The decision to take the train back from Andheri was a bad one. Knew it the minute I reached the station and stood in queue (yes, Bombay is the only place in India I have seen so far where queues form by themselves).
It was hot, humid, crowded, noisy and my fresh linen shirt was fast plastering itself to my back. The only creature at peace with it all was a large shaggy brown stray, lying on the cool cement floor, beneath a fan, while the harried humans stepped gingerly over its snout, paws and tail.
Twenty minutes later, I was on the platform, waiting for the train. Being horribly late to work was not on my mind. Getting to the air-conditioned office was.
The train was not crowded (by Bombay standards) and the breeze through the door was some relief. Then, a couple of women boarded, with their children in tow. And that was the end of my moment of peace.
While the boy – about eight years old – constantly yelled threats to his mother if she did not buy him what he wanted, the other kid (no idea whether it was a girl or a boy) was squirming in its mother’s arms, grabbing at everything from the overhead handles, a vendor’s goods to another passenger’s sari. All this, while the mothers smiled and looked on indulgently, till the squirming kid grabbed at something and was met with a sharp whack on its hand.
A small hell broke lose. Adding to the heat and sweat, was an unearthly shriek. The kid was jiggled violently in an attempt to silence it. As almost always, it failed.
By the time I was at Mahim, walking down to work, I was hating Bombay more than I have in a while. It is a city where people have stopped being humans almost, I thought. Nothing affects them. The heat, the rain, the crowds, the inhuman living and travelling conditions… nothing. That’s the only way of life they know, and they think it’s normal.
I was trudging past homes held together on pavements, in abandoned sewage pipes. Rags hung from every nook and cranny, women sat making cane baskets, the surrounding road and pavement an extension of their lives. When suddenly, a toddler – with a wide grin showing just the two front teeth – ran out squealing and laughing. Arms flaying as it kept balance, the kid ran on bare, dirty feet towards me, as a young boy, as mirthful and as dirty, ran up from behind. The boy caught up and scooped up the kid in his thin hands and danced it around. The kid threw back its head and laughed its toothless laugh again. Another boy, slightly older than the first and wearing a ring in one ear, also turned up and between the two of them, they swung the toddler along by its arms as they walked ahead of me.
The three were laughing in the hot afternoon sun (or were they laughing at it?), walking bare feet on the burning asphalt.
I realized that I was smiling, and not because the sea breeze had detached my shirt from my back.