Questions are zooming in my mind sitting at the Vashi station. I’m encountering a lot of confusion. There are ladies huddling up to catch the next local. Teenagers walk past in the swankiest of clothes, the baggy jeans the abstract color blazing shoes; it indeed is a jarring sight.
At the Mumbai local railway station there is never an end to the activities that rocket around. If any one wishes to stop it, he is certainly praying for the impossible.
Believe me when I say so but being only two years old in Mumbai has taught me how to juggle through the confusion. It’s like ducking past fire balls & ditching every single one of them.
People may call the city rude but they do not deny knowing it as a candid place. The candidness behind the sarcastic words is misconstrued with rudeness; never will you encounter such a frank combination of the two. Squeezing my way through the zillion souls swimming in the tiny train compartments that house them, doesn’t thrill me very much but it indeed is one obligation that every “local (train)” loyalist needs to repeat day after day. If you fail to perish in a year in this crazed land, trust me sweets you can survive a place in hell too!!
The real roasting begins in Mumbai. It is the land that chickens your soul or makes you bold enough to behold your breath and squash the evil eye right under your foot.
The way to be in this land of extremes is the way to push in your tears back to where they came from and rear to run ahead of yourself.
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