Passing through....

I am not feeling well. My legs are hurting and my head is paining. . I am currently at my parent’s place in Vileparle. In the morning I had decided to buy that right blend of tea which is available at a certain tea shop in a busy market area in South Mumbai. Having come all the way from 350 km after a bumpy bus journey, I don’t want to do ride in the hustling and noisy local train to that crowded Masjid Bunder area while I am enjoying the comfort of this place surrounded by trees. I move myself. The task is in my list for today and ticking on it is important.

After crossing through series of heavily trafficked roads, my fast walk ends at Vileparle railway station.  I find myself running since the train to take me to the destination is just one minute away from reaching the platform. I hop on the train. It is not the rush hour but still there is no place to sit. I remain standing wiping the sweat off my face. I feel shitty for having to go through this entire journey. I remind myself to stop these thoughts having vulgar slang”.

I reach my destination station and start walking to the tea shop. The traffic has come to a halt and amidst it, there are men carrying push carts with huge loads. They are using their bodies to hold the heavy carts at one steady place on the sloping road. “We are living in 21st century and could not there be better ways of handling all these goods?” Thoughts come to my mind making me sadder. I reach the shop, order my tea blend and get it. Adding to my displeasure, the shop keeper tries to sell me chai masala, which I hate.

I return to the station to catch the train back. They have cancelled the direct train to Vileparle and I have to wait for 30 more minutes. In front of me across the rails is a huge pile of trash which must have been sitting there for many numbers of years. The rats have made holes in that pile and they are roaming around. People are passing by while spitting here and there. The scene can easily induce a vomit to any new person coming from a clean place but it does not for average Mumbaikar passer byes. There comes one eunuch and stands near me. He turns towards me and asks where does the newly arriving train go? He has tried to whiten his dark face and his lips are coloured bright red. Trying to match to that he is wearing a red coloured saree with a deep neck blouse.  There are badly done tattoos on his chest and above all he has black line of moustache on his face which must have been difficult for him to hide away. The train stops and he enters with his typical claps and starts begging. It adds to my feeling of worthlessness of human life.

At last my train comes next and after entering I find a seat. There is a woman sitting beside me who does not have sense of tying her hair properly. I say it because with the flow of the air in the running train, they are coming on my face. I brush them off. She realises and apologises. I start on the music. The steady sound of flute reaches me through the earphones, followed by singing of a young boy. He does not only have great command over voice but is also emanating feelings of intense devotion to the divine and pure joy of the process. I reach the station with my mood changed completely. I find it to be interesting to get through the maze of crowd and vehicles. I enter the colony premises and get greeted by a beautiful chakra painting on one of the walls. I have missed this before. At last I have reached my home and now enjoying hot tea.

I imagine my son reading through this and asking me, “but what is the moral of the story” and I imaginarily tell him, “I am just passing through”. J

Peace!