I was waiting on platform 2 for the Panvel local. As the train approached, winding into the station like a gigantic flat-nosed anaconda, a bearded man started hailing it standing on a narrow edge of the platform. “Stop, Stop!” he seemed to cry, as his arms flailed, his hands waving the obedient train to a complete halt. As everyone else on the platform exchanged amused glances at this self-proclaimed conductor, I wondered what was going through his head. Did he think the train would go crashing into the station (it’s a one-way platform) eliminating humanity in its wake if it wasn’t given a gentle signal to stop by a bearded man in a red shirt? Or was he a funnyman who managed to break the monotony of our daily lives by giving us something to remember?
I’m no good at clambering onto moving trains, but needless to say, as any self-respecting traveler, I need to display my experience at this feat. I stare confidently at my competitors for a seat, sometimes I smile (mental games), I brace myself as the train arrives, and move to my position three feet from the platform edge. I congratulate myself on being the first woman in the first class compartment crowd. This glow of smugness lasts for about 10 seconds. That’s how long it takes for a horde of roughly a million women to appear from nowhere right between me and my compartment. Mumbai women are clearly emergent phenomena.
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