On the trains

As I watch the familiar faces clad in uniform black and grey, all sitting in silence with books or a tabloid fencing them off within a hermetically sealed carriage travelling through a cold Melbourne Monday morning, I reflected on what a burst of colour and noise might do to cheer up this glum lot.

Nostalgia. Time and distance filters away the grime, discomfort and pain leaving behind just a pleasant recollection of the Mumbai locals.

What I choose to remember of my infrequent forays on the lifelines of Mumbai are the musical vibrancy of the bhajan mandli groups and their vast repertoire, enough to last the distance from Kalyan to CST. The urchins selling hairpins and combs; the blind singer and his harmonium, led by a limpid eyed half-ticket. The seasoned travellers hung on to open doorways for the pleasant rush of wind by no more than a toe-hold, reliant on being saved from a fall on the goodwill of the stranger in whose oiled hair they had their nose buried. Amid this, the salaryman with his briefcase, his white shirt unmarked by the crush, a testament to his expertise in navigating these shoals.

On the return trip, the old reprobates play teen-patti and housewives chop vegetables for dinner. The hijras make periodic nuisances of themselves with their hand clapping routines and threats to embarrass. Meanwhile the project meeting for Vikhroli’s Gokulashtami Dahi-Handi team proceeds at high decibels interrupted by the girl selling bras en route to the ladies compartment.

Melbourne with its lovely tradition of looking outwards to distant lands to brighten up its tram network (the Karachi tram, Colonial Tram Car) may want to spice up its uniformly bland train network with some train theatre.