7.35 am Fast to Dombivali
7.35 am Fast to Dombivali
For a Bandra resident, Dombivali seems far away, like another continent. But the early morning visit was a mandatory one. My private secretary of two and a half decades Subramanian (Subu) lost his wife a few days back so I had to go and meet him. Subu is only second to my wife in a hierarchy of knowing me intimately. For 24 years, he looked after me lovingly, efficiently, and dedicatedly, putting up with my nastiness known to a few.
I am now reaching a stage of life when rushing for anything is less appealing. So I woke up at 5 am, got ready at a slow pace I am not known for, and got into an auto-rickshaw not expecting the driver to be so sinfully cheerful at that hour and wanting to discuss UP politics and poll alliances.
I arrived at Bandra station at 7 am.
Even at that early hour of Sunday, Bandra station was a melody of colors and cacophony of sounds. Everyone was heading somewhere; to a football match, for a cricket coaching, a temple visit, social engagement, or even plain and simple breakfast somewhere in girth of Bombay. I boarded 7.15 am Churchgate slow and alighted at 7.25 am at Dadar western station.
Crossing over to the east side via the vast expanse of the old devil of a bridge is an arduous endeavor. And the experience adds even more zing to one's morning. Dadar bridge is a microsome of Mumbai. I could see and hear a multitude of languages, clothing, and moods of people crossing both sides, east and west.
The indicator on the bridge showed me a 7.35 am fast leaving for Asangaon that will bring me to Dombivali station at 8.10 am. I entered the first-class compartment hoping to relax my self, take a corner seat, to read my Mid-Day, and eat my Banana in peace. But Mumbai trains do not fulfill such expectations easily. The train was so crowded that I could barely stand in a corner, holding a handle overhead, folding my newspaper, and guarding my rear pocket.
Long back when I traveled by train for work, I used to see people on the train chatting away or playing cards or reading a book. Now I saw everyone diving into their mobile phones and escaping this ethereal world. I have knocked off all social media from my phone and in any case, I relish Mid-Day on Sunday so I kept reading my folded paper.
I met inconsolable Subu at his home and made small talk that one makes on a condolence call. I find it very hard to console someone. I have a personal belief in letting people grieve in their privacy. Anyways I was back to Dombivali station in 30 minutes after landing here. I boarded a fast train and then I realized that I had told my wife that I will be back only by lunchtime. I had bought a season ticket for a day as advised by a friend. This is apparently cheaper than return first-class to Dombivali. So I decided to travel further on from Dadar and trudge on to VT. Might as well make a round of our favorite part of Mumbai we lovingly call as the town.
I entered the majestic foyer of VT station at around 10 am. VT station has a life of its own. It is possible to sit on a bench at this station and go into meditation. The chaos around you is so orderly, so pre-ordained that it's like being in suspended animation.
I began to walk through the Dadabhai Nauroji (DN) road, the walk I must have traversed thousands of times. I had no destination in mind but knew that subconsciously I am heading towards the Churchgate station. DN road's smell filled up my nostrils as I walk past the labyrinth of alleyways that houses vendors of everything from porn to perfume. The smell I recall from my 1974 stay here comprises of fried eggs, illicit perfume, and incense sticks.
I browse books at sidewalk stalls near the former telegraph office. I arrive at Churchgate station to convince myself to follow my ancient routine for all these years. First of all, it was shoe polish. I used to get shoe polish here for 50 paise which now costs ten rupees. That is the inflationary times I have traversed. Next was to enjoy a glass beer in the courtyard of Gaylord, where I also bought some bread from Gaylord's famous bakery. My lunch here used to be at Satkar outside the station but that is gone away so I was tempted to try lunch at Kemling, sadly realizing that even Kemling is shut. This city is changing faster than I like. Had I got another hour in my fold, I would have also dropped in at Air Cool for a manicure, pedicure, and head massage. Alas, my time was up as I boarded 11.45 am Borivali slow, took a window seat in an empty train, and began reading my Mid-Day.
This outing of over 4 hours had made me good for the next few weeks, condolence visit notwithstanding. I do this train journey occasionally to destress myself. Do try this. It's bliss, to board that 7.35 am fast to Dombivali.
For a Bandra resident, Dombivali seems far away, like another continent. But the early morning visit was a mandatory one. My private secretary of two and a half decades Subramanian (Subu) lost his wife a few days back so I had to go and meet him. Subu is only second to my wife in a hierarchy of knowing me intimately. For 24 years, he looked after me lovingly, efficiently, and dedicatedly, putting up with my nastiness known to a few.
I am now reaching a stage of life when rushing for anything is less appealing. So I woke up at 5 am, got ready at a slow pace I am not known for, and got into an auto-rickshaw not expecting the driver to be so sinfully cheerful at that hour and wanting to discuss UP politics and poll alliances.
I arrived at Bandra station at 7 am.
Even at that early hour of Sunday, Bandra station was a melody of colors and cacophony of sounds. Everyone was heading somewhere; to a football match, for a cricket coaching, a temple visit, social engagement, or even plain and simple breakfast somewhere in girth of Bombay. I boarded 7.15 am Churchgate slow and alighted at 7.25 am at Dadar western station.
Crossing over to the east side via the vast expanse of the old devil of a bridge is an arduous endeavor. And the experience adds even more zing to one's morning. Dadar bridge is a microsome of Mumbai. I could see and hear a multitude of languages, clothing, and moods of people crossing both sides, east and west.
The indicator on the bridge showed me a 7.35 am fast leaving for Asangaon that will bring me to Dombivali station at 8.10 am. I entered the first-class compartment hoping to relax my self, take a corner seat, to read my Mid-Day, and eat my Banana in peace. But Mumbai trains do not fulfill such expectations easily. The train was so crowded that I could barely stand in a corner, holding a handle overhead, folding my newspaper, and guarding my rear pocket.
Long back when I traveled by train for work, I used to see people on the train chatting away or playing cards or reading a book. Now I saw everyone diving into their mobile phones and escaping this ethereal world. I have knocked off all social media from my phone and in any case, I relish Mid-Day on Sunday so I kept reading my folded paper.
I met inconsolable Subu at his home and made small talk that one makes on a condolence call. I find it very hard to console someone. I have a personal belief in letting people grieve in their privacy. Anyways I was back to Dombivali station in 30 minutes after landing here. I boarded a fast train and then I realized that I had told my wife that I will be back only by lunchtime. I had bought a season ticket for a day as advised by a friend. This is apparently cheaper than return first-class to Dombivali. So I decided to travel further on from Dadar and trudge on to VT. Might as well make a round of our favorite part of Mumbai we lovingly call as the town.
I entered the majestic foyer of VT station at around 10 am. VT station has a life of its own. It is possible to sit on a bench at this station and go into meditation. The chaos around you is so orderly, so pre-ordained that it's like being in suspended animation.
I began to walk through the Dadabhai Nauroji (DN) road, the walk I must have traversed thousands of times. I had no destination in mind but knew that subconsciously I am heading towards the Churchgate station. DN road's smell filled up my nostrils as I walk past the labyrinth of alleyways that houses vendors of everything from porn to perfume. The smell I recall from my 1974 stay here comprises of fried eggs, illicit perfume, and incense sticks.
I browse books at sidewalk stalls near the former telegraph office. I arrive at Churchgate station to convince myself to follow my ancient routine for all these years. First of all, it was shoe polish. I used to get shoe polish here for 50 paise which now costs ten rupees. That is the inflationary times I have traversed. Next was to enjoy a glass beer in the courtyard of Gaylord, where I also bought some bread from Gaylord's famous bakery. My lunch here used to be at Satkar outside the station but that is gone away so I was tempted to try lunch at Kemling, sadly realizing that even Kemling is shut. This city is changing faster than I like. Had I got another hour in my fold, I would have also dropped in at Air Cool for a manicure, pedicure, and head massage. Alas, my time was up as I boarded 11.45 am Borivali slow, took a window seat in an empty train, and began reading my Mid-Day.
This outing of over 4 hours had made me good for the next few weeks, condolence visit notwithstanding. I do this train journey occasionally to destress myself. Do try this. It's bliss, to board that 7.35 am fast to Dombivali.
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