LATE NIGHT MUSINGS

LATE NIGHT MUSINGS

Bombay Central station. 8.30 pm. The same familiar beggars line the heritage building (It has the potential to look fantastic, if cleaned up a bit!) I walk towards the platform, hallucinating about the transformation of this grimy station, deftly ignoring the outstretched hands and supine bodies all over the place. My heart wrenched as I saw a 3-4 year old child on a little gunny bag right in the middle of the path of rushing passengers, on his stomach, hands outstretched... He was, I guess, meant to be begging...but I looked at him, and he was fast asleep, one little deformed hand raised in supplication, but eyes firmly closed, chin resting on the ground in sheer exhaustion...... What a way to begin life....

LUNCH TIME MUSINGS :

From the cushy confines of my plush office, I watch Mantralaya being washed by this unseasonal downpour. The Tricolor flutters bravely against the wind. Temperatures must have fallen a bit,but I can only imagine that, not having the energy or the inclination to step out of the airconditioning. Ah! A streak of sunlight. Oh no, A nimbus or a cumulus obstructs that solitary sunbeam and Mantralaya goes back to being in the shadows....

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A 'slight' downpour this morning and the journey to work becomes rather eventful. We are grateful for the people who have gone to their 'native place' for summer holidays...I managed to get a seat without losing a limb or being poked in the eye. Of course, it helps that I leave home at an unearthly hour just to be able to manage to get into a reasonably crowded train.

Back to the rain...The 'fast' train trundled along very slowly, inching its way across a few centimeters of water and suddenly the prospect of spending the next four months wading through our version of the Indian monsoon is not too encouraging or inviting right now. The windows are shuttered, the seats are dry and a gaggle of women have descended on their favorite seats to find me occupying one of their usual places; but given the fewer people, my audacity is forgiven. I take out an old favorite book to keep me company for the next 45 minutes and say a silent prayer that I can read without interruption. I should have known that God must have been extra busy this morning trying to deal with the numerous prayers of the slum-dwellers on the Goregaon-Malad track whose shanties were inundated with rainwater and He couldn't possibly have time to deal with me at that moment. And so it came to pass that I valiantly tried to concentrate on my page while seven or eight women sang old Hindi songs about the rain and whispered 'non-veg' jokes in each others ears.I said another fervent silent prayer hoping that the train reached Churchgate in one peice soon, so I could be rescued. Ofcourse, the thought of vacating my seat and shifting elsewhere did not occur to me. I'm not insane.