I sat in the window seat in a Borivali-bound fast train leaving from Churchgate station. I was returning home without attending any lectures in college. There had been a problem in the trains due to which I reached forty-five minutes late for college and thus missed my only lecture for the day. Sitting in the train back home now, I put on my headphones and shut my eyes.
About three minutes or a song later, the girl sitting opposite me got up and an old lady took her place. The old lady wore a crumpled purple sari and minimal jewelery. Sitting down, she took her ragged cloth bag on her lap and looked out of the window. Reclining, I shut my eyes, only to open them again when the train stopped at Dadar and all the women already in the compartment mouthed with disdain- "Hmph. Dadarchya baika". The true Drama Queens of the Western Railways, these women, I've concluded, yell and push and shove just for the sake of it. The train always stops for enough time for all of them to get in. But I believe they derive some kind of sadistic pleasure by unnecessarily elbowing each other. It is almost as if they'll be fined if atleast one of them doesn't make a scene each day.
When I opened my eyes to have a look, I noticed that all the women sitting around me were staring at the old lady in the purple sari. Looking ahead, I saw she was crying hysterically. No one seemed to know what to do. I pulled my earphones out of my ears and sat up a little. Staring at the lady, I remembered what my grandmother, our local Mother Teresa, always says, "Whether a person is in physical pain or emotional pain, the one thing that always helps to comfort them is water". Instantly, I drew a bottle of water out of my bag and placed it in the lady's hand. She gave me a rueful yet thankful look and with great speed gulped down two-thirds of the water in the bottle. I was glad that helped her cool down a little.
It was soon time for me to get off the train. I stood up, patting the lady's hand as she handed me back my bottle. Pushing my way through the women who were standing, I wondered if the old lady would be fine for the remainder of her journey or if anyone would even notice, leave alone sympathize with and help her should if she break down again. Suddenly, two ladies who had gotten in at Dadar station, started throwing the worst of Marathi slurs at each other. These swear words, I must add, were more funny than they were insulting and everybody in the compartment was now staring at the protagonists of the pandemonium, some suppressing their laughter and some laughing out loud, unabashedly. No one seemed to know what had happened that made these two start yelling so. I was too staring at them, very amused. Just then, the two turned to look at me, before looking at the old lady in the window. She was smiling now. Stunned as I was, I quickly looked back at the two ladies. They flashed genuine, heartfelt smiles at me. I could swear one of them even winked at me! Another lady who was selling oranges and who had gotten in at Dadar, passed one orange from her basket to the old lady who was no more crying. I was assured now. I got off at Bandra, bemused and laughing, two words in my head- "Dadarchya baika"!
