleeping, waking up, listening to the noise around, conserving my mobile batteries while the others were either  calling up everyone they knew or watching YouTube videos.   And looking at the people jumping out and smugly thinking, nah, I’d never do that.

 

Well, four hours passed this way.  The rain was unrelenting.  I had already finished my breakfast hours ago.  It was 1:30 pm now.  Four hours had passed and lunchtime was round the corner.  Most of the people in the compartment had left.

 

I checked the news.  High tide was round the corner.  Thank God the people around are not aware of this, I thought.  They preferred news by word-of-mouth, not Dailyhunt.

 

Now, four hours meant that I had broken my earlier record of staying in the train by a few minutes.  I started wondering what my new record would be.

 

That was when the rest of the compartment decided to jump down.  Well, not exactly.  There was an emergency stepladder attached under the door, for which you used all the acrobatic skills you thought you never had, and stepped down on the tracks.

 

Left with no choice and also realising that it was the practical thing to do, I joined them in getting out of the train, amazed at my body’s flexibility in navigating those two steps.

 

I then walked with them, in single file, staying close to the stationary train, till we reached the platform of Ghatkopar station.

 

From there, I booked an Ola, along with two fellow commuters and reached Thane.  Trains from Thane onwards were running and we finally reached home by train.

 

I freshened up and had my lunch at 5 pm, after which I slept for fifteen minutes.  I woke up to a busy evening of household chores and preparing for the next day.

 

So it was a “relaxed holiday” for me after all, if you count the amount of sleep I got inside the train.

 

Not only that, I had finally learnt how to use that emergency stepladder.  And perhaps, the most heartening part of the day was that my brand new rainy shoes, in their first day out, had survived the half kilometre walk on those sharp pebbles on the tracks.

 

As I write this, I’m on my way to work the next morning.  Life is back to normal.