My morning sandwich

It was Tuesday morning, 8.16 am and I was waiting for a local train at Malad station, Mumbai.  There were about 40 to 50 more women near where I was standing, all voraciously waiting for the train chugging ever so slowly on to the station.  The immediate imagination I had was of a cute little white rabbit hopping ever so lazily into the lion’s den, and a set of cubs, all set to pounce on and ravage it.

The ladies’ bogie hadn't even reached where the women were standing and they all ran for it.  I did not want to get into this one.  It was too packed, but before I could back off, the human tide pushed me in.  I had no option than to get it.  And that, as I realized later, was a huge mistake.

As soon as I got in, there was a searing pain in my right foot’s last two toes.  Some girl, who had decided to try heels and trample others in the train in the process, had had a sudden realization that she was supposed to move ahead.  Which she did, killing the red blood cells of my little toes in the process!  Anyway, except for a little swell of salt water in my eyes, I couldn’t give it more.

The next station had more adrenaline-filled females push into the coach, chattering and arguing, some about their husbands who can’t buy cars, some about the crazy heat and some just about anything.  The tide became stronger and I was pushed in further.  Then she came.

She was well…healthy.  I would not exactly call her fat because she wasn’t.  She was just a little healthier than others and that commanded a little too much of space than there possibly was.  And she tried to push her way in too.  It was as if a tsunami struck an already turbulent sea.  This time I wasn’t exactly pushed.  It was worse.

I was literally sandwiched.  I did not know where my bag or earphones were.  I could only see part of my hand and hair.  I was twisted and stuck in the most unbelievable manner ever.  If I was a cripple like that, I would be a physiotherapist’s dream.  If I was poised like that, I would be an artist’s muse.  Every organ of mine screamed again my epidermis that they are not able to breathe.

10 minutes went on.  The next station was announced.  Some un-sandwiched part of my head thought, “Ah! Finally!!”.  As the train chugged into that station, the jostling continued and intensified for some women were to get out.  My healthier co-traveler too pushed out.

Out of many hands clasping onto the holders, I saw that I was three stations (still??? Gosh, it's been ages!!!) away from my destination.  As more and more women got out, I felt air rushing in and that felt good. I was amazed at the way my body had needed air.

In a few minutes (that seemed like years!) my destination came and I formed a tide pushing my way out towards the door.  Those in my previous condition were giving me the looks and their hearts abusing me. 

As I was about to step out, on one side another great tsunami pushed in all over again.  With all might that was left in me, I got out, gave a toss of my painful head and said, "Women!!"