Kya hoga hoga hoga, mera sochna tha,
O, kya hoga hoga hoga, mera sochna tha…
On a chilly winter morning, when you suddenly wake up listening to a toddler singing this number with music created by clapping two small pieces of asbestos into each other, it feels that the whole world has come to a stop to listen to what this tiny soul has to say to it. But right then, the kid’s voice is overtaken by a score of other shouts trying to gain mileage over each other, hustling through the squatting-sitting-standing crowds: “Chai masalawali, Chai”, “Garam garam vada-pav”, “Sev-khaman, desi ghee ma banavelu khaman khasho?”
And then, you realise you have woken up on the upper deck of the Flying Ranee, because you do not have any space to move your feet about — since the entire coach is filled with people – men, women and children like roaches stuffed in a tin can. One can hardly sit, and one cannot even stand up. Wherever you set foot, you end up stamping somebody. Finally, when you reach the loo, you find it stuffed with luggage!
After all the jugglery and hullabaloo, one wonders how such a swarming crowd could stick around together in utterly uncomfortable situations for hours. It is beyond my comprehension, whether it is the innate Indian nature to subscribe to harmony in all circumstances (which to me, appears hypocrite rubbish) or the cowardice of the mob who is willing to toss around negligible trash, but do not have the guts to stand up and speak out about the inefficiencies bred by the system, including their own selves. I dare not ask why!
