public transit-Bombay

Debo’s list declared, forcefully, that we MUST ride the trains while in Bombay. Who knew, what this would involve.

Diya and I approached the ticket counter. An old sheltered platform with two windows situated below two television screens playing a news station.

We stood in line. To my right, sitting in between the two windows, a very badly burnt man sat on the floor with a hand out in a silent plead for money. Movement was slow, and he sat with a small newspaper laid out in front of him where a few rupees had been collected from earlier in the day. On the opposite side of this man, and on the other side of the fast paces line sat a small girl in dirty clothes, asking for the same. Now, your the person, looking at a man who is burned through the skin, with only pieces of fingers making up his two

hands, and a very young girl covered in dirt doing the same, what does a person do? How fast does it take a person to leave neither with money, void the thought from his or her mind, and continue onto the train and move on through his or her daily rituals? Very fast. How impossible for a person living in Bombay to stop and feel for each individual in need of help? How little would get done, how distracting, and draining, how unmanageable.

We took the trains a few times. I loved every second of it, and Diya spent most of the travel laughing at me-bouncing from one side of the train to the other, sticking my head out, watching the faces pop out of compartments behind me, ahead of me. Embracing the cool breeze and the occasional view of a cricket field or the ocean.

Huge apartment buildings,

colored by drying laundry, dirtied by old age and by over use.

The trains in Bombay, busy, crowded, faces- stare out from passing compartments. Separated by gender and by class.

Carrot Juice-8rps


March 2, 2010. Tags: , . Uncategorized.

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