Disclaimer: This short story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone is merely a coincidence.
This short story is dedicated to the city of Mumbai and the brave warriors like Major Unnikrishnan, Hawaldar Tukaram Omble, and Officer Hemant Karkare who fought like true sons of the land of India against terrorists on that dreadful day of Nov 26th, 2008.
This story is from my book 500 Miles. If you want to read other stories from the book, you can order the book here.
“We were meant to be together. True love finds a way.” Gautam was daydreaming about his wife before deciding to leave. He had never left the office this late before. A late lunch had spoiled the schedule for the rest of his day. At exactly 5:13 p.m., he slammed his laptop shut and put it in its bag. He rushed to get out of the office and catch the 5:24 p.m. local train to Thane. On the one hand, he was running through the crowds and wiping the sweat off his forehead, while on the other he was cheerful thinking about the surprise he had planned for his wife at their dinner date. As he reached the crowded CST (Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus) station, he had to lunge through the crowd to be on time, but the train was late. The sweat, as it dripped from his neck, either showed the resilience of a typical Mumbaikar or the helplessness of being in the rat race. The humongous design of the CST station was even more claustrophobic at that hour. Most office-goers and other workers would storm over the platform to catch the downtown trains. The giant clocks on each platform either showed a countdown for your survival or indicated a test of human morality. If you are not from Mumbai, this is the place where you would lose all your empathy for the city. But people still survive since the will to live is stronger.
Always.
There was nothing new about local trains running late and Gautam waited for his train to arrive. As the passengers boarded the downtown train on the platform, the number of people getting in outnumbered the people who were getting out. He entered the first-class coach. There was nothing first-class about that coach except for the name. In the newspapers and on social media, there had always been talk about the spirit of Mumbai, but it was these millions of people traveling daily who actually symbolized that spirit. Gautam settled himself on one side of the coach. Most regulars traveling in the coach greeted each other as if they were brothers separated by time. A few regulars settled on their seats to play a game of poker. With a smile on his face, Gautam was amused looking at those people. As the local pushed itself through CST station, Gautam wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. Standing in the doorway gave you the added advantage of getting the Mumbai air on your face. Despite the air containing pungent and sweaty smells, it brought relief to most Mumbaikars who would fight about standing in the doorway of the local train. It was their last chance to breathe.
A tall white young bespectacled guy was competing for space to settle in that crowded first-class coach. The disappointment and dejection on his face were apparent, but when he was able to stand in the middle of the coach, he felt a slight sense of relief.
“This is Mumbai. If you can breathe, you survive, and you thank your stars,” Gautam said snidely to the young man. The young man was struggling and wiping the sweat from his face. His white shirt had collected so much more sweat and dust than he had ever imagined in his life. The shirt was stuck to his body like wet paint. You could hardly differentiate between his thin white T-shirt and his white skin. He had a heavy backpack on his shoulders. Looking at his discomfort, Gautam said to himself, “God bless this brave soul who is traveling on the Mumbai local at rush hour.”
His name was Erik and he was from Norway. Gautam chatted with Erik and found out that he was traveling to India for the first time. In that mad rush, he was traveling to Dadar.
A group of local musicians entered the coach. Some of the people’s faces dropped as if the sight of musicians pained them. They started playing Musafir hoon yaaron, na ghar hain na thikana. Gautam smiled listening to the song and thinking about Erik who was barely standing on one foot in that crowd.
Mumbai can make anyone talk for hours. Gautam said, “Mumbai is crowded. It has its days when it can be loved and other days, it can be hated. In my younger days, it was not crowded. My father used to take us to South Mumbai to show us the Gateway of India. Beautiful days.” Erik acknowledged Gautam’s rant about Mumbai. He didn’t say much. The pungent smell in the coach bothered people, but everyone ignored it.
“It seems like a battle getting out of this coach when the train arrives at its destination,” Erik said in his European accent to Gautam. People, bemused with his accent, stared at him. Some of those were long stares, almost creepy. After being in Mumbai for two days, he was used to people staring at him. It’s the same feeling when a brown man walks into a white neighborhood of an American suburb.
“To get out of the coach is the feeling of winning,” Gautam said.
“Two days seem like two years in Mumbai.”
“Where are you heading in this congested local at this time?”
“Dadar. My friend’s parents live there. I am staying with them.”
Gautam was impressed with his commitment to traveling in crowded Mumbai. Gautam found out that he had already been to the Gateway of India, the Taj Hotel, and the Trident Hotel along the Marine Lines that day.
“It’s brave of you to travel in Mumbai with so much passion, especially when it is humid out there,” Gautam said.
The smirk on his face revealed a lot of things about him without him uttering a single word. As they stopped talking, he somehow managed to get to his feet and get a moment of standing close to a door. Gautam was looking through the door window and as the local picked up speed, the wind hitting the face seemed like a welcome relief for most of the passengers. “He has not complained even for a moment and here I am whining and complaining about how Mumbai is not that great or crowded,” Gautam was thinking in his mind. “We only understand the love for our native country when we are away from it. So, true.”
“The platform will be on the other side. You better move over there as Dadar is the next station,” Gautam said to Erik. A lot of people, jammed in the crowd, were facing the door Gautam had indicated for the next platform. Erik also turned to face the other door so he could walk out of the coach and get down at Dadar. As the local plowed through to the platform at Dadar Station, there was chaos. People in Gautam’s coach started pushing each other to get down. “I saw Erik getting pushed among a plethora of men and probably losing his senses. I was sympathetic to his situation. But he got down at Dadar successfully. Hurrah!” Gautam said to himself while heaving a sigh of relief.
Number of people who got down at Dadar station, made the local empty for a moment before another large gathering of people crowded it for Thane station. That brief encounter with the foreigner in the local train made a lasting impression on Gautam and made him think about his own ways of traveling and his current settled lifestyle.
He came to his senses after they had passed Mulund station and realized Thane would be the next stop. He thought about his wife and the anniversary dinner he had planned. He chuckled, feeling relieved. Thane was the last stop, so there were people in the coach, but it was a manageable crowd. The handles hanging down were clanking, kissing each other, making it obvious that the same coach that had been flooded with people was getting empty. The dusty fans were still on despite clear instructions to switch them off. The local slowed down at Thane and most people started to hustle to get off. A few people in the coach were talking about some rumors as to why people were running from one side of the platform to the other. Gautam didn’t understand the craziness. As he got down, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and started walking towards the Thane West side of the platform. A huge crowd had gathered around a TV. The police were controlling the crowd at the platform and ordering them to move to one side. It was chaotic as people had panicked. People were talking about a bomb blast. He tried to call his wife, but the phone lines were jammed. That made him believe the rumor was true. He rushed to the nearest TV where people were watching the news. The news was flashing the headline: “Mumbai under siege – Hotel Taj, Hotel Trident, and CST are under terrorist attack.”