All steamed up

It's been a while since I've heard a train go choo-choo.

Yesterday, however, the era of coal, billowing black smoke and chuk-chuk gaadis was recreated effortlessly. Remember Sholay? Our local rail network is celebrating the 100th birthday of part of its line, this year. To mark the milestone, they had steam trains running three special trips between London and our town. It was a wonderful way to go back in time.

Mr R and I booked tickets for the afternoon train yesterday. We arrived in time to position ourselves on the bridge overlooking the tracks in order to catch the train coming in from London. Crowds gathered, most with children and prepared with cameras and handicams to record the event. We waited patiently, cameras in hand, waiting for a smoke signal, literally.

Then there is was. A wisp of black smoke at first, then billowing as it turned around a corner. What excitement as the engine came into view!! The train chugged forward proudly and came to a halt below us. The manual doors opened with a clack, passengers streamed out - excited children and adults posed near the engine, delighted with their journey.

Pictures taken, we got onto the train and fortunately found window seats. A lady dressed in period costume wandered about, waving to passengers. There were a couple of top-hats and tails to enhance the feeling of being back in pre-war days. Even the ticket checkers were dressed appropriately. The atmosphere was charged with excitement. We are all raring to go!

The train finally started. A hoot of the horn, a slight jerk and we were off, like a bullet. The speed was surprisingly fast. No slow chugging along here. We sped along like the regular trains, halting at two stations to take on more passengers before speeding non-stop to London.

Getting off at London Marylebone, we, along with all passengers on our train, decided to wait till it pulled out again. We didn't realise that it would mean a wait of almost an hour, but what's sixty minutes when you can capture a century gone by.

Twenty minutes later, as heavy rain pelted down, we cursed the nostalgia and took shelter under a railway bridge, with other passengers and some startled pigeons for company. The rain kept playing games with us, giving us ten minutes of heavy showers, biting winds and then alternating with some glaring sunshine. That's a typical day in England for you.

Anyway, it was 3.40 by the time the engines were steamed up and the train pulled out on its final journey for the day.

The locomotives date from 1929 and have transported thousands of passengers during their lifetime – workers, holidaymakers and football fans - as well as parcels and freight. They were withdrawn from service in 1963, but rescued from the scrap-yard by Vintage Trains and rebuilt to full glory. They are now regularly used on ‘The Shakespeare Express’, a popular service that runs from Birmingham Snow Hill to Stratford-upon-Avon during the busy summer season.

I'm not old enough to remember travelling by steam trains in India, but watching the train pull out brought a severe jolt of nostalgia for me. It may have to do with just the train pulling out -watching people depart leaving you behind is not always a pleasant experience - sometimes, you want to go with them, experience their travels, share their adventures. The romanticism of the smoke, the dressed up people, the shining eyes of the children and their parents took me back to the old Hollywood movies and the excitement of the screen indeed translated into real life. For a moment, we were all spared the daily vagaries of life and we indulged our senses with smoke, the smell of coal and experienced flecks of soot on our clothes. It wouldn't be fun breathing this on a daily basis, but once in a 100 years, it's okay to get all steamed up.





As we exited the station, we came across this compartment parked by the entrance. If you look at the picture, you will see that the stamp has the magical 'Hogwarts railway' on it. The British take their fiction very seriously.

Going Underground

While researching for a new article, I came across this very interesting site on London's tube network. Take a look at www.going-underground.net. It is a delightful compilation of facts, legends and urban myths about this popular British institution.

Look for some very funny posters, pictures and drivers announcements throughout the site. It's great!

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If you have ever lost a picture of yourself in London, take a look at http://www.isthisyou.co.uk/. Maybe you'll see your photo or one of someone you know!!

Santa Claus is coming to town...

September has barely begun and Christmas cards are already out in the shops here. Before we know it, autumn will be here (in a few days, actually) and it'll be time for the clocks to turn back.

Even though December is still a while away, Santa is on his way here. My baby brother (all grown up now) has a new job with BA as flight crew. He's coming over this weekend on a month long training with 35 others from good ol' Mumbai. Here's a chance for me to order things I want or miss - like Close Up Red Toothpaste. It's funny how we miss things we are used to - here I am in the heart of the European world, with access to the most fabulous paste's ever invented and I long for Close Up. Nothing that I have tried here has the same freshness and taste. HLL, you should start exporting this to the UK atleast :)

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Living in the UK is great, but there are some things, some basic services that I miss. Like vegetable vendors, cobblers on the street corner, the istri-wallah who picks up the laundry from your house, irons it and returns it (mostly) the next day, the egg-wallah , the bread-man and the paper-wallah who have a door delivery service. And sometimes you need the raddi-wallah, the knife grinder, the bhelpuri-wallah and the garage mechanics on every road.

For now though, one has to learn to live with picking up veggies and stuff on the weekly shopping expedition to the supermarket. There are no cobblers around. Old shoes in good condition are given to charity shops or go to shoe-heaven. Same goes for old bottles and paper - deposit it in the recycling bins at every supermarket. The paper bins are also emptied once a week outside your doorstep - there's no excuse not to recycle. You pick up your newspaper along with the bread and eggs at the supermarket and do your own laundry because it is cheaper to buy an outfit than to get it dry-cleaned. If your car breaks down you have to call a fixed breakdown service (which you pay for along with your insurance) and have it taken to a fixed service station that deals with the make of your car. It may be miles away from where you are, but that's the way it is.

Here the seasons are distinct, each with its own unique feel to it. In Mumbai, as my dear teacher used to say, we have only two seasons : Hot and Very Hot. Happy Teacher's Day to all you teachers!

And on that note, it's time to go to work - walk down to the town centre and catch a bus up the hill and walk back downhill and then uphill to get home. A far cry from leaving home at 0730 to take a bus/rickshaw to the station, jump into the 0759 Churchgate local (packed coming from Virar), walking to work and then reversing the same route back reaching home after 8 pm(though I have never dared to take a Virar bound local from Churchgate back home - there's no way the ladies mafia at the door will let you get off at your station).

There are some things one just doesn't miss.

Have a safe journey, all of you who still go through hell and back just to get to work.

Desperately Seeking Trains (and some glass)..

There was just one creature hopping mad at the Fulham Symphony Orchestra concert in London on Saturday evening. A pigeon had flown in, unannounced during the opening notes of the program. It was either terrified by the number of people or by the noise generated by the orchestra in the enclosed space of the Town Hall. It flew from this end to that, from ceiling to dome to a low whoop over the orchestra players head and back again. It was very distracting for everybody and eyes strayed away often from the evenings performance. The Mayor of Hammersmith and Fulham was in attendance, in full regalia complete with gold chains etc; perhaps the pigeon was a fan...

Mr.R and I were at the FSO performance as guests of one of his friends who was playing that evening. The two of us also sat and helped sell tickets at the box-office before the performance. Post concert, we were going to stay over with friends at their new flat at Kew Gardens. The evening had ended nicely, but that was not the way it had begun.....

TRAIN TROUBLES
Two days ago, a bridge/tunnel collapsed over a railway track two stations away from ours. As a result, train services on this line have been suspended till repairs and restoration are complete, possibly in the next 10 days. Of course, Mr.R and I had to take a replacement bus service to the next town about 20 mins away and then catch the tube into London from there. We hoped the rest of the evening would go smoothly, but changing lines to get to Kew Gardens where our friends were, was a pain.

Anyway, that done, we watched the Live8 concert telecast from Hyde Park and around the world and the friends exulted as Pink Floyd made their reunion debut after decades. Text message heralding this historic event were sent to sleeping friends back home in India, just to make them jealous.

We spent the better part of Sunday (after a lazy late breakfast of dosa's and coffee) loafing around the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew hunting for Dave Chihuly's spectacular glass sculptures scattered across the garden. The garden itself is a neatly laid out paradise of plants and rare species from across the world. Take a look at their website for more details - they have successfully managed to recreate a tropical environment in their huge 'greenhouses' to mimic the conditions of the desert, the tropics or the rain forests. The plants are real, as are the efforts that go into keeping them alive and thriving.

THRU' HELL ON THE WAY BACK
Something like this would have never happened in Bombay. Really.

Mr R and I said our goodbyes post lunch and set out for the Kew Gardens tube station where we were met with signs, announcements and a bewildered crowd trying to make sense of the announcements that said ' Services suspended'. There were no trains. At all. We had a long way to go and we didn't really know much about this part of London. A short chat with the ticket window gave us a vague idea as to what our next steps should be. In Bombay, no matter how much engineering work is to be done (usually on a weekend too), you would never ever see the entire line being closed down to the public. You would cripple the city if that happened. But London's Rail network is notorious for it. Divided into several 'lines', weekends usually are a problem. Like Today. A 45 minute journey took us almost three and half hours to complete. The journey involved two buses, three trains and lots of footsteps. Crazy really. There would have been a riot in Bombay if this would have happened there and the motorman would be ducking for his life. Every cell phone would be buzzing with the news that there was a rail problem afoot. You could stop and ask any chaiwallah or newspaperstallwallah for information. In England, cell phone's are not used for local chit-chat. And news of disruption of rail links are not high on anybody's priorities. And there are no chaiwallah's or paper-boys. On a weekend, even the shops are closed. So nobody sent us a text to warn us that we were going to be stranded for a while, trying to get onto overcrowded buses or figure out where Richmond tube station was...

Am so glad that the weekend has come to an end. Need a holiday just to recover from the tiresome travelling!

Hope your weekend was better!

Another Ordinary Day

It was just another morning in the life of a MW.

A technical fault at Goregaon this morning delayed Churchgate bound trains by 20 minutes. By the time I got to the station, three trains had already been canceled. And it was not even 8 am. One look at the waiting crowd was enough to give one claustrophobia. Surprisingly, the Railways deigned to make announcements telling commuters about the delay. Looking at the crowd, we were not sure that we would be able to get into a train if it turned up. So a few of us did the once-unthinkable. We made an attempt to climb into a Virar-Churchgate train. The men, of course, didn't bother to move. As any MW who travels on WR knows, it is impossible to get even a toe-hold in the general compartment of a Virar train. There are men sitting on TOP of the train (more comfortable up there, I guess). But we women know that with a 'little' pushing, prodding, pinching, we can attempt to move the Doorway Mafia on those trains.

The 8.07 halted, emptied out and we were flung in like Jackie Chan doing one of his stunts. Once in, we were able to practice being Shaolin monks - we stood on one foot/ a few toes till Bandra. Traveling in a WR train may be extremely uncomfortable, but it's good for the meditative spirit - one has to call upon all one's reserves of patience, prayers, calmness and bring out a peaceful mask on your face even when you are dying to punch the obnoxious woman next to you who is grumbling quite loudly about Borivili commuters entering 'their' train. And she had a rosary in her hand while grumbling! Just said a prayer that God might be merciful to her and her kind when the time comes.

Anyway, the train reached Churchgate at about 9.20 am, a delay of about half an hour for the 8.07. This MW and others survived to tell the tale. Perhaps next time, it might be more sensible to just go home quietly - it's not like there is anything important to be done at work anymore :)

To add to our misery, an after-thought of a shower drenched us as we walked out of the subway, ruining good shoes, handbags, white clothes and make-up. The cool breeze was little consolation.

Just another day...

Thinking of Newton..

Suddenly, we were not sure of what happened first. The train skidded to a halt with a hiss that sounded like a sigh one makes while putting one's feet up after a long day at work. And then there was sudden and total darkness. The Churchgate-Borivili train suddenly halted between Jogeshwari and Goregaon yesterday, plunging the train into darkness. We sat quietly in the dark, hoping it was just a temporary power outage, praying that it wasn't an overhead wire breakdown. Other trains passed by on neighboring tracks, whistling at us for sitting there while they moved on to the safety of railway platforms. In the absence of any information, we sat. Not desperate yet to jump onto tracks and walk to the next station, we sat. The distance from train to ground seemed too far in the darkness. Gravity beckoned far too quickly. In pitch darkness, we wondered about pickpockets and tried not to suffocate in the sudden stillness.

Twenty minutes or an eternity later, the train surreptitiously inched forward, without lights. I wondered idly if an oncoming train would be able to see us before it was too late, but faith in the railways drove away that thought quickly. Someone cracked a joke about the Burning Train and really, given the glimmer of fear that hovered all around, it was in bad taste. A disaster that's anticipated each day but doesn't come. Respite for 24 hours.

The train crawled through the dark, finally reaching Goregaon station. With relief the passengers got out of still dark compartments and surrounded the motorman wanting to know more, wanting to know what to do next. The motorman, typically brash with a harassed look, rudely told everybody who was listening not to pester him with questions because he didn't know what was wrong either. Confused commuters now milled about, wondering whether to walk the half mile to the nearest over bridge to platform 1 to take a slow train or to take the easy way out and cross the tracks. Ten minutes later, the ladies compartment was empty - most women choosing to take a slow train instead of waiting for this one to make up it's mind. The men of course stayed put, knowing that no way on God's earth would anyone be able to get into the general compartment in a Borivili bound train at Goregaon during rush hour.

Some fifteen minutes later, a sudden burst of light and it was Diwali inside the train! The women standing on the platform rushed inside, amused to see just eight women left from the hundreds a few minutes ago. Patience always wins, we said as we congratulated each other for being sensible and for waiting. We cracked jokes about how we'd never ever get a chance to be in such an empty train again. We laughed about the volume of suddenly available fresh air and a miraculous choice of seats. Strangers suddenly become friends, the laughter replacing the confusion and the worry.

Haltingly, lights on and off, the train plunged into the suburban darkness and finally reached Borivili. With a sigh of relief, we got off, reliving an adventure that now seemed like fun, once we were on safe ground. The key was not to panic and make a costly error like jumping onto tracks or crossing tracks in darkness. Nothing is so important that you must lose your life to get there.

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I managed to get my hands on a copy of The Da Vinci Code. To say that it's a page turner is putting it mildly. I read through a hundred odd pages in the time it took me to reach work. At Churchgate, I was still buried in the book when the train came to a halt and I looked up in strange confusion, surprised that I had reached so soon. I wondered for a brief instant whether to get off or go back in the same train so I could continue reading. Fortunately, sense prevailed and I reached work like planned.The book is fascinating, yes. It makes you want to know what's going to happen next. But since I'll most likely finish it by the time I reach home today, the pleasure of continuing the story can wait for evening (or even lunch time!)

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Tomorrow's a holiday. Wish they had elections more often :)

The Congress candidate in our area is Govinda's PA. I'm not sure how that qualifies him to be a politician. The BJP candidate has done some work for the area. But he brought Togadia to campaign for him. That changed my mind. So who's left? Candidates from parties like Jan Surajya Shakti , Lok Rajya Party, All India Krantikari Congress.... The lone woman candidate is from the Rashtriya Samaj Paksha. I've never heard of it before, no clue what it stands for. Should I give her a chance? It's really a question of who will do the least damage while in power. Well, I have about 24 hours to decide. Maybe I'll vote for one or maybe for none :) Maybe next time, I'll stand for elections instead, so atleast I don't have to waste time thinking about such things - if a choice isn't obvious at the first glance, then it's a choice that is not straight from the heart.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Our ballot will determine whether the quality of our life gets any better, stays the same, or possibly, worsens. That little mark of indelible ink has more power than we know.

Go, MW's. And choose wisely.

Miracles never cease.

I walked through Bombay Central station again yesterday (had to) on my way to Byculla and what do I see, the station is spotless!!!! (well, spotless may be too strong a word....)

The permanent beggars were gone at 3 pm. They were still not there at 7.30 pm. The hawkers spawning the entrance were cleared. There was a lady on the overbridge at 7.30 , sweeping, clearing bits of paper from the .... It was too much to believe. My eyes were surely giving me dhoka. This is what happens, I thought, pleased with myself, when you feel very strongly about something. Some cosmic intervention takes place and the unthinkable happens. Like streetlamps being repaired the morning I sit to draft a letter to the newspaper. Like a deadly pothole being filled a day after I decide to something about it. Like a plaque at Churchgate being resurrected after I mention it on my blog...... My life is lately full of strange coincidences, or maybe they have been there all along and I've never noticed them. But, still........

I was so pleased with the new look of the station that I forgave the gropers, the spitters, the loafers with no life to lead except sit at a railway station and eat up women with hungry eyes. I forgave them all. The Railways can't do anything about them, anyway. That's upto me (and you). Next week, I might not feel so generous. Especially if the beggars are back. Especially if the clean-up is a by-product of the elections on Wednesday. That would be unforgivable.

I think I'll drop a thank-you note to the station master.

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Happy B'day, Big B.

AB is my favorite actor. He beats Naseer, Aamir and Harrison Ford to the post. That's another funny coincidence that Mr.R and I have - our admiration for the angry old man. Our devotion to Sholay is another coincidence that's really too strange for words. We've both seen the movie umpteen times (my latest count is about 22, not sure about Mr.R's tally). That's one of the first things I discovered when I met Mr.R. We've had many moments discussing the finer points of Sholay, repeating dialogue that is now immortal, wishing for that era to return.

Talking about coincidences, I remember one Saturday evening, when I, here in India, was watching a Sholay re-run on TV. I sent a text to Mr.R in the UK telling him about the movie. And lo! He replied with funny shock that at that very moment, he's listening online to a track from Sholay which was emailed to him by someone!!

It's really eerie thinking about the two of us, on two different continents, watching/listening to Sholay at the same time. Very eerie!!

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12.

Hands Off!!

Someone please tell Jackie Chan to keep his hands off our garbage.

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13 days (fingers crossed)
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If

If I never walk through Bombay Central again
I will have no regrets.

If I never cross that bridge again
I will not miss the stench of rotting souls
the (some deliberately)
deformed children, men and women in
their permanent, assigned spots
sharing space with motley animals, passersby
dodging, jumping over the prone,
trying to remember that these are humans too.

I will not regret leaving behind
the groping hands of strange men
who mistake passing women
for their mothers or other relatives.

I will not miss the smells, the noise, the clamor
to live;
the hordes coming in with every outstation train.

I will not miss being just a female body
in a world that seems to be inhabited
by men who can't see beyond that.

If I never walk through Bombay Central again
I will have no regrets.

Of auditory hallucinations and lady motormen

"Hurry Home". That's what the song at the little music shop in the Churchgate subway seemed to warble at 9 am this morning. Then I realized what it actually meant was "Hari Om". All this rain and wanting to stay at home is sending me subliminal signals everywhere leading to auditory hallucinations now.

Reached work without any trouble unfortunately. Kept peering at the tracks to see if the water level was rising, but unfortunately the low tide played spoilsport. Never mind. I am fascinated by tracks anyway - I can look for hours at the merging, the separating - and I often wonder how the motormen know which track to take, especially at high speeds. I would have got quite confused and landed on the CR tracks from WR, I think! It's a good thing I'm not a motorman (or woman).

I met the sole lady motorman on CR once at last years WIPS (Women in Public Sector) annual meeting. It was an awe-inspiring speech and she was the only speaker in the two day forum who got a standing ovation. Not even Shobha De, Naina Lal Kidwai et al were that inspiring... She told tales of being a woman in this tough job, running over commuters on a daily basis and coming to terms with 'murder' (because there's no way to stop a fast train till it's too late), dealing with irate commuters and still managing to maintain her sanity...

And I thought I had a tough life.
:)

Chinese torture on WR.

Yesterday I survived being sardined.

And that should give you an accurate picture of what the journey back home was like once the WR services were restored. Mr.R jokingly says that I should consider it a form of massage therapy. I told him that it was more like Chinese torture and I escaped with minor brain damage and a partially dislocated arm (I exaggerate - it just felt like that!).

Ah, the joys of being a MW.

Today is reasonably bright, no downpours or drizzles. Sigh. No chance of trains stopping for another few days atleast....hmmm...

One lives in hope. Maybe tomorrow...

Of Arsenic and other thoughts

Arsenic. That's what the subway at BO smelt like last evening. Don't ask me how I knew what Arsenic smells like, but that's the first word that popped into my head the minute I climbed down the last step. I was not worried though. It would take more than mere poison to dispose of us Mumbaiwallahs. We live with poisoned water, poisoned air, poisoned language and poisoned minds on a daily basis, so how bad can a little chemical be?

A little further on, I got the distinct smell of pears. The fruit, not the soap. Any poison with that smell? Wonder why I'm thinking so much of poisons today... As I walked on, I looked at the ceiling of this relatively new subway (not even 6 months old). The plaster looks like it's peeling, drops of water gather strategically over already hassled commuter's heads and plonk! That is what is called a 'brainwash'.

More bizarre ideas float by as I continue looking at the ceiling : What if this train thats trundling above my head this very moment, falls through the cracks someday? That would not be a very pleasant experience, I think....

Brrr. It's cold suddenly. The thought of being crushed by a train full of a gadzillion Virar bound people lowers the temperature in my veins. It's a good thing Home is close by. I'll be safe there.

Breaking News!

Patna and Delhi Railway stations are being scrubbed clean and shiny.

The reason for this sudden enthusiasm? LALOO! Photographs of him in disguise as a beggar, traveller, vendor etc etc have suddenly sprung into circulation generating hot rumours that he's on the move in disguise, checking what his employees are upto! I say, Way to go, Laloo! Who cares if the rumours are true or not? God bless the person whose idea it was! Atleast the stations get cleaned up!

How about starting a similar rumour for Bombay Central station, please?
:)
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Question of the Week

"Arre, yeh jeena bhi koi jeena hai lallu?"
AB in "Mere paas aao" from Mr.Natwarlal.

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Currently reading : And the Violins stopped playing by Alexander Ramati. A heart breaking account of what the Gypsies underwent during the Nazi Occupation of Poland and Hungary. Simply terrible.

The truth is indeed more horrible than fiction. Makes one wonder, how can mankind be capable of this?