The jerk of the train leaving from Charni Road station gave me a tingling feeling I could not explain. Looking outside the window of the train at the run-down mills and badly maintained residential buildings triggered a thought, or a memory, I did not know. They looked so familiar, yet so distant. My mom had travelled up and down these tracks, for a couple of years. Vile parle to churchgate. She used to work at express towers, the building that is a part of the shadow of the Air India building on marine drive (It looks like a shadow too, black in color and shorter than the Air India building).
“Next stop: Mumbai central”. Said the new digital system installed in the train. It reminded me of the Singapore MRT. How grant road station passed, I did not know. Mumbai central. The station my maternal grandfather would get off every day to feed and educate my mom. For the better part of his life he was getting off on the station, to work at Rosch Pharmaceuticals. The building was later broken down and was converted into Mumbai’s first mall- Crossroads. I vaguely remember seeing that mall in one of the many summers I spent in Mumbai. That station served my maternal family in a way. I was on my way to Bandra to meet a friend; she was in my school in Bangalore for a couple of years. She had moved to Mumbai after the 4th grade. I stayed in Bangalore till my 12th grade.
“Next stop: Mahalakshmi” said the recorded message again. My paternal family had an ancestral bungalow in mahalaksmi, near the mahalakshmi temple facing the sea. My dad’s cousins used to live there. They sold it and now no one uses it. My dad was fresh out of IISc Bangalore. He had studied his masters in automation, which is nothing but computer science today. He had to work in SEEPZ(Santacruz Electronic Export Processing Zone). My dad had to hop on at Mahalakshmi and get off at andheri and then take a bus to SEEPZ. My dad’s salary was nominal and he couldn’t afford a separate place. The ancestral house was spacious. I was trying to picture my dad with a briefcase, in a clean, ironed shirt with a tie trying to hop onto the train. It was difficult as for the better part of my life I had seen him hop into the driver’s seat of our car with a laptop. In SEEPZ was one of the few computers, the computers that needed an entire room and heavy cooling. My dad would wear a sweater and scarf while working inside the computer room.
“Next stop: Dadar”. My maternal grandmother spent her childhood in Dadar and her married life in Vile Parle, where my mom and maternal uncle spent their childhood. She was a gold medalist at S.N.D.T Women’s university. She would go to K.C. College by train early in the morning, then rush to electric board, Colaba to work at BEST (Bombay Electric Supply and Transport). She worked there till my mom was born. My grandmother lived in a chawl in Dadar. This chawl is very unique to Bombay. A chawl is a building with multiple blocks, each block consisting of one room and kitchen. And a share bathroom and toilet at the corner of every floor. Two generations later, I find that dirty, unhygienic and impossible to live with. How my grandmother lived like that I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t know any better.
Down those tracks lies the history of my entire family. My paternal great-grandfather established his business on Girgaon road. Very close to the Charni road station. My paternal grandfather and grandmother both studied at Wilson College which is located by the Girgaon chowpatty. My parents themselves lived near Charni road station. In a chal called goregaonkar building. Can’t imagine my parents living in a chal. Is it coincidence that I’m staying by the chowpatty at my friend’s house?
It’s funny how this mighty metropolis can make you survive in a myriad of unnatural situations.
Somewhere along the tracks of the western line of the Mumbai local trains , deep beneath their physical appearance, lies a spirit that pushed my entire family; That made them travel down those tracks and stations countless number of times, without complaining. Something along those lines that pushed them from hardships to luxury. That kept them going without a stop. Today I’m on a journey along the very same lines. Along which station is my destination? That I’ll have to find out.
I can surely sense that spirit. Maybe its in my genes. Is this what they call the Mumbai spirit?
