Commuting in Bombay is hardcore. London during rush hour has nothing on this. Firstly, to get on the train you realize why God invented elbows. There is no consideration for people getting off the train, it is every man for themselves. I say every man, because women get their own carriage, and I imagine it is the same process for them. I say carriage, but what I really mean is a sweaty, stinking, human, cattle wagon.

 

So once on, and you are comfortably crammed and jostled against your sweaty fellow man, the only thing you can think about is who is rifling your pockets at that very moment. Lets face it they are all blagards and scallywags your bigoted colonial gene cries out.

 

The lucky commuters hang out the door and take in the air, which is a pulsating sine wave between urine, vomit, excrement and dead dog. The railway line is home to thousands and the tracks – well if you didn’t have a toilet where would you go.

 

So then there is the issue of getting off. This requires more planning than D day. At least 3 stops before your stop you need to be making your way towards daylight. However, you must contend with the people that, cunningly, have the same idea as you. Furthermore, you must also contend with elbow wielding people that believe it is their god given right to get on the train.

 

Often, at particularly popular stops, a mini riot breaks out as the masses ejaculate onto the platform like the sperm from a Blue Whale. I saw one guy with henna died hair (A topic within itself), repeatedly striking a fellow passenger because he dare be in his way, before marching off towards the proverbial Blue Whale egg.

 

Beware the masses, for when they act as one, they loose the rational thought of the individual. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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