The Idea-smithy

Move over politicos, stock markets and temperatures…the queen of the media makes news again!

After another day spent panicking over the state of ‘the common man’ following the antics of our local politico-goons, Mumbai really must be back to normal if the news is any indication. Let’s check out what India TV thinks is big news today.

Rakhi Sawant slaps her boyfriend!!!

This comes on the heels of the very well-covered incident where Rakhi Sawant threw her boyfriend Abhishek Awasti out of their house and cried “BREAK-UP!”. I didn’t catch that on TV since everyone else was hogging the box for such mundane things as rioting, violence on the streets and politicians getting arrested. Fikar not, Rakhi gives me my time’s worth with today’s lunch news though.

Yesterday someone nudged me and told me that my favorite melodrama queen had broken up. I hastened to get in touch with the queen of desi bloggydom who reassured me that it was just a tiff and things should soon tide over. True to her word, Rakhi gives us some more entertainment (oops…news) today, which leads me to the conclusions that all queens have a soul connection with each other.

(Okay, I couldn’t find any good photographs of the event on the internet, so these are my own pathetic attempts. Used my camera-phone to shoot the TV so apologies in advance for the appalling photography…)

So we watch as the errant boyfriend (what exactly did he do to get her to scream?) goes down on bended knee and eats humble pie several times over. We ooh as he gets his mug punched over the obscenely huge bouquet of red roses….atta, girl Rakhi!!!

 Then he’s made to say “I love you” and promise never ever ever to hurt her again in English, Marathi (aayeechi shapath!) and Hindi. Reporters fall over each other and there’s much giggling, shoving, nudging and sniffling (?) to be heard while we’re told what’s big news on national TV…ooops India TV.

The heart almost aches for the boy. But that’s the price of being Mr.DramaQueen. Truly,

Is thapad ki goonj usse desh ke kone kone tak sunaai di!!

Raj Thackeray has just been arrested and is being driven to Vikroli for the court hearing. Now what? Let’s see. This titbit has enjoyed much more publicity in the past week in Mumbai than the falling temperatures, the art festival and all such mundane things as national news.

The television channels are running a continuous clip of him getting into the van and some twenty-odd (?) policemen getting in after him. One supposes even they are relieved to be able to air something other than,

*MNS chief to be arrested.*

and

*Raj Thackeray may be arrested.*

Viewers are also advised to be cautious since the city is on tenter-hooks, anticipating protests from his supporters. Well, we’ve been waiting for the axe to fall for a week now. Had this been pulled too long, we may as well have been bloody witnesses to protests against inaction.

It’s nearing five now and there’s no telling whether the roads now will fill up with angry protesters, violent mobs or petrified citizens on their way back.

The one thing I’m thinking now is - do the paranoid anti-terrorism campaigning superpowers know this feeling? Perhaps not - constant unease doesn’t make the same headlines that sporadic terror does.

The auto-rickshawalla who ferried me today interrupted my morning reverie with

Why are the shops not open yet? Has something happened in the night?

Of course he was from Uttar Pradesh, an uttar bharatiya, probably the one group that’s even more terrorized by organized politics than the Muslim community right now.

Congratulations, Mr.Thackeray, you’ve guaranteed yourself top-of-mind recall in the Mumbai mind for awhile to come. Uh, until someone else decides to play Big Bully in the Island Playground, that is.

On Sunday, violence erupted in Mumbai (not again…). Taxi-drivers, paan-wallas and ‘outsiders’ (read UPites and Biharis) were the target of assault by frenzied MNS supporters. In an is-it-related-or-not incident, Amitabh Bachchan’s house was attacked the next day, spurred by resentment towards his move to set up a girls’ school in Uttar Pradesh rather than Maharashtra.

I was at home on Horror Monday (Can we call it that? - We’d probably have to name at least one day each month for the sundry episodes of communal clashes that errupt so frequently in this so-called cosmopolitan metropolis). The news channels had a field day running and re-running the clips of a taxi-driver being dragged out of his car and beaten to pulp and soundbytes with the public expressing their outrage at this breach of peace.

Yesterday a reader wrote to me saying that he’d dropped into my blog for news on this event and was disappointed to hear me talking about art and festivals instead. Point taken. I’m part of that unconcerned, educated upper-middle class elite that tut-tuts about the ruin our politicians are bringing to the country and then does nothing about it.

To be quite honest, I don’t know what to say. On one hand, we’ve gotten practically used to cricket pitches being dug up, shops shut down, bandhs called, trains delayed, people being beaten up by the saffron brigade. And then there’s the reality that the news channels rarely, if ever, cover the truth as is.

As a point of fact, I travelled across the city yesterday and today. For all purposes Mumbai is its usual bustling, thriving self. It’s like it might not have been at all.

And then I wonder, how does the driver of the taxi I’m in, feel? Is he really waiting for the signal to change or is he actually casting a wary eye around at would-be attackers? How about the doodhwala by whose doorbell ring we can set our alarm clocks? To be here at 5:30 a.m. I only wonder what time he’d have to get up. The much-maligned autorickshaw-wallas?

At the end of all that, I wonder, does it matter? Does the MNS or Shiv Sena before them really believe that they can ‘rid’ Mumbai of its outsiders? More likely, no one’s thinking or caring about that far into the future. It’s the here and now. Any publicity is good publicity, be it ever so blood-spattered.

And guess what - it’s the lower extremes that get the cut, like extensions getting pruned away. Who cares, they’ll grow back tomorrow! So while AB gets his security beefed up, our roads are awash with lingering fear writ large on the faces of nameless people who make this city run.

I’m just wondering if the welfare of Maharashtrians is the cause, is anyone thinking of what’s happening within the state? But I suppose dying farmers aren’t as catchy a story. So much easier to just grab a punching bag.

In a related aside, do read this post and the comments that follow. The image I’m carrying in my mind is of a fat goose that lays golden eggs. Everyone’s trying to get a piece of it and brush off everyone else’s hands..and so what if the goose is strangulated in the process?? That’s Mumbai.

One little corner in the newspaper tells of a tussle between women commuters and the Mumbai railway authorities. Apparently as a part of a new range of services on Mumbai’s Harbour line, the earlier timetable has been altered. The hitherto 9:14 a.m. Vashi-CST local was advanced by one minute. Not as big a deal…what’s in a minute? (Pah, ask a regular train commuter but we won’t get into that now). The big deal was that three rear compartments that were earlier reserved for women were scrapped.

The unforeseen response to this change was that the women commuters rallied together in protest. First they complained to the Central Railway authorities and then, receiving no response, acted in the most effective way possible. They just wouldn’t let the men get into the compartment.

In response, the Central Railway sources said that:

The special compartments for ladies have not been scrapped, but have been allotted to the 8.16 am Panvel-CST local. This train reaches Vashi at 8.47 am, but women commuters may not be aware of it. The complaints of women commuters are under consideration.

A quick reminder to the Central Railway that this is not the same thing since the train gets in a full half-hour earlier. The dynamics of crowding, peak hours, office schedules are completely different on this side of 9 a.m.

I’m quite happy to report that today’s news says that Central Railway has given into the request to retain the ladies compartment on the now 9:13 am Vashi-CST local. The article also adds that the men are not very happy with the decision. Understandably so. I know the trains are probably the most crowded, grueling experience of everyday survival that a Mumbaiker faces. Every inch of extra space is precious.

On the other hand consider this. A regular train has three compartments for women - 2 second-class and 1 first-class. That’s only on the Western line while the Central and Harbour both have half a compartment each to the first-class. And these in a train that has 9 or 12 coaches. No woman in her sane mind would get into the general compartment, during peak hours even though it is available to commuters of both sexes. So the entire female commuter population is crammed into those 3 compartments.

I need mention here that it is a common male misconception that women travel in complete luxury in the ladies’ compartment, ‘especially in first class’. We do not. And I know this because I’ve traveled in the general (commonly misunderstood as the ‘gents compartment’) and the ladies compartments (first and second class) at all hours of the day. Men haven’t traveled in the ladies’ compartment. If they had, they might have found reason to revise their opinion. I can tell you stories of vicious fights breaking out mid-journey. It mayn’t seem like much but sandal heels, umbrella points, the catches on purses all becomes weapons of warfare in this struggle for space. Not that we have much choice. The average woman commuter would much rather face these than be brushed up against 50-odd strange men in the general compartment.

Everyday that I travel in the train reminds me of how much more ferocious women can be when it comes to getting what they want. And contrary to popular perception, the first-class is actually the worst of the lot (with Western line bringing up the gruesome lead). Manicured fingers clutching sleek mobile phones turn into claws when they’re inside a railway bogey. Attitudinally this set is by far, the bitchiest, most venomous of all travelers I’ve seen. If I had to lay a bet on which section of Mumbai’s travelers would be most likely to push their fellows off a moving train and also the least likely to help someone in need, it would be the first-class ladies’ compartment travelers on the Western line. Far from luxurious, we travel in crowds and hostile ones at that. Once again, I know I’m right because I travel by all three train lines. And so I think that while everyone in this city could use some extra space, our need is greater.

I am deeply injured by the fact that the ladies compartment on every train on every line is placed right in front of the stinky toilets. Obviously someone has to be positioned there but I just wonder why the only place allotted to us has to be put right there. I mean, we don’t even have the choice of another dabba. What’s worse, these are invariably at the ends of the carriages so miss getting into one and you’ve missed the train. So stay equipped for a long trek to the other end of the platform or to the staircase. The Railway network is hardly women-friendly so enough with the accusations of being pampered, already.

May I also add that I’m thoroughly impressed by the effort on the part of the ladies who spoke up for what they needed and got it? I am not going to get into the justification of why and how women become like this (That’s for my other blog, not this one ). I am after all one of them as well, being a regular on the trains. Let’s just say that life isn’t hunky-dory in our red or green-striped part of the train world either.

July 11, 2006.

The last time I said, “See you in half an hour” and got onto a train, believing it.

The last time I saw train compartments plastered with only ads for spurious products and hormonal graffitti.

The last time a guy weighed down with a bag struggled to get in and I actually sympathised.

The last time I rushed into a compartment, plonked down on the seat and promptly fell asleep without a second thought.

The last time these people were seen.

Not the last time we struggled back to our madness.

Happy anniversary of fear, Mumbai.
Stay paranoid, stay alive.