It has taken many years, but I was finally getting used to the rigours of commuting by train in this big bad burg. I had nicely set in place what my mother and I called a ‘disaster management system’, whereby I made one friend on the express I caught every morning - my evening schedule being variable. This was vital for those times when being by yourself and snootily aloof did not work, like when there was a rain day or a train problem or you needed to find out how to get somewhere you had never been before. And I actually liked the person I had chosen, both times – both women became friends rather than just convenient traveling companions. We bonded over recipes and comments about others in the compartment, developed a set of nicknames for various people and a sort of code to talk about what was happening around us. And we talk even now, when we are not commuting together, exchanging news about the rain, the flooding and the events of the week.
About ten days ago, I started driving in to work, chauffered by the trusty Sharief. I am now part of the great road commute, which begins at nine every morning for me and means a drive of about one hour to get to the office, less coming back. It is indeed wonderful to be able to sit back and relax (except that I can’t, since I have always driven myself around and cannot get used to sitting in the back seat and switching off from traffic swinging and honking outside), to wear nice clothes and the high heels (which skidding through crowded stations to the exit more or less prohibits) I revel in, to get where I am going without being limp, pouring with sweat and decidedly ruffled about the edges. It is as wonderful not to have to worry about finding a taxi with a driver who is halfway polite, not overly rash and doesn’t charge a fictional conversion from metre to true fare.
But I do miss my train rides. Apart from the company of my friend, whom I think of every time I eat some of the chocolate she makes so well, I miss the noise, the human (“yooman”, to be absolutely accurate) drama, the arguments, even the loud cellphone conversations. I miss all the people that I have seen for months, if not years – their fashion statements, their hair styles, their bags…even their attempts to make conversation with the very standoffish and stuck-up me. And there are the small dramas of their lives that they share – sweets distributed when a child does well in school or a promotion comes their way, mother-in-law horror stories, illness, new bosses at work, income tax cuts and traveling woes…they all become community tales as they are told and reacted to.
And there are the people themselves. The Sweaty Lady, for instance, who rushes into the train almost before it stops, and then organises everyone’s seating to make sure that she gets a seat that allows her to be cool and aired. She works in a bank and is full of advice about how to deal with the soiled and tattered banknotes that her friends hand her to exchange for them. There is the Elbow Woman, who once sat next to me and dug her very sharp elbow into my nicely soft side at well calculated intervals; the contact was so annoying that I actually moved to another seat to escape her touch! There are my (potential) In-Laws, very sweet, very handsome and very large women who once told me that they would like to speak to my family for my hand (and the rest of me, I presume) in marriage with a relative they had who was most eligible. And there is the Mean Lady, who made it a point, whenever she saw me, to say something nasty about me (and everyone else who had ever opposed her or not responded to her friendly advances, I am told) in Bengali - which I understood enough of. Oh, yes, I forgot the Lawyer Lady, who propounded her views to all and sundry, whether they were interested or not, in a loud and very piercing voice.
All this and more. I miss them, in an odd kind of way, almost like a tooth that was taken out because it was infected and painful, or a bruise that begs for prodding. They and the train provided many years of entertainment for me, apart from being so useful, taking me between home and work. So do I want to get back to it? For now, I think I will enjoy the comforts of traveling in my little four-wheeled chariot, thank you!
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