Co-passenger for a few minutes

Agla station, Goregaon...the sweet voice in the Borivali-bound Fast-train announced. Tired after a Crawford Market shopping stint and just waiting to get home and hit the bed, my mother-in-law and I got up from our seats and headed towards the bogie-door. For us Bangaloreans not used to a 35 km travel even if by a quickie train, it was only natural.

A few minutes before, I wondered what a commuter who just got in was talking about to someone behind me, at the aisle. ``People will get scared. It would be better if you sat inside,'' she told someone with a smile.

My eyes naturally strayed towards the aisle where a woman in a nomadic attire squatted, something that irritates middle-class commuters but they just have to put up with it. Seated opposite was a boy of about 10 years. But it was really her little co-passenger clinging to her pallu who caught our attention.

Mom-in-law and I exchanged smiles. It was a toddler monkey, held by a rope in its masterni's hand. Bright eyes, nimble hands, a bored look, it was certainly not the kind that would scare people away. Every commuter readying to alight at Goregaon smiled when she saw this tiny passenger... weariness forgotten for a moment. 

For a minute, it played with the masterni's pallu. The next minute, it glanced through the other passengers with the same bored expression. And then turned towards the painted wall-barricade behind. The mustard-yellow paint was such an invitation to its restless fingers! The toddler started peeling them off, just to pass time, and shredding them to pieces.

Agla station, Goregaon..Pudhe station Goregaon...the speaker blared again. 

The masterni picked up her paraphernalia to get up. Mr Toddler now got up and moved about, putting us commuters on guard...never know when kids jump at you!

What the monkey did next took us by surprise. Like a true professional commuter, the guy moved to closer to the doorway, and held on to it, looking out into the open air. He did it with such ease and elan that for a second or two, we forgot we actually had to alight! The pro that he was, even other girls holding on to the doorway pole looked at him in admiration.

I asked the masterni. Naam kya hai iska?

Raju, she replied.

Isko acchi tarah pata hai kahaan utarna hai, na? I asked her.

Haan, roz aata jata hai na...aadat pad gayi hai..., said the masterni, lovingly.

(he comes and goes everyday, its become a habit)

By now, the train came to a halt at the station...and Raju jumped out much before any of us did. The masterni and her protege walked off, and vanished into the crowd.

Sometimes, the mere sight of a stranger is such a whiff of fresh air in the monotony called Mumbai.

Mobile-less in Mumbai

Have for some strange reason begun to write - after losing the last precious thing I was holding on to for life in Mumbai - my mobile.

Over the past nine months and more after marriage, had gone through this maddening word-block on what to write. A million topics propped up. None of them got to be written. Bless them.

Mumbai has taught many things with its mean ways. A lot of good is still around, ocassionally sprouting up in the smile of a complete stranger in the local train, or the goodness of a neighbour to gift us her delicious pulav. That is it. But Mumbai has really meant a whole lot of internal churning...of a mixture of emotions - of migrant fear. Of alienness. Of that lonely feeling in a crowd. Of that crazy hurt when neighbours shut doors on your face for your being a tenant. Of their turning a blind eye and not as much as acknowledge your presence when you open your door as they open theirs -- because suddenly they realised you are not Marathi-speaking.

The mobile - a modern invention for all things surveillance gave this sense of belonging. A virtual one no doubt. It made me somewhat secure, even if it meant call catching me completely off-guard while hanging for dear life on to the pole of a moving local train door in the ladies' bogie. It meant talking to colleagues and catching up with gossip back home in Bangalore. On-the-spot photography, hand-held diary, things to do... Of being able to call a friend somewhere across in Chembur and ridding your rile of not being able to go there.

On Saturday evening, I let go of some fear, and dropped my knees seawards at Nariman Point parapet, besides my husband. My parents-in-law were safer, seated towards the pavement. I had been afraid when my sister did that. Something inside beat quicker -- maybe I would lose balance and fall on the cobblestones beneath, or that the sea would drag me in! But this time I wanted to break free...and just let my hair loose...to enjoy the refreshing sea-breeze and chat up with my husband. Those necklace lights along Marine Drive! It was my childhood dream...of being able spend time along the road-sea parapet. Let go fear...and you live your dream!

Fifteen minutes later, I discovered I had in fact let go of something I loved. Pictures of Crawford Market, Nariman Point, Nisarg water falls close home at Goregaon, sunset over-looking the Aarey Colony, dad feeding pigeons at Gateway, colleagues at a conference...sigh...the list goes endless...

Was providence teaching me to let go in a real way? To embrace life ahead in a new avatar?

Have been holding on to all things good from Bangalore and in Mumbai...and finally this!

The last few hours I have spent writing mails informing contacts about the loss of my instrument. Some mailed back their numbers promptly. Others offered sympathy. A friend said those golden words: I know how it feels! I need that badly.

Am to turn 30 in a few days. So this is what reflect, review and reverie means!