Dr Viegas did an eye roll, removed the sola hat and began to fan his friend as the trio found a quiet corner table inside an Irani café on Mint Road. “Times have changed. And goodness me! So have the local trains. We didn’t do our homework, and boarded an already crowded slow train so we reached her boarding point station—Ghatkopar —much later. We behaved like two reckless, overconfident schoolboys.” Lady Flora got more curious, “And your fellow commuters didn’t know who you were? The foreigner that I am, even I know that it’s common sense to drop names. Then again, who doesn’t know Lady Flora!” she boasted. Dr Viegas and Sir PM were too exhausted to counter her claim.

“So, did you meet the important lady, after all the trouble to trek to the distant suburbs?” she enquired. Both looked crestfallen. Sir PM went first. “We hoped to catch her but by the time we were able to extricate ourselves from the packed compartment, I took a tumble on to the platform. It was a mangle of heads, hands and feet, as if several wrestling matches were simultaneously underway. Good Dr Viegas helped me to my feet and rescued my hat, too. I needed to sit someplace airy to catch my breath but we had to settle for an uncomfortable bench. Not even a resting room with a bed or two. Imagine! 
Whatever happened to the waiting room facility or a medical officer on call at every station? What if someone took an even worse fall, or needed to recover from a dizzy spell?” Dr Viegas nodded his head. I fully agree with Pheroze. In the little time that we were there, I realised that God forbid we have a medical scenario, it would be quite the ordeal for the person to get immediate help, let alone make a quick dart from the station to the nearest hospital.”

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“But did you manage to meet the minister?” she prodded. Dr Viegas started, “Trust us, we tried our best. We boarded the next available train hoping to interact with her at the final stop—Kalyan. But by the time we arrived—another nightmare awaited us. Being the last halt, even before we could alight, there was a crowd that hopped on to the train to bag a seat. Our toes will be sore for a few days. She was whisked away for her engagement. So, we waited for her to return.”

Sir PM added, “And guess what? We managed to draw her attention this time; after all, we looked like vintage idiots! But we didn’t have those new-age gadgets; the phones where you can click pictures. We got shoved around [once again], as she posed with these youngsters. We lost our chance. Somehow, I passed on a typewritten letter of railway commuters’ woes that I had carried along. I am hopeful she will pass it on to the right officer in Delhi. 

Every issue from litter-free platforms and clean restrooms, resting rooms, to inadequate services despite the burgeoning population exploding out of these extended suburbs; I have substantiated every request with correct data—it’s all in there. I felt like the Lion of Bombay all over again,” pleased at his action. “Now, now, Pheroze, we have to be practical because she will have to jog her memory to realise your civic ties with Bombay,” smiled Lady, adding, “But trust me, the railway commuters will bless you even if a fraction of their woes are solved. It’s the city’s lifeline and the powers ought to keep that in mind not just around elections or the like. I sincerely hope the lion’s roar gets heard in Delhi.”

mid-day’s Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city’s sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana
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