A new phase of life has dawned. A phase that involves travelling in a Mumbai Local every day of the week. And I must say it has been a roller-coaster.
For all the talk of Mumbai’s local trains, I took a step into one of these ‘beauties’ (a term generally used in connection with either a hot chick or a sports car) without any thoughts in mind. But I’m afraid they really do live up to the hype. If some boisterous Mumbaikar ever told you that you will get beaten to pulp or have your testicles pulled up from behind and tied up to your neck, then he/she is probably right.
So, let me talk about some of the zones that exist in these trains. The first and foremost one is the Clinger’s Zone i.e. taking a step into the train and ending up standing just right there. This one isn’t as risky as it sounds. Not only does it allow you to stretch your arm 15 inches outside the train ala Shah Rukh Khan and sing ‘Kal Ho Na Ho’, but it also allows you to efficiently trim your body to one arm less. So understandably, this zone is good for your health. Helps you breathe clean air.
If you successfully manage to clear that zone, you enter the Mush-Mush Zone. What happens here is basically the production of the same sound that the zone is named of. Every human being is playing tennis with both arms and the ball is the head of a fellow human. Mush-mushing is necessary because at both ends of the train, entering and exiting must happen in order for the train to maintain it’s evolutionary balance. If you happen to not be exiting for a long time, all that happens is you get mushed-mushed brutally and end up as a *puff*. Basically, you melt and you fade away. Physics, dude.
In case your journey is longer, you can enter the Queued Zone. In this particular zone, everyone is waiting in a queue. Our trains are but a reflection of our bureaucratic heritage. But this one is logical. You wait for your seat. Makes sense. And I can’t complain. Except for the one time when I got hit by FOUR UMBRELLAS IN A ROW WHILE WAITING FOR THE DAMN SEAT. Okay, cooling myself. It’s okay. This too shall pass.
Finally, the most comfortable (oh, did I say ‘comfortable’?) of them all – the Seating Zone. You can comfortably sit and stare away into below-the-belt areas of various folk from the Queued Zone and observe the latest fashion in men’s jeans. That is an extreme. You can always shut your eyes, and attempt breathing. And if you have a window seat, there are always the pretty women at other stations to gaze at. Or you can play Spelling Bee with Shahid Kapoor.
If I’m alive the next time, you’ll read a new blog post.
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