‘…. The local arriving on platform number 1 is 6.35AM slow local for Borivali…’ I sit on a bench at Bandra-terminus’s platform no. 1 with a heavy thud wincing as I carefully balance the two steel containers. Holding them close with one hand, I writhe in agony gripping my knee with my free hand. The busted knee was going to be the death of me. The doctors these days only know to charge a bomb and my poor Mihika is struggling to pay off the bills… I look around in admiration. Wow… Bandra station has had such a makeover in the months that I was out of commission after my leg injury. A deep groan escapes me and I find myself silently pleading to my beloved son. Shardul, *maajhya raja... Please forgive aai… As the creaking train halts before me the sparce crowd shuffles in and out of the dusty boggies. Glancing at the train schedule indicator, I notice a change – the erstwhile horrendous yellow has now been replaced by a soothing blue. I had reached here at 6.15 AM… and now a low growl emanates from my stomach reminding of my missed breakfast.  The aroma of freshly prepared batata vadas wafts through my olfactories. This is a welcome change from mundane tasteless poha or dry poli that Mihika prepares back home. I painfully drag myself towards the source of divinity. ‘Bringraj railway stall’ has improvised so much; well renovated with a roof and fan, exuding a sense of hygiene. My Shardul loves batata vada..  Should I pack some? “Arre Vasant dada? Give me two vadas…” I pant placing a stubby hand into my blouse for the carefully placed money roll. Placing a 10-ruppee-note, I look at the vendor as he sets the plate of piping hot vada before me.  “Tai, its 20 Rupees.” The young man announces as he turns towards the next customer. “Arre… *kon aahes tu? Where is Vasant dada? You increased the prices two times? Dada knows I don’t like this sukhi chutney… its stale and smells of garlic…” The man looks at me as if I have grown two horns. “Tai… I am Raghu… Vasant’s son. Baba passed few years ago and I am running this place since.” I stop mid-way biting into the fried delicacy. “I don’t believe this… you were so little... I saw dada… How come he…?”  Confusion clouds my thoughts. Not long ago I had seen the kiddo hanging around his father. But Raghu was in no mood to talk, unlike dada. A crowd of commuters jostle me and I retreat back to the bench now balancing the tins and the vada-laden paper plate. What is wrong with these people? No patience at all…  Shardul… aai misses you. I hope you checked the SMS. I have your birthday gift; the titan watch you wanted and sheera. Please… meet me today, my child.  Finishing the vadas, I inhale deeply and glance around… the bustling platforms today are a stark contrast to the quieter ones of my early days as a young bride new to Bandra. Back then, I commuted daily to Marine Lines, working as a typist in a small firm. The good old typewriter gave way to the computer but by then I decided to take up voluntary retirement. My Miku had landed up a good job in a bank and my Shardul too was doing fine and was promoted recently. Despite my husband's early departure, raising two kids alone was tough, yet my babies, especially Shardul, were remarkably supportive. By 16, Shardul was the man of the house managing everything and I could work without worries. He was good in studies as well. My Shardul was a model child…  A boot polish guy settles a little away from my seat, tapping on his wooden box with an unsteady rhythm to attract commuters, a familiar symphony of the station. I wonder who on earth has the time in the rush hour to polish their shoes… And pay 5 rupees for that job? A loud train whistle interrupts my deliberations as a train rattles heavily past me, blowing away everything light, including my saree pallu, in its wake. Ah the 9.20 AM Rajdhani express passing through in its majestic aura… while all other trains wait. I always wished to travel on it.  Shardul, you had promised to take me soon, remember?  Our good fortunes had soared with the speed of the Rajdhani but it wasn’t to last. Everything got derailed when Shardul fell for Shazia, his office colleague. Besides the religious differences, she was cat-eyed, poisoning his ears all the time… why would he otherwise want to sell our tiny flat and move to a bigger home in Borivali, closer to Shazia’s? Deva, how I despised her… Shardul who never raised his voice began to argue with me. That girl erected barriers in our relationship right from the go… They moved in together in a rental house in Borivali. She didn’t have a father but how could a mother allow her daughter to live with a man without marriage? Something was cooking up. “Aunty, side ho jao…” A gruff voice startles me and before I realise, 2 burkha-clad women with 4 small kids all below 4, settle adjacent to me. I hold my nerve as a toddler is stuffed between his mother and I even as we both balance our respective stuff… I, my steel tins and she, her bundled infant. Two men in skull caps and off-white kurtas, hand over paper tickets to the woman without the infant.  “Our train is about to reach… now… it’s on time. Get in properly and get off at Malad … koi bhi batayega…” The men dragging heavy bags and a heavier older kid strut towards the gents’ compartment while the women begin to plan their marathon effort for getting into the upcoming local train.  “Here it comes, Mehjabeen…” the one with the infant declares. “… It is the 10.15 AM one…” I stare at the departing men again as they merge into the sea of people getting off and alighting the train. My heart sinks… will my Shardul have to wear a skull cap too? Has he converted…? I feel the shudder traversing through my body and my knee reacts too. I pant blinking away tears the tsunami of thoughts refusing to ebb. Shardul… come home, please. I am ready for your marriage with Shazia too. Lost in my heart-breaking abstractions, I remain oblivious to the banal trains passing through. The boot polish boy’s rattle continues…. “Kyaa faltu din hai b@*&$#^&*...” I hear a hoarse voice laced with anger and the stench of cheap tobacco, the concoction making me gag. Two vendors with their goods settle down besides my bench. Gosh, they stink. I wrinkle my nose and look the other way, but my ears are on high alert.  “Lousy business… No bouni too and its already 11.30 AM…” The other man said.  I felt guilty at getting annoyed at them. In my years of train travel I have seen so many of them struggling to sell their wares. Though they costed way too lesser than outside markets, women would haggle to bring it down by a rupee or two. I smell oranges…  Shardul loves them… “Baiyya, how much is it?” I enquire.  “Aunty, 8 oranges for 10 rupees… bhari meetha hai…” the vendor says. A few months ago, we got a dozen of those tiny ones for 10 rupees. They are all set to loot the common folk. No wonder the wares didn’t sell. But today was my Shardul’s birthday. I pass on a tenner and he gives me an extra one… I smile in satisfaction. Tempted to peel one, I recall Mihika and Shardul's playful fights over oranges. Those days I barely made ends meet but used my saved-up money to buy oranges for them. But still, their banter would continue till I intervened. How I miss those days…. While the rest of the western suburbs thronged Bandra to shop at Elco market or Hill Road or visit the Gaity-Galaxy theatres, we never did because of our financial constraints. Mihika often sulked over our situation. The only time we could manage was to watch Pardes… it was tax-free. It was the eve of Shardul’s birthday and a gift for completing his 12th with distinction.  I remember being apprehensive stepping into the theatre with the Uphaar tragedy still looking over our heads. I gave some money to Shardul to buy whatever he could for Mihika and himself in the intervention, but within the boundaries of that meagre amount. To my surprise he returned with a dozen oranges for all of us. I don’t know, to date, how he managed the feat but that was so thoughtful…  But that’s my Shardul…. compassionate.  Pora, come home… My stomach rumbles, bringing me back to the present. The assorted aroma of Chinese and Indian spread increases the hunger pangs. I'm reluctant to lose this seat now that the platform is getting crowded. I peel a couple of oranges… they aren’t sweet at all. But it’s not their season and I am in a forgiving mood. My Shardul would want that. The cacophony of the surroundings coupled with the increasing heat causes my head to spin but I have to be resilient… for my Shardul. “I am running late, Hari. Where on earth are you…?” A man middle aged man walks past me and waits a little ahead. He is speaking on a high-end mobile phone. He appears well dressed… must be a banker like my Mihika. Are those kinds of phones available cheap? I see a lot of people in possession of these sleek ones. Mine is simple, called Nokia 3315. Mihika and Shardul gifted it to me three years ago, so its very special. “…No yaar, it’s 1.30 PM….” The man continues. “… I have to report back to work in half an hour and later the wife needs help with cleaning at home….”  Ah, a family man. I am impressed. I hope Mihika meets someone like that. But… what if she loses her way like Shardul? It would be disastrous.  No… her brother will sort it out. My Shardul is always the resourceful one.  Come back home pora… where are you? Aai is sorry… A sudden beep interrupts my thoughts as a young girl with a cloth wrapped around her head and face, revealing only her eyes plonks beside me. She has something in her ears and her mobile phone is like a TV… Arre Deva… where do these girls get such expensive gadgets? My Mihika also has one but that’s given to her by the bank for work purposes.  Does Shardul also have one? He would have told me. My Shardul doesn’t hide anything from me… he even told me about Shazia. *Mi vedi… I didn’t understand my boy then. I exhale forcefully and look up… my eyes fall on a hoarding by Balaji telefilms… Some new serial called Barsatein. When did this release? That reminds me, it’s time to watch the re-runs. My neighbour at my earlier residence, Achala and I would always catch up on the re-runs every afternoon at 1.30 PM.  We both loved Tulsi and Parvati. We both cried when Mihir Virani died but celebrated when he resurrected!! I know it’s all stupid but Achala and I thrived on it. Kyon Ki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu thi was our favourite… Achala and I always argued over the number of times Tulsi married or the number of times Mihir Virani changed faces.  I mentally make the calculations wondering how much that Ekta Kapoor must be earning… I have heard her actors have bought big houses in prime localities in Mumbai. By the way, I always loved acting. Biswajeet was my all-time favourite. I loved Nutan too for her simplicity… these current young actors like Bachchan’s son, Preity Zinta, that Miss World girl with beautiful eyes, they aren’t so good.  Will Ms. Kapoor give me a role maybe of a great grandmother or a portrait on the wall like that Hum paanch? I can gift a big house to my Shardul too. I will leave the old one for Mihika. It should fetch her a good price today.  My Shardul is very frugal and a proud man. He won’t accept anything huge from me.  *Kuthe aahes re, Shardul? The crowd on the platform further swells. I see a young couple holding hands and they stand right in front of me. Oof, young children these days…. My Shardul or Mihika would never do this in public.  I can’t help but listen to their conversation. “We missed the 3PM show because you got late…” the girl whines. How irritating is that voice! “I am sorry, jaan…” the boyfriend pacifies her. “… its almost 4 PM now. Let’s have something here. We skipped lunch, na? We can go to Churchgate and catch the 6PM show there. What say?” Their conversation persists while they navigate the platform, their voices gradually swallowed by the chaotic ambiance. Do Shardul and Shazia also have embarrassing moments like these? Oh dear… No. My Shardul knows his boundaries… he won’t cross them. Even if he is living with her, he won’t. Never. I hear a plonk and a slush and see a couple of teenagers throw their used cans and bottles on the track as they try to aim at something. The squeal of their laughter pierces my heart… I am enraged. When will people learn civic sense? Just earlier I saw people throw wrappers around the dustbin instead of inside it… Didn’t the flood last year teach them anything?  Our housing society was completely submerged under 4 feet of water. I hadn’t seen such nature’s mayhem throughout my life in Mumbai. The news papers carried fancy headlines so did the non-stop blaring news channels as they called it 26/7 floods. My Shardul and his group of friends spent hours helping the ground level families vacate their homes and arranged food for hundreds of people stranded on the main road closeby.  But that’s my Shardul. He goes out of his way to help someone in need. He is soft hearted… Shazia must have taken advantage of him with her sob story. But Shardul, it’s fine with me…  “Padma, is that you?” Someone calls me. No one knows my maiden-name anymore. Surprised I turn around to see a chubby wrinkled face with a messy grey mop of hair and twinkling eyes. She looks familiar… “Aga…mi Vidya. Didn’t you recognise me? Your school-classmate from Sarawati Vidhyalay…” she looks at me eagerly. And then it strikes. Arre Deva, she has aged so much… what happened to her? “Oh Yes… I remember now. Vidya Prabhudesai… how are you dear?” “It’s Vidya Sahasrabuddhe now…” She smiles sadly. There is no mangalsutra and she has a black bindi instead of red. We are sailing in the same boat, I guess. She probably gauged my reaction. “It’s ok, Padma. It happened10 years ago. But my kids were settled by then so the blow wasn’t so bad. How about you?” “My husband left for the vaikuntha when my kids were very little so it has been a struggle. But you know me, na? I managed somehow…and soon they will settle in life too.” I feel the poignancy surfacing. “They aren’t settled, yet? How old are they?” Vidya asks. She’s still the over inquisitive young girl from school. Always the *chapli. “They will soon settle. Don’t worry. My Shardul completes 25 today and Mihika is 23.” I declare proudly. Padma looks stupefied. She must not have expected me to do well after the rough beginning I had in life. An alcoholic father and a housemaid mother weren’t something to boast about. I was the talk of the school for all the wrong reasons but I stood strong just like my Shardul. He has taken after me.’ “Padma… did you… er… did you have children later in life?”  What kind of a question is this? “No Vidya. I had Shardul within a year of marriage and Mihika came along couple of years later.”  “Then… how come they are so young…?” Vidya looks flummoxed as if she has seen a ghost. She always was the jealous type. “Vidya, how come you are here at this hour?” I change the topic, fanning myself with my pallu. It’s the paradoxical blend of rain and heat. “Oh that…? I am visiting my younger son in Borivali. I just missed the 4.10PM Bandra-Borivali special by a whisker when I saw you. The next special is at 6.45PM.” “Oh dear… that’s a long wait.” I sympathised with her. “Yes, but I can’t get into the crowded locals at this hour. My knees don’t permit the strenuous workout. So, I guess I will wait it out. How about you, Padma?” I gather the tins close to my chest. “It’s Shardul’s birthday today… I got his favourite sweet and a gift… I am waiting for him.” I looked up to see the indicator for the next train.  It was the 5PM Borivali slow local, due in a couple of minutes. No, my Shardul wouldn’t be on it. He loved pace… he always took the Churchgate-Borivali fast local and there was still time for him to leave office. I was right. He is in the office today. Shazia must be there too and they must be celebrating… will he not come on time then? “….and he is an insurance agent…” Vidya was saying something but I had zoned out.  “Uh… who…?” I ask. “Mohit, my younger son. I am visiting his family in Borivali… He er… stays with his in-laws. They are well off so…” Vidya looks away mortified. “*Hote asa… When children grow up, they don’t need us and they prefer to find happiness elsewhere…” I lament.  But Shardul, you will come back to me, won’t you? Shardul, aai is tired now. You didn’t even come to the hospital… I was there for months. I am still hurting. I grip my knee that has suddenly intensified its agony.  “But I am angry with Mohit. He doesn’t have the time for me at all… See, at this age I have to take the trouble to go and see him and my granddaughter.” Vidya speaks with concealed calculated rage. I understand her though… “Common Vidya, we aren’t so old… 50s is nothing these days. I busted my knee. Else I would have run a marathon…” I try to lighten up the situation. The crowd is rising like a tide every second with the rhythmic pulse of the trains; the polish guy’s rattle too… “*Kay boltes, ga? Are you in your senses? Or have you grown senile?” Vidya’s eyes blaze with anger. Gosh, this woman is exasperating. I am in no mood for small talk as I keep my eyes trained on the incoming trains. Vidya was never satisfied with anything… ‘We regret to inform you that the 5.37PM fast local for Virar is cancelled…’  I wait with bated breath as the announcement is made in 3 languages.  I sigh, my whisper lost in the angry babel on the platform. Everyone wants to vent out together. I have been there done that. The life of an average middle-class Mumbaikar revolves around a tight schedule… and the local train is our lifeline.  “This has become a usual affair. Can you imagine the crowd in the next train?” Vidya cribs, her anger now diverted elsewhere. “I will ask Shardul to use the RTI act from last year and check why this happens often…” I proudly display my knowledge. Vidya once again looks at me strangely. She doesn’t know about RTI, does she? Of course, she loves gossip and nothing beyond that… “Aga Vidya, our PM may be in a wrong political party or as they say, a puppet, but he is considerate. He is a brilliant economist…” I show off.  “Are you ill or something, Padma? Should I call your son for you?” Vidya looks concerned. Is my grimace over my knee pain so evident? “So, tell me about your other kid…” I change the topic once again. I can’t risk spilling the beans about my soured relationship with my Shardul. “Oh, Rohit is a good boy. He had a professional setback in the 2008 recession. But he has made a comeback now. It was tough initially since he was newly married and all…” Vidya spews on.  But what is she talking about? She must have lost it… how can someone make up stories. 2008 it seems… I want to laugh aloud at her indiscretion but my mood gets sombre thinking about my Shardul. *Ye re lavkar, Shardul. I only want to wish you well… Aai is sorry. This is my usual location… you remember, right? I hope you read my SMS… “Are you… alright, Padma? You seem pale…” Vidya sounds concerned.  In a way she is right. I am single mindedly focussed on seeing my Shardul today, but a sense of foreboding is gnawing at me. My stomach grovels and I realise I haven’t eaten anything after that fruit. I am feeling a bit giddy… my sugar must have plummeted.  “Padma, at our age we shouldn’t stay out for long if we aren’t well… er... want me to call your children?” Vidya drawls on. Can’t she just shut up? I am sure she wants the meat on my kids’ personal lives… as if I will oblige her. If she gets to know about Shazia, it will be broadcasted all over the world… Vidya is a big mouth. All this will become an impediment in finding a groom for Mihika. I get an idea. “Vidya, do me a favour. You have an active social life, don’t you? Find me a groom for my Mihika.” I turn the tables and couldn’t be happier. Vidya looked like a deer caught in the headlight. “Oh sure… why not? Tell me something about her, I mean her height, complexion, education, job, hobbies etc.” This is so typical of Vidya. But the world is just like that so I can’t blame her, can I? I had great expectations for my Shardul as well. I wanted a homely girl for him, fair and beautiful and with captivating black eyes… “Mihika is about 2 inches taller than I. She is a commerce graduate and working in a bank. In a few years she will make it big in her line of work. She is a good catch. I have made some daagina for her, for the wedding. I have KVP saved up in the post office and PPF too. I will add mine if needed...” I am rambling and run out of breath. Vidya seems to be making mental calculations.  “I will let you know Padma, but don’t have high expectations. You see, boys these days want tall girls and also girls who earn well… All have EMIs, na?” I fume. This Vidya can only be negative. What was I thinking? She shattered my cracked heart into a million fragments. “Padma, I am thirsty and my bottle’s empty. I will be back…” Vidya groans as she stands up. Age hasn’t been kind to her at all. She looks at least 15 years older.  I check the indicator. Oh… finally the 6.24 PM Churchgate-Borivali fast is due. This has to be it… my Shardul should be on this one. I have to be presentable… Parmeshwara… let him be there on this train. I have waited for almost 12 hours, my child… I stand tall, a surge of exuberant energy filling my heart. It paces fervently. I gather the steel tins closer to my ample chest.  Right then a young girl with a slim phone like I have been seeing in most hands today… sits next to me. She is watching that movie released sometime back… It was supposed to be a sequel of the blockbuster Koi Mil Gaya. I had watched a pirated version on our cable TV. Nothing special about it but Achala’s nephews and nieces loved it. I was yet to watch this new one… I had only heard the songs so far. This girl could have used that wired earphones or those button-like objects every second person here seemed to be having in their ears. It was so loud amidst the hullabaloo on the platform. But why is this raising my impending sense of doom? And then the song plays… ‘Dil na liya….’ Exhausted, I look for a seat in the sweltering local, the oppressive heat amplifying the weariness in my bones, despite the relentless downpour. The ladies’ compartment of the Churchgate-Borivali fast local is packed to capacity and I am struggling with my box for Shardul. He is in the general compartment close-by and imagine is surprise when he sees me alighting at Bandra. He will alight too… I know it. I finally squeeze in next to a girl immersed in her blaring phone-FM radio. The song ‘Dil na liya…’ fills the air right after the RJ introduces Rakesh Roshan’s anticipated blockbuster. A chill creeps down my spine as the stench from the Khar backwaters invades my senses. In an instant, a deafening explosion shatters the air. I am tossed violently. I scream holding the box close… It’s a nightmarish inferno with smoke billowing from the next boggy. A searing pain shoots through my leg, and I convulse in agony, oblivious to any sounds. My world is morphed into a peak of devastation… blood and gore all around… Is my Shardul safe? “Sh…ardul…” my throat constricts. “…someone please save him…” “Padma… *kay jhale…?” I hear Vidya screaming. Was she on the train as well? I open my bleary eyes to a crowd gathered around me. I am on the platform floor… when did I come here? Is my Shardul alright? “Aai… aai… everyone please move aside…” I hear Mihika. Oh dear, was she also on the train? Is my Shardul safe?  Vidya and Mihika help me sit up. I am unable to speak as a surge of giddiness grips me in its throes. “Mihika… you are her daughter?” Vidya asks. “Yes, I am… HELLO?” Mihika is frantically on a call.  Is Shardul alright? Panic courses through me… “What’s wrong with her? She called for Shardul as she fell off the platform seat…” Chapli Vidya blurts. “Actually, Aunty, today marks the anniversary of those blasts… from 11th July 2006. My brother Shardul perished and aai survived. She suffers from severe complex-PTSD and Amnesia…” Mihika explains and I zone out. I'm lifted by sturdy hands and gently set down on what I presume to be a stretcher. As they prepare to transport me, I steal one final blurry glance at my tins, now sprawled open. A half-burnt titan watch along with a piece of the burnt Nokia phone rest in a pool of trampled orange pulp, a poignant reminder of something lost. Happy birthday Shardul… aai is so sorry… Author notes:

• Marathi slang:

1. maajhya raja: An endearment to say ‘my dear son’ in this case.
2. kon aahes tu: who are you?
3. Mi vedi: I am such an idiot
4. Kuthe aahes re: where are you dear?
5. Chapli: here silly/gossip
6. Hote asa: It happens
7. Kay boltes ga: what are you saying?
8. Ye re lavkar: come soon (here in desperation)
9. kay jhale: what happened.

_______________________________ Backdrop of the story: The 2006 Mumbai train bombings were a series of seven bomb blasts on 11 July. They   took place over a period of 11 minutes on the Suburban Railway in Mumbai     Penmancy gets a small share of every purchase you make through these links, and every little helps us continue bringing you the reads you love!