Why Satish did not take a bath...

Satish did not like to take a bath. Over the past 25 years and more, as a college-student, he loved to brag that he did not take a bath daily. He had his own brand of philosophy, much like most other mumbai-dwellers had theirs, about something or the other. This was the best thing about Mumbai. One and all had a theory about something. I guess most other cities have their own version and take on this. All that my friends in Mumbai, and me included, needed was someone to tell it to, over and over again. Satish loved to do so, and he was always on the lookout to get someone to talk to.

You had to be smart at it. You could get another philosophy-spouting mumbaikar, who could be faster than you. The only way to identify a 'bakra' (scapegoat), was to use the "1 bounce -2 bounce" system. Do not ask me to explain this high-funda stuff in detail. I could easily go off to another story. Anyways, in brief, the "1 bounce -2 bounce" theory worked like this --

You needed a crowded place, where people could not get away easily. This could only be on a suburban train in peak hours, or one of the "Limited" BEST buses traveling from one end of the city to the other. Either journey, train or bus, could easily take more than two hours. You spot an outsider to Mumbai, or someone totally bored with life, or a non-English speaking 'punter'. Start talking to them, about some other issue, just loud enough for others to hear.

That is one thing that you can be sure about. Everyone is listening. There is nothing else to do in the local train and bus system of Mumbai. Even if you are reading a newspaper or chatting on your mobile phone or talking to your companion, you are always out 'there', listening.

So, to use the "1 bounce -2 bounce" theory, you had to start a strange conversation, full of doubts and queries, with a total stranger, who you know fully well, or you can guess, will have no answers. You "bounce" your snare off one person, and then, on another person. The conversation would have to be so strange that you should look disgusted when the other person obviously cannot answer.

Once the trap is set, the 'bakra' will walk-in. He will be the smartly dressed or oily-haired person standing next to you. It could also be the aunty-like lady in the seat in front of you. The conversation should continue on the same strange story, for some time, to reel in the victim. When the hook is fully bitten into, change over into the real philosophy that you want the person to learn about.

Satish was an expert at this. He felt it was life's mission to explain to everyone about his reasons for not taking a regular bath and moving around in dirty clothes and stinking terribly. His thrill came in watching the gradual change of comprehension in the listeners' face. From puzzlement, to curiousity, to participation, to happiness, to shock, to despair, to claustrophobia, to panic and anxiety and finally to desperation. From this peak, Satish would let go, and yet, take the person to the ultimate the ultimate feeling, of fear and terror. All this just by talking to them, in a slow monotonous voice, non-stop and explaining slowly, his own philosophy, on why one should not take a bath on a daily basis.

He loved this particular line of "not taking a bath" philosophy. It was tried and tested. People ended up horrified and some actually stopped traveling by that particular train line. Most regular travelers on the suburban harbour train line in Mumbai, especially on the 9 am to 10 am time-slot at the Wadala railway station, knew Satish well enough, and tolerated him for all his pranks. It was the newcomer, that Satish usually caught unawares.

Today, as on every working day, Satish was getting ready to 'get' someone. He was hanging out at Wadala railway station to catch the 9.24 am local train. His usual group of friends seemed to have ditched him. Which was not a surprise. He knew they were his "best friends for the train journey at 9.00 am". He had a different set of "best friends" for the bus journey from the CST railway terminus after alighting from the Wadala-CST train journey. Similarly, he had a different set of "best friends" for lunch hour, for the return journey back, and for the late evening hang-out at Matunga.

The train at 9.24 am was his favourite. It had that wee bit of space for him to squeeze inside the first-class gents compartment, so he could get in by 3 feet. Other trains did not give that opportunity unless you were thin, strong and did not worry about crumpling your ironed shirt. Satish liked to have his crumpled look intact to that specific wrinkle. Not too much. He was not a lout, after all. The 9.24 local started from Bandra railway terminus immediately after two fast trains from Andheri railway station zipped through to connect to the Harbour Branch Line.

The two fast trains picked up enough passengers at Bandra, Mahim and Kings' Circle railway stations to give some space in the gents first class at Wadala where the western railway trains merged with the Harbour Branch. The space was only available for those who knew about it. For the untrained train traveller, for the stranger, for the regular on the wrong route and for the regular on the correct route but at the wrong time, that space could not be seen. 

Also, the second class bogies and the ladies first class were terribly stuffed already. These were the regulars from Mahim and earlier, from Kings' Circle, who went backwards in the train to Bandra, so they could get space to stand, when the train returned on its route to CST railway terminus. Satish was an expert at all this. 

Mumbai was in his blood. In all his travels elsewhere, Satish always missed the speed and careful recklessness of Mumbai. There indeed was an aura to all the numbing energy that seemed to make everyone flow in the lifestream of the city. Satish loved all that. He wanted to have his own, very own, 1-degree turn or spin on the momentum of the city. To tweak it a little.  And, his philosophy about 'not taking a bath on a daily basis' was going to do it for him. 

At Wadala railway station, at 9.22 am, it was that stirring of the plan in every regular travelers' mind. You could see each person plan his location, calculate the first 1-2-3-4 steps, careful measured steps, so each person could see how the other person would be moving at 9.24 am when the train would start coming into the platform. You did not want to run into the other traveler. Then, both would miss the 9.24 and both would be late to attend their offices. That would be a no-no...

After the 1-2-3-4 measured step, each passenger would have to pick up the momentum and speed up, so that they would almost be on the same speed as the train would be as it pulled in. The trot-step would propel them correctly inside each compartment. The speed would give each person the strength and energy they needed to push into the crowded compartments. This was a practiced routine and it happened in so many railway platforms in Mumbai, so many times, each time, with the ease of expertise from repetition. 

Satish waited. In his well marked spot behind the pillar that would line up with the hawkers compartment, next to the ladies second class. He would start moving when he would see the 9.24 local below the railway overbridge, about 100 meters away from the Wadala railway station. His 1-2-3-4 steps would turn to a run, as the ladies first class compartment moved past him and the next six steps in a fast run would take him to the spot from where he would just jump into the moving train. It was the exact spot, at Wadala, for the rear first class gents compartment on the 9.24 local from Bandra railway station. 

He did it with effortless ease today. Mondays was easy, because the traders at Dockyard Road and Masjid Bunder railway stations were in lesser numbers since it was their weekly market holiday. He jumped at the right moment and slid easily between the young ticketless traveler who was always at the centre-rod, clinging to it, and never letting go, and the traffic policeman who usually got in at Kings' Circle railway station and got down at Sewri railway station, ie, immediately after Wadala.

Satish moved in behind the traffic policeman, and backed into the partition between the standing area and the sitting area. He could rest comfortably for the 22 minute journey from Wadala to CST railway terminus. Now, to hunt for his prey. Within two minutes, he spotted him, standing four persons awy, beyond the two regular sikh brothers who seemed to work at the camera shop at Flora Fountain. He had seen them near the camera ships along D. N. Road after Flora Fountain towards the University of Mumbai. They knew him from the daily journey and knew about his philosophy of not taking a bath regularly.

They moved aside by about 4 inches, so that Satish could choose the bounce target elsewhere. They had suffered him earlier.