Riding the commuter trains of the Mumbai
suburban railway is a contact sport. I decided to take a round trip from the northern
suburb of Santa Cruz to Mumbai's Churchgate Station on Thursday morning during commute
time to try my hand at it. The train was not full when I got aboard, but it filled
fast and, once it filled, the fun started.
Before the train reached a complete stop at a
typical station, the first wave of commuters began to jump from the train to the platform.
If they waited for a complete stop, they would have to struggle against the flood
of passengers climbing aboard, and they would probably be pushed off anyway by the crowd
of exiting passengers behind them. The passengers on the platform waited until the
train stopped, but not a second longer. They then began to push onto the train,
conflicting directly with the passengers still trying to get off. This was the heavy
contact part of the sport, as people moving in opposite directions shoved to get on or off
during the 15 seconds or so that the train remained in the station.
I was standing about three feet inside the
door, against a wall during this action, and saw the intense looks on the faces of the
boarding passengers as they did their best to get aboard. I had to brace myself
first against the outgoing tide, and then against the incoming. As the train began to
move, there were two or three layers of passengers outside the door, clinging to the door
opening, and speaking in urgent tones. I imagine they were requesting that
passengers inside the car move away from the door or compact themselves a little more so
that the outermost layer of clinging passengers could get closer to the door and not be
wiped off when the train passed the next signal or utility pole.
I had no problem getting off at
Churchgate—it's the end of the line. I walked around Mumbai for an hour or so
enjoying the sights (which included my first seashore view since leaving the USA) as I
walked along Mumbai's Back Bay. I understand that Mumbai was originally seven
islands, but filling over the years has combined them into one. The old name Bombay
is derived from Mumbadevi, the patron goddess of the Koli fisherfolk, the oldest
inhabitants of the area. About 40% of the city's population is Marathi, and the name
was changed to Mumbai, the Marathi name for Bombay, in 1996 by the pro-Marathi Shiv
Sena party, which came to power in 1985.
We had arrived from Rajkot at the Dadar station
in the Mumbai suburbs on Saturday morning and taken a cab to Santa Cruz, where Jikaka had
arranged for us to stay with Parul and Manoj Pandya, related through Jikaka's cousin.
On Sunday afternoon, we took the commuter train to Mumbai's Victoria Station. Rita
took one look at the crowded train and decided to ride in the ladies-only car. I
barely made it into the general compartment before the train left the station. In
Mumbai, we caught our train to Aurangabad for a visit to Ellora and Ajanta caves (they are
covered in the next report).
On Wednesday morning, we returned to Santa
Cruz, where we spent two additional restful days visiting and dining with extended family
members, and I tried to catch up with picture editing and report writing. On Friday
morning, we said our good-byes to our hosts and headed out for a day of sightseeing in
Mumbai before catching our Friday evening train.
From what we saw of it, Mumbai is a clean city
with very few animals on the streets. Autorickshaws are not allowed in the downtown
area—an anti-pollution measure. The number of private cars on the roads seemed
much higher than in the other places we have visited. Both Churchgate and Victoria
Terminal (recently renamed and referred to as ST) are much cleaner than the other train
stations we have seen.
We visited the Gateway of India and took a
ferry from there to Elephanta Island to visit the caves located there, but mainly for the
45-minute (each way) boat ride in Mumbai Harbor. On the return trip, I paid 10
rupees extra to ride on the top deck of the ferry, where I had a cool breeze and an
unobstructed view. I was the only passenger up there at first, and I was soon
conversing with the helmsman, who offered me the wheel. I ended up steering the
ferry for a half hour or so. [Can't imagine getting away with
that here in the US, the land of the litigious.]
Back in Mumbai, Rita visited several shops
while I waited outside and watched the city pass by. As I sat on the front step of a
jewelry store that Rita was visiting, I was approached by two young (perhaps 8 and 10
years old) girls who asked me the usual questions (where are you from, how long have you
been in India, etc.) The older one, Sonya, told me that she spoke French, German,
Italian, and Japanese. I asked what language they spoke at home, and the younger
girl (whose name I don't remember) began to answer, but after a look from Sonya, said she
didn't have a home, that she lived on the street with her younger brother and sister.
She said that her brother's name was Sonya, but after another look from Sonya, and
a little thought, changed it to John.
Eventually, they told me they didn't want money
from me, but did want me to buy them some milk powder. They said they were hungry,
and that their younger brothers and sisters were hungry as well. I said I had to
wait for Rita. The younger girl left briefly and returned with a piece of Indian
candy that she ate slowly (she did not appear to be hungry). They asked if I knew any
English songs, and the three of us sang "Row, Row, Row Your Boat". Sonya
pointed to the numbers on my watch as she counted to 12. The younger girl needed a
little help with her counting. A third, older girl (about 14?) who was selling
flowers nearby came by and demonstrated her ability to count to 90 in English. They
periodically repeated their request that I go with them to the store to buy them milk
powder or, at one point, banana chips.
By the time Rita came out of the store, I had
been entertained by these girls for about 45 minutes, and I knew that most of what they
were telling me was made up on the spot. They were professional beggars, and very
good at it, in my opinion. But I felt they had earned something from me and,
assuming we were talking about a 20 rupee bag of milk powder, we let them lead us to the
nearby vendor where they selected one 300 rupee can of powdered milk each. We
declined to buy the milk, and ended up giving them each 10 rupees.
These were bright and talented kids, and I
wished I could somehow help them finish school and get jobs that would put their
linguistic and sales abilities to good use. But what I did was give money to
professional beggars who, from their appearance, were eating well and probably not
deserving of charity. Did I do them a disservice, encouraging them in the wrong
direction? Or did I tip them for services rendered, just as we had tipped the guide
that we acquired at the Taj Mahal, even though we had told him we did not want a guide?
We had supper at a nice restaurant with a view
of Back Bay and the northwestern Mumbai shoreline, and then returned to ST to catch our
train. We were soon asleep in our bunks and on our way to Goa.
