Travails Of a Suburbanite

Its 4.45 in the morning and as I wriggle out of my bed in the distant suburb of Nalasopara, my eyes groggy and looks in complete disarray, I am invariably hooked on to the clock which always appears to be running at breakneck speed. I grab my cell phone and check the M indicator which somehow appears to be the best app at that moment !! Because for the quintessential suburbanite that I am, the timings of the local train that will take me to my destination in the city is the only thing that matters. In fact, ask anyone living in the distant suburbs - he or she can rattle off the local train timings, howsoever odd it may be, in the blink of an eye. The routine is so well oiled in our blood that the slightest thought of missing a regular train is enough to set the adrenaline at an all-time high. Once I hustle and bustle my way to the station, a more laborious task lays in wait - that of jostling through the crowds to grab that coveted seat to go down towards Virar as catching an up train from Nalasopara sounds like doing a Houdini act.

While I am able to get a seat, I heave a sigh of relief, plug on the earphones, close my eyes, take a deep breath and let the music wade through my ears trying hard to be oblivious to the frantic pace of the never-ending crowd embarking at each passing station. The situation is so chaotic that even if one is seated, there is hardly enough legroom as commuters occupy every inch, some standing on two legs and some maybe one and half. There is another category of commuters who somehow find divine pleasure in plonking themselves on the fourth seat with half their butt protruding out of the seats. They remain uncomfortable throughout and ruin the comfort of the other three to boot !!! And then there is the rule - an unwritten one rather - to offer seats to the standees once you cross Borivali. Failure to do so will invite all sorts of nasty comments and boos. This rule, however, is not applicable to members of groups who exchange seats between themselves. These are those who either play cards or sing bhajans and prove to be a constant source of irritation, religious sentiments notwithstanding in the latter case. The situation in the lady's compartment is relatively worse as there are only a few bogies reserved for them and the working populace therein is ever-burgeoning. I sometimes wonder how these women folk manage to get their act together- balancing home, work and commute. In fact, everyone from the distant suburbs deserves an applause for it is hard to find parallels to this spirit anywhere.

The journey towards home at the end of a tiring day is equally frenetic. The situation is getting more chaotic each passing day as cheaper properties in the suburbs attract people from across the country while the infrastructure moves at a snail's pace. Moreover, there is lopsided development in that majority of the industries and offices are located in the city which results in one way traffic at a particular point in time which is called peak hour rush in commuting parlance. Even though there is a marked improvement in various modes of transport still it has miles to go in order to catch up with the meteoric rise in population. The commuting travails of the suburbanites leave them with no time to either care for their family or health or to hone their individual pursuits as well. Most of us are resigned to this fact and hope that things get better at least in the near future. Till then we shall continue to have our M indicators, the earplugs, the bhajans, the fourth seater, the mad rush, the window seat, the return journey, the skirmishes, the choicest of abuses as our constant partners.

Happy Living.