War at 9:04..

A usual day begins in Mumbai city..

Alarm at 5, a quick jog/walk, cooking lunch and then breakfast (in that order), a quick shower, milk and breakfast for Mehar, dressing up and then at the station before 9:00 am sharp.

My laptop bag on one shoulder and purse on the other, the dupatta knotted behind me, hair rolled in to a bun or pony tail, the right foot forward and left behind, all set to hop in, tussle around and grab.

Yes. A usual mumbaikar's diary and list of preparations before entering a local train. Its actually like waging war every day. The 9:04 local that takes me from Nerul to Wadala, does wonders to my life. Never ever in my life had i had a chance to enjoy the staunch of a half a kilometer walked underarm otherwise, neither had i ever had a chance to smell the most 'pungent-est' hair oil along with the lovely white gajra on it.

I run down the stairs across the platform to the already crowded area of a second class local (Still have not been able to make my first class pass), walk ahead of everyone in an attempt to hop on first on the train, Jump in with one hand on the laptop bag and the other on my purse. Wriggle my way through to the seating area, place my laptop bag overhead and tap on the all the shoulders around, "Kahan utarna hai".

Everyday when i get down, my dupatta is crushed, feet stamped upon and hair messed up. At times there is unlimited entertainment as well.

Lady A: Dekh ke chalo na!!
Lady B: jagha kidhar hai?
Lady A: Sab ko jaana hai na dhakka maroge to kaise chalega?
Lady B: Dhakka lagta hai to first class mein jaane ka tha na, idhar kayeko aaye?
Lady A: *&^&!&!**!^* Aye!!!!! Tu ja na, jhopde se aate hain, aur bolte hain...
Lady B: tu jhopde se nahin aayi na, to train mein kaayeko jaati hai.. helicopter se ja na..
Lady A gets off the train.
Lady B: mere ko bolti hai ke jhopde se aati hai.. neeche milegi to maarungi pakad ke. Kuch bhi bolte hain ... apne aap ko kya samajhti hai, train mein aaye to kuch bhi bolenge kya....... (clip size - 23 minutes)

Others sitting might just wonder, was it something that we said. Oh really!!!

Finally some one has pity and i get a corner to park just one bum. Slipping and then parking again and then slipping again and then parking again. The tussle for sure is very involving, one forgets of all the presentations to be made through the day, to claims to be logged, all the issues waiting at the other end of the journey. And in the middle of the relaxation of parking the other bum as well, comes my station. With staggering feet i stand again, making way through the web of multi colour churidaar, salwaar or sari clad legs, pull back my laptop bag and fight my way back through the door again.

I am extremely thirsty, i also have some water in my bag, but which of the six-seven people surrounding me re willing to let me that little inch of space to pull out the bottle and let a few drops trickle down. None!

Parched and soaked in my own sweat, i wait for my station to approach. God help me please, i need to get off right now. Save me from any and every fatal push, Amen.

De-boarded safely.

God bless me on my way back, on the 6:34 local.

Old.. yet young..

Life moves on so slowly as we feel it, each day with its own 24 hours to chew up and each hour with its share of minutes and seconds and micro seconds... Yet when we look back all of it seems so quick, running away of our hands... Just like the snapping of a finger... Simply slipping by with out even our realizing...

It wasn't long back when I had cried on my 25th birthday .. simply because my father was to leave me and go out of town... It wasn't to far away when I had coloured my hair hot red... It doesn't seem to far away when every "youth" organization was something I could relate to ... It doesn't seem too far away when all of us together could simply stand and gape at handsome young prospective men... It doesn't seem to far away when i was young...

Yet i feel too old today, yet i dread the number 30 approaching too soon. Yet i see my son growing by the minute..

I still colour my hair... but now its burgundy to keep the grey away, all the youth organizations I relate to is probably because my young friends are members... We still stand and gape at the handsome ones, but they are not men anymore, its the other young kinds my son happens to play with...

If you look at the number of grey hair that I have managed to possess... and the number of stretch marks on my tummy, then yes I have definitely grown old.. Old enough to understand responsibility, old enough to put others before me, old enough to save to buy for a home... Old enough to become a ma...

But somehow it is beautiful at this side of the age as well.. It is lovely to get a warm hug from my toddler when I enter home from work, it is lovely to cuddle right beside the one you love, into bed... it is lovely to share some romantic pictures.. Its amazing to get dead tired and sleep at night... it is fun to steal time to read while visiting the lavatory... It is beautiful to see your little angel sleep in the center of the bed with his lengs on your face...

It is lovely .. Life is so beautiful.. rather all the more beautiful at this side....