As soon as I step out into the open, I start feeling like a slice of butter that’s just been tossed into a frying pan. Literally. Just like the butter in the pan, I start to melt away with sweat pouring forth from every imaginable fold and corner of my body. I start to pity myself already. I feel a strong urge to do an about turn and go home. But I will myself against it. I let myself believe that I have to do this as I am the sole breadwinner for my family. What would happen to them if I don’t work? They’d starve…Or would they? Anyway, it’s with such a welter of befuddling thoughts that I continue to soldier on gamely. The sun is unforgiving. But I am comforted because I know paradise is just around the corner and soon enough, I’m going to be walking through this paradise.
This place I call paradise is a bylane called Deodhar Road, which is across the street from my building on the opposite side of the main highway. Deodhar Road is beautiful. On both sides of the road, gigantic wide-stemmed trees - with branches so sprawling that they lock into each other like the antlers of two squabbling deers - arch over each other to blot out the blazing sun. It’s like a mother kangaroo tucking her baby in the warmth and comfort of her pouch. I wait eagerly on the road divider of the main highway for the near-endless drone of vehicles to whiz past so I can scamper across to the shady haven. It’s like the first bout of unexpected showers when people are caught unawares and make a dash to take shelter under the canopy of the nearest dukaan to avoid being soaked. That’s how eagerly I await Deodhar Road on that divider. As I walk through the tunnel formed by the sprawling trees, I start to realize that my joy and relief is going to be short-lived. For I can already see the glimmering reflection of the sun bouncing off the smooth, glasslike concrete road at the other end. I sigh. I reach the other end of Deodhar Road and turn back for one final glance. I feel like the son who has to part with his family because he’s been summoned to do battle for his country. Except that my battle is going to be against the weather.
I amble the remaining distance to the railway station (Matunga), pay my homage to Ganpati Bappa who sits just outside the station and proceed towards platform number 2. I glance at the electronic indicator. It says 2:23 ST. I flick my eyes to my watch. It says 2:20. Ah! Just a couple of minutes before the train rolls in!… I look at my watch. It’s 2:30. No sign of the train. As usual, Central Railway has lived up to its lazy ways. It reminds me of myself.
The loudspeaker rigged to the roof above the platform starts blaring. A recorded female voice recites that the train is expected to arrive shortly in three different languages. "…..thodyach velaat platform no don var yenaar aahe"…"thode hi samay main platform no do par aayegi"…"is expected to arrive shortly on platform number 2”. I listen to all three of them. "She always lies!!", I tell myself. Finally, the train shows up a full 15 minutes behind schedule. I try to smile wryly. I hop in and as if almost immediately, I hop out. At the next station that is. Before I knew, Dadar had arrived. I guess time really flies when you are busy wiping sweat off your body! I get down and take another glance at my watch. It’s 2:42. I realize I have to run if I am to catch the 2:45 Virar local at the other end of the bridge. I know the folks at Western Railway put a good value on their time unlike their Central counterparts. I also know that if I miss it, I’d be made to wait another ten minutes in the vacuum-like stillness that pervades platform number three before 2:55 Andheri arrives. More sweating. More wiping. I hated that thought. Determined - like the same son who bid adieu to his family to fight for his country - I start loping up the staircase, wending and weaving my way through the sea of flesh and reach platform number three to find – to my good relief – that 2:45 is still waiting.
I jump in and stand near the exit door. It’s not as if the train’s crowded and there are no empty seats. There are many. It’s just that I prefer the airy natural ventilation that comes my way through the door to the hair-dryer like hot air that the fans inside the train funnel towards me. Dadar to Andheri is roughly 14 minutes with allowances for unscheduled stoppages in between. The relatively cooler breeze near the door is soothing. I feel like I have gained some ground in my war against the weather. Bandra comes and goes. And a few minutes later, the train slides into Andheri. My draughty sojourn in the train ends. I climb the bridge and trudge out the exit on the eastern side.
The scene outside Andheri station is one of din and bustle. A mini flea market. I see hawkers roaring their sales pitch trying to attract the hordes streaming in and out of the station and peddling everything from belts to sneakers to T-shirts to vadapaavs. I stop at the sugarcane juice walla and slice the air in front of me with a quick horizontal sweep of my palm. The guy at the counter reads my gesture. He barks out to the old man inside to make ready a half glass of juice. I sprinkle some masala into my drink and guzzle it down. In winter, I wouldn’t stop by for a glass of juice unless I am out of small change and have to break a fifty or a hundred with the juicewallah. I need the small change to pay the rickshaw fare from Andheri to Seepz, the last leg of my odyssey. But in the heat of the summer, the drink feels like heaven. I pay up and walk out to find the first rickshaw that would take me to Seepz.
I see the sun shining in the glossy leather roofs of all the rickshaws parked outside. That tells me the milieu inside the rickshaw is not going to be particularly pleasant. I sigh and try to console myself that it is just a matter of another 20 minutes or so before it is all over. I get into a rickshaw and it pulls away. It snakes and slips its way between a tangle of fellow rickshaws and towering buses. The rickshawwallah is driving ferociously fast. And I am confused. On the one hand, I want to tick him off for putting his and my life in danger by driving so wildly but on the other hand, I am growing increasingly fond of the swift breeze that’s lashing my face. And then, I am also running late for work. So I let it be. Let him indulge his thrill for speed. And I sit back and enjoy the gust of air ventilating the insides of the stuffy vehicle. In about 15 minutes, I reach my destination. I pay the fare, get out and walk the 5 minutes from gate no1 to my office. Along the way, I flash my ID to the gatekeeper.
And finally, I step into the office building. And my goodness! What a transition! From the burning hellhole outside to the icy cool centrally air-conditioned heaven inside. I pause to take a breath, like one does when a sweet fragrance unexpectedly permeates the air. And thank the person who invented the air-conditioner.
