In defiance

Whoever said that the world is a small place has seemingly not been to Andheri.

Getting off the train isn't as much a problem as climbing the steps to the bridge. Competition is clearly not restricted to workplace. The benefit of being in a first class coach, fortunately, does not stop at suffocating amidst the huge mass of sophisticated working processionals, or at the norm of no forth seat. You feel privileged when your compartment halts at the mouth of these steps. I must thank the government for this one more added facet of the first class ticket; and foreseeing the problem of population rise much in advance. Anyway, this benefit gifted to us help me quickly sift through the crowd, letting them know that I fall in the 'me too getting late' category. Adjectives like quick and slow are perceptional, and I use the word quick only at comparison.

There's one thing to keep in mind while you are in this haste: two feet from the left railing of bridge, belong to the ladies. One foot there and you are instantaneously bestowed the title of a bastard. These ladies are not only the possessors of this two feet passage, but are also the first choice of rickshaw man. Tall girls. Fat women. Aunties wearing chudidars. Brown hair. Black eyes. As far as you belong to 'I am a she' class of people, which by the way is more than half, you are in*.

Thanks to the Ambanis and their metro that I found the route to reach my office via Amboli. Gliding through these long narrow lanes connecting each other at random, shaded by trees at one side and a chain of raw houses planted at the other is the most awaited time of the day. And just about when you begin enjoy its pleasant setting in this otherwise noisy suburb, it kisses a goodbye.

Now, your rickshaw is protected from all sides, by trucks, cars, buses, taxis, cycles, and the other rickshaws.

You reach, not caring about the loss of pay.

Yet another day of your god blessed dream job comes to an end. There' no cribbing, no whining, no bickering. Recession has got work in stock, and the sale isn't seasonal.

I long for the afternoon of a summer vacation, when I can set my self in front of the television and incessantly ramble through the channels. I long for that boredom.

* Dear ladies, please reagard this as a passable work of fiction.