It's about the Journey.

Someone once said, 'It is not about the Journey, but the destination'. Now, I'm new to Mumbai (sorry, Bombay) so I'm not sure, but most definitely, it was someone who traveled, and survived that travel in the city.
The good thing about traveling in Mumbai is the local train. The bad thing about traveling in Mumbai is the local train. To catch the 9.50 from Andheri Station to Churchgate or CST, I need to prepare myself, mentally. And have a Plan B. These trains have a mind of their own and a mean sense of humor. Like when you reach the station and see that you're train has just arrived on the platform, you run for your life, throughout the length of the platform, huffing and puffing, looking stupid. You finally reach your compartment and jump in. You would expect the train to start moving immediately, giving you the 'Yes!'  - Fistpump in the air. But no. You're sweaty, our of breath, and fifty people are smirking at you. Because the train decides to stubbornly stay on the platform for five more luxurious minutes. Just when it is about to move, a girl walks by prettily, climbs in and sits next to you. Deranged, sweaty, out of sorts, you.
Or, the more frustrating happens; you arrive at the platform, all of thirty seconds late, and the train sticks its tongue out at you, and leaves. You run, trip, fall and then sigh.
Getting on to a train at places like Dadar is warfare. Literally. On the platform, where I get on the Ladies coach, the 'ladies' size each other up, before the train arrives. You're the enemy. You're competition. And if you're not ready to play dirty, get out of the way. When the train lords in over the platform, and the women go wild. They punch, kick, hit, push, pull. One they are in, they have won. Emerging victorious, they scramble to find the best seat. Here's the pattern, first you pick the side, forward seat, or backward seat. Then you pick right or left. Then if it's raining, aisle seat, otherwise rush to the window.

These enemies forget fast. Once inside, the women are best of friends. They chat, laugh, gossip, and share stories and lives. They know each other's families, kids, offices, and worlds. They have these 20-30 odd minutes to connect, before they are disconnected again. The network these ladies have is amazing. They know everything , yet nothing about a total stranger's life. Questions from, "How was your sons birthday?" to, "You should leave him, he's just not worth it." float. What is beautiful is that they are all in this, together. Last week, two women got into a fight, one having accused the other of pushing her kid, and the other one was probably having just a bad day. The fight escalated quickly and the screaming began. It was an evening train, with tired women traveling back to their husbands and kids, already planning  dinner in their heads. Tired heads began to turn to watch these women argue. ( A fight is more like an show in Mumbai. There are actors, an audience, side actors, and props). As women were enjoying the show, the argument elevated and the mood became tense. Statements like, "They shouldn't let people like you in" "If you can't handle kids, don't have them" were yelled. Just when I thought it was going erupt into something more, a sleepy, elderly voice called to them, "Arre kyo apni energy waste kar rahe ho. Dono ko ghar jaake apne baachoon aur patiyon ko sambhalana hain. Thodi energy bachake rakho.", after which the mood lightened. Women smiled, sighed and returned to their earphones. The two women exchanged small apologetic smiles and moved on. It was really wondrous to watch.
Speaking of passing time, people do everything there. Books, songs are the most preferred. Other than that, in a noisy train, people just close their eyes and disapparate somewhere. I can never do it. Interesting to watch is a woman who sits in the train, combs her hair, accessorizes, and proceeds to apply kajal and eye makeup, without poking her eyes out. I can only watch in amazement.
The sale business is enterprising. Apart from earrings, rings and makeup, the hawkers bring in freshly cut fruits and vegetables, phone covers, headphones, books, pens, pencils, nail cutters, hairbrushes, clothes, toys, you name it. They have it all.
Of all these things, the stories are my favorite. Every person in the train has a story to tell. You just need to ask. You can ask anyone about their day and get a story. These are hardworking, sincere, real people with fascinating lives. They have sons who won't study. Daughters who don't want to marry. Husbands who cooked last night. Parents being difficult. Friends in an accident. Friends getting married. At the end of the story, they sigh. It is the sigh that takes them to the next topic.
The train arrives at the station. In seconds the people climb out. They don't once turn back to wave goodbye. They are strangers once again. Until next time.