Mumbai local - Fast

Morning: 7:48 Fast Local from Ghatkopar to Victoria Terminus 

“This is how the story begins. Young finance professional, straight out of Masters of Finance Control, from Delhi’s prestigious Faculty of Management Studies gets a job in Mergers and Acquisitions department of Morgan Stanley in Mumbai’s Fort area. But is travelling in Mumbai’s local trains along with fisher-women and beggars”, Riya grimaced to herself.

Gone were the days when she could zip her small Alto from her west Delhi home to South Campus in 25 minutes flat. Now it was grimy train rides to her office and even the “first class” of her ladies compartment seemed dirty. But either it was this or the endless traffic while driving to “Town” as South Mumbai was called.

Her eyes wandered outside the coach, taking in the sights and stench of early morning Mumbai. People defecating on the railway lines, without any pretensions of modesty, people thronging vada-pav stalls for a quick breakfast on the go, crowding newspaper stalls for buying newspapers to read and to fan themselves in the sticky Mumbai local.

She turned her eyes inside the coach, taking in the “paani-puri brigade”, the ladies who would throw a party at any occasion – a new sari , new pair of shoes , kids passing in school, the reasons were endless and the parties were almost thrice a week. Most commuters were old faithful of the 7:48 local, reaching their offices on time, week after week, year after year. Quite different from Delhi’s laid back lifestyle. Nobody rushed there as if on fire. The roads were wide and one could commute in their car, reaching their destination by one route or another. Here in Mumbai, there was almost always only one route by road to follow and that was always clogged with cars, taxis and the ultimate bane of Mumbai’s life – Autos.

She idly looked across the compartment to the men’s first class adjacent to hers; separated by a netted partition and her heart skipped a beat. She hastily looked away, outside the window. She could feel his eyes on her still, but refused to look his way. True, he was handsome and seemed very sophisticated but then her Delhi upbringing told her not to trust strangers easily, even if they had been getting on the same train for more than 2 months now. She stole a very cautious glance towards the men’s side. He was talking on his mobile now, casually resting against the small window between the two coaches. The train rolled to a stop at Sion and she could hear him now, discussing IBM and its pay structure, apparently to somebody who wanted to join the company.

While her eyes took in the scene outside the window, her ears were glued to his conversation. He was loud enough for the entire compartment to hear. So he was happy in IBM, his pay was great; he had a good chance of promotion and what more could he want at the age of 27. Soon, he switched from English to Marathi and that’s when Riya also switched off, not understanding the language at all. Another glance while getting off at VT confirmed he was from IBM, when he slipped his ID card on.

So, he was good-looking, doing good career wise but was he single? And what was he doing so far off from his corporate office in Bandra? The day passed with Riya musing over these questions.

Next day , and “Handsome” wore his I-Card all the way from his station to the destination and she could finally read his name – Mayur Khedkar. And when he met a friend of his in the train, she came to know he was managing a project in Fort for IBM and  he had a woman in his life. Although he spoke in rapid Marathi, she could hear him mentioning somebody called “Anutai” repeatedly. And seemed she was in US. “Long distance relationships are hard to maintain. Doesn’t he know? ” muttered Riya. At office, she asked her friend what kind of a Marathi name was Anutai and her friend roared with laughter at her ignorance. Tai was didi in Marathi, meaning elder sister. Riya grinned from ear to ear, with relief she couldn’t understand herself.

Next day, she too wore her Morgan Stanley I-Card all the way to her destination. She could feel him stealing glances to read her name. Feeling quite smug, she fished out her cell phone and dialed her Mom. She could see him strolling near the window to hear her better. She too played her part well. Anybody listening to her could make out she was from Delhi, living as PG in Vikhroli and was relatively new to Mumbai and unattached. As she snapped her phone shut, she saw him look away casually, but not before she saw his smile.

This continued for another 3 months. Both were shy and didn’t want to break the silent romantic bond which they both preferred over a quick and short lived romantic tryst.  He would call up people on his phone and speak in English or Hindi for her benefit so that she would come to know more about his life and daily activities. She would have all conversations with her Mom and family members in the train, standing near the window. She hated pubs and lounges, enjoyed English movies. He loved going to Prithvi for plays and chilling out with his guy friends in sports bars. She was a tandoori chicken fan, he loved bombil fry. Both had looked each other up on all social networking sites and knew almost everything about each other, from a distance.

And then, Riya had to shift back to Delhi. Morgan Stanley was overseeing the acquisition of a major IT Indian giant by another and an entire team had to camp themselves in the headquarters for the same. They would get semi-permanent access to all the company facilities in Gurgaon, to make the takeover smooth. She told herself, she should be happy for the opportunity to go back home but the thought of not being able to see “Handsome” for long term was unbearable. She conveyed the news to him through another one of her calls to Mom and was slightly comforted to see dismay on his face. On the last day, she finally dared to look straight at him, while alighting down at VT and whispering “goodbye”.

Morning: 7:30 Metro from Rajouri Garden to Dwarka

Riya stepped despondently onto the platform and into the milling crowd in the Metro. No stickiness of the Mumbai local here, no naked butts on display and stench to gag to. And one could get a seat at this hour. But it was not the same. It had been a fortnight since she had shifted back and every morning when she stepped on the Metro, she was reminded of her “Handsome”. Today, she was more miserable than usual and she felt her eyes mist over; she fumbled in her bag for her sunglasses to hide her tears. And her I-card fell on the floor. Cursing and bumping she stooped down to pick it up, but it had miraculously disappeared.

She peered around to see if her I-card had been kicked out of sight, when she saw it dangling from a male hand. Sighing in relief, she raised her eyes to see her savior and her and they remained stuck to the familiar I-Card of Mayur Khedkar. She finally looked at him and found him beaming at her and realized she too was doing the same. Questions like “How did you manage to find me? When did you come here? For how long? “; nothing seemed to matter, now that they were together. And that’s how this love story started.