Mumbai local: Why I almost gave up cushy first-class

by Raman Iyer

It’s been about three months since I enjoyed the first-class commute between Lower Parel and Santacruz. Few people, evident by just a handful of co-commuters every day, have the luxury of quick, cheap and excellent transportation in this city. And I am among the privileged ones.

During my second-class days, I would often not get a seat, so would latch on to the foot-board, which would be shared by four others. A bhajan mandali that occupies a good part of the compartment would rattle off filmy hit parodies —courtesy T-series — while 3-4 others would yell at the top of their voices into their cell phones in Marathi, Bhojpuri and Gujarati.

A misled couple from the interiors of the country, with their infant and belongings, would climb in at Dadar, and the child’s wail would join the chorus. Polished shoes, ironed shirts and well-groomed hairstyles were shown no respect. I never, even for a moment, looked at co-passengers as human, but as part of the larger ‘gardi’. They flowed in and flowed out, while I waited to flow out at my destination.

When I finally decided to travel first-class, the scene shifted from a RGV film to a plush Yash Chopra one. Hardly five or six people are in when I board the train and each one has picked his or her corner. (Yes, the general first class compartment is more unisex than the ’ladies and gents’ parlours at Grant Road). Standing at the footboard seems so “second class”, so like a polished citizen, I choose my seat and read a book. There is absolute silence. No bhajan mandalis, no loud phone conversations. And no gardi. After a quick glance at my fellow commuters, I engross myself in my book.

So while first-class travel gives me ample time to read, reflect and observe, I did not realise I could well be the subject of other first-class commuters’ observatory skills.

For a good fortnight or so, a few months ago, my train-reading consisted of a 1,000 page Dean Koontz collection, which Husain, my colleague, lent me. It must have been about 7:45 in the evening when I comfortably got into the first-class compartment of the Churchgate bound local and began reading Strangers, when this stranger got up from across the compartment, and sat beside me.

Unbelievable for the second-class commuter, the first-class compartment had just the two of us. So, I was a bit alarmed when he left all the seats alone and decided to sit next to me. He must have been about 24, was clad in formals and his corporate ID worn around his neck and tucked in his breast pocket. “Is that a classic?” he asked pointing at the book. “I have been watching you,” he added immediately, without waiting for me to respond. “You read everyday…are you giving the UPSC exam?”

“No…just… I like reading?” I said, miserably failing to conceal my insecurity.

“I am Srinath…where do you think I am from? You read so much…so you must be able to judge people…"

I laughed feebly. From his accent, I figured he was Maharashtrian, and said so.

“See…you scholars are so brilliant…what book is this?”

“It’s a psycho-thriller,” I said. The train pulled into Bandra station, but no one boarded the first-class compartment, much to my dismay.

“Will you give it to me when you are done? I always wanted to read, but didn’t know where to start…I stay in Worli…” He spoke with such conviction that if at all anyone had boarded at Bandra, they would have thought we were the best of friends.

“Ohh, and I stay in…” I began when he interjected, “Lower Parel…I know…” and his phone buzzed. I almost thought of getting off at Matunga and taking the next train, slightly shaken at the thought that I have a stalker.

“Anyway,” he said after hanging up, “I have to get off at Matunga…when you are done with the book let me know…” and he proceeded to get off. He didn’t feel the need to tell me any further details, and I got this creepy feeling he wouldn’t need any of mine.

Just before getting off, he said, “So you are not meeting your girlfriend today? You usually meet her in Matunga, no? Well next time, we shall catch up…bye,” and disappeared into the platform.

I almost considered giving up first-class. Better a part of the gardi, than a singled out target. But then, that would be tantamount to cowardice, I felt. I still travel first-class. I still read. But I also watch for “Srinath”. But instead of meeting my girlfriend in Matunga, I now meet her at, well never mind. But so far, Srinath is yet to make another appearance.

Raman Iyer is a tam brahm boy, who spends his days wondering how he can go against his roots. So he reads unsuitable books, practises saying beh***hod, makes up the world’s worst puns, and works at Rickshaw. Nothing has worked so far. He’s still the boy girls want to take home. To curd rice and pickle.