Riding the Bombay Locals-Ladies Style

Sitting at a crowded concert in Boston, I suddenly became very aware of my personal space. Somehow it brought me back to riding the local trains in Bombay, where personal space was a foreign phenomenon. Riding the Bombay locals, ladies compartments can open adventurous minds to the differences of the sexes, the joy of proximity, and the result of a cheeky comment.

The train lines ran north to south with some variation. The three lines are the Western, Central and Harbour lines. At a recent court hearing for more trains, it was observed that at present, about 5000 people are crammed in trains having capacity to carry only 1700 passengers. The suburban railway began operation 1857 and is considered the oldest railway in Asia. Rider ship is estimated at 6.1 million daily.

The ladies compartments (dubbas) are at the front, middle, and end of each train. It’s easy to find at the stop because you see a multitude of blood red, peacock blue, lime green and haldi yellow; in the forms of saris, jeans, tops, purses and shoes. The ladies’ compartments were most likely created to save women from various forms of sexual, visual, and verbal harassment that one of mixed genders would bring. Although, as a city, Bombay is quite safe (generally speaking), it’s always safer for a lady to re-tie her sari, put on make-up or gossip with the gals without the roving eyes of their male counterparts. The ladies’ compartments are still usually not enough for the waiting crowd of ladies, which leads to a lot of unruly and friendly behavior at the same time.

If your stop came early, you got to share a bench from Churchgate to Bandra with three average sized women comfortably. If your stop came later, you would run the risk of squeezing half an ass cheek on the corner of the bench. Not comfortable when some women had a hard time balancing themselves and ended up squeezing you in the corner, pressed up against the metal bars of the window. I always marveled at how physically incapable some women were of asserting their half-an-ass cheek and would still sleep with the corner of the bench so intimate with their posteriors.

Some of the ladies riding the Bombay locals are aggressive about getting that seat. Instinctively, they enter the train; they come up to each person sitting and point to them. A secret code for which station are you getting off at and can I have your seat. These women will even wake up the sleeping commuter to inquire.
"Bandra"
"Andheri"
"Mira Road"
"Last"
When the promiser gets up to prepare for the exit (usually two stations before) the promisee quickly squeezes in, and the others adjust, regardless of size. The promise is made by the traditional Indian half-nod, half-shake that confuses EVERYONE. It’s more of an ‘ok’, but it looks like a ‘no’, or ‘I don’t know’.

Some women didn’t want to sit on the bench. I always wondered about some women that chose to sit near the door of the train. They were usually of lower socio-economic status, but I never thought they sat there because of that. Standing in the breeze of the door, this location provided anonymity of the best kind. I once saw a young woman crying there. She wasn't weeping, but there were big tears rolling down her round cheeks. I wanted to say something, but it felt like she needed to be alone and anonymous in that crowd. Perhaps someone had broken her heart at Churchgate and she needed the ride to gather her thoughts before going home to her family in Andheri.

The doorway also provides a peek into the morning abulations of the population of Mumbai that does not have access to a toilet. Women are never seen, due to shame factors, must go out between the hours of 2-5am. (Once on a CNN interview, Shah Rukh Khan said he felt the plight of women needing toilets and that would be his platform). I guess we can say alvida to that idea! Anyways, the doorways also give you insight into how people live in slums along the train tracks. It gives you an enormous amount of perspective to see how life isn't all about what is happening in YOUR life. It’s a great perspective builder. SO, staying near the doors is great, if you want some breeze or to peep life on the other side of the tracks.

Being near the doors isn't a choice during rush hour (9-11am and 6-8pm). At that time, it was a battle of survival of the fittest and meanest. It can be likened to herding water buffalo or arriving at a Nirvana concert en route to your job at the frozen yogurt store. The strangest thing is that even during off-peak hours, there is still the same amount of pushing. After seeing grandmas utilizing their emaciated biceps to push children on to the train I realized this was not the time to be polite or reflect on the wonders of Incredible India! Hell no, these women were on their way somewhere and you weren’t about to get in their way.

It seemed that even the mothers forgot they were mothers once too when they pushed women with children on the train. In a crowd that often made me want to cry for my mother, the sound of children crying often laced the chatter on the train.

Each line has its regulars: beggars, saleswomen and men (these men were either young adults or handicapped in some way), entertainers, street children, and food vendors. They were as timely as the trains. There was never a dull moment, especially if you wanted one. Their sounds were all over the place:

"Dus Ka Char"
"Cleeeps, fine cleeeeps"
"Tickly, ohhh tickly"

“Lipis-steek”
"Orrrrrrraaaangggeeee"
"Seeng-phali, Seeng-phali"

On the Western Railway, there was a middle-aged man, with a pleasant face who sold time cards on the trains. He happened to have no use of his legs, he traveled on his hands. He saw the world from the ground up. These people were not beggars, they were entrepreneurs with traveling shops selling snacks, soaps, scissors, pens, notebooks, fish, fresh vegetables for dinner, fruit, hair clips, roasted peanuts (shelled and otherwise), lipstick, earrings, payal, manglasutras and on occasion, clothing.

So if you had to:

1.) Make dinner but forgot the subzi
2.) Lost a button and needed a safety pin
3.) Wanted to buy your kid an after school snack
4.) Had the desire to look like a married woman (female or hijra)
5.) Needed to kiss up to your boss with a cheap pen

...you would be all set.

SO, now that you have fought your way on to the train, proudly claimed a seat, silently cursed the next 7 generations of the grandma who pushed you, and purchased some sabji for dinner, there are only a few more things you can do for "time pass" until your station comes.

Clearly, for someone needing to pass the time on a trip from Dadar to Borivili, running into your neighbor's aunt's bahu's cousin was VERY exciting. SO exciting, that you found it very necessary to express your excitement by increasing the volume of your voice to a decibel level that would cause immense, piercing pains to anyone within 30 feet of you. I don't have a source for this, but I remember reading that the frequency at which women talk on a Bombay local is equivalent to a jet plane flying over your head. Hindi, Gujarati, Tamil, Marathi, Punjabi, English pierce the air, and sometimes a mix of all of the above otherwise none of the above or other.

It’s not just the volume, but the pitch. Three or four women, speaking in a high pitch at max volume can drive fellow passengers to seek solace in other parts of the dubba. If it is too crowded, daggers are distributed from the eyes until said activity is reduced or ignored. Perhaps I am overly sensitive in my hearing, but it doesn't really seem to bother the others riding the train that much.

If you don't have anyone to talk to, you can always do the universal Indian past-time, staring at each other. I would love to do a study on why it is totally considered ok to burn a hole through someone with a Care Bear Stare. But its kind of fun when you get used to it. The gaze usually starts at your face and works its way down. Mostly people end up staring at your face or your feet. If your gaze goes up, you can see the grimy dust that has accumulated on the deceptively placed fans and over to the connecting men's dubba. The men's dubba is connected with a metal mesh/net type thing that is meant to be a barrier but more so provides a voyeuristic view into the ladies dubba. For all the men that are curious about the various, mysterious activities of the women's compartment are treated to dirty looks and turned backs.

When the trains were crowded, the staring was harder because you literally could only look at the person squished up against you (or more specifically at their hair, arms, sari, cell phone, purse, or other randomly placed accessory. Plus with the parts of flesh (butts, breasts, thighs, arms, knees, elbows) haphazardly forced on one another and the commotion of a lost dupatta, umbrella or child usually took over until said item was returned to its original owner. Women and children were squeeze up against the doors, in the aisles, in the benches and anywhere else there was an iota of space available. This is when the fights happened.

The fights ranged from light-hearted to serious. The random mix of women who rode the second class compartments were as diverse as the colors they wore. When else would desi housewives, school teachers, bais, ayahs, vegetable and fish sellers, I-bankers, college students, transvestites, and social workers ever be together in such an intimate situation? However, the various stresses on some of these women would crescendo when someone was inadvertently or advertently rubbed (or pushed) the wrong way. The best story I heard was about a woman who was blocking the doorway. (Side note, this can be very annoying for those trying to get on, but almost necessary for those who need to get off at the next stop, most people make adjustments). This woman did not. Things got ugly.

"MOVE OVER" one woman shouted at her. She barely budged.

The other woman was not hearing it, "you are so stubborn, and you can't even let us in. You probably don't even let your husband in!" At this point everyone burst out in laughter.

However, people do get into fist fights, and are subsequently broken up by the others on the train. A friend was once in between a dishoom dishoom fight, and in trying to break it up she was injured as well. Even though I have mentioned the fights, it’s only meant to give an overview of all the various happenings on Bombay locals.

And some final observations..

At ANY and ALL times of the day, the men's compartments are jam packed. There are at there are 6 women's dubba's then there are 12 for men. What are these guys doing? Don't they have anything to do? Why are they on the train at all hours of the day? Ya, tell me.

I really enjoy the juxtaposition of the classes in the Bombay local trains. The price difference for a ticket from Bandra to King's Circle is virtually unaffordable for the average Bombay-ite. Five rupees in second class versus Rs. 70+ (my memory is fuzzy) first class. Most second class riders will say, "in first class, you are being pushed in the same way by more expensive elbows. Tch tch what a waste." I agree. Plus, there are way more interesting things that happen in the 2nd class compartments.

The biggest thing I learned from riding the trains was the evolution of progress. When I arrived in Bombay in July 04, beyond track 7 of Bandra Station (Harbour Line going to VT) I saw a family that had perhaps arrived in Bombay. Their shelter consisted of a tent made of plastic and cloth, precariously supported by wooden poles, unevenly. By the time I left in March 06, the same family had turned the tent into a square shed like structure, with 4 walls and a roof. I am sure they still don't have access to running water, health care, or a toilet and are probably living on land that is not legally theirs; but in the struggle for roti, capra, aur makan, possessing one of them is certainly a start.