A German Adventure - Part III

(continued from last time)

The next morning, I woke to see the sun filtering in gently through the filmy curtains. I yawned, stretched, wondered vaguely why I had filmy curtains on my window -- and sat up with a jerk when I remembered the adventures of last night. I looked around the room. Yep, the whole thing hadn't been a dream -- I was still very much in Frankfurt. However, something had cooled my temper and anxiety -- probably the fact that I had, for the first time in three months, slept for more than 5 hours at a stretch. I felt relaxed, and ready to face whatever the world threw at me. With this resolve in mind, I freshened up, and went downstairs for breakfast.
I went with Anita, the girl from San Jose I'd met the previous day. She was accompanied by a hell-like woman who insisted on making her order for everything, claiming she didn't know English (Bull. How would she have made it to the United States otherwise?) The three of us went downstairs to the French restaurant. It was adorable, and I felt like spending the rest of the day there. We were seated next to a glass wall, where we could see out onto the cobble-stoned street outside. People dressed warmly walked past, breath misting in the cold air. There was a sprig of beautiful wild pink flowers just outside the restaurant window, and lent a touch of color to the gray scene outside. In the distance were some tall buildings, which reminded me of Bombay. I loved it. The scene looked very much like my imagery of "Europe".
After the meal was over, we wondered what to do. I went over to the reception, and asked for a pin converter. I had discovered, the previous night, that there was a 110V outlet in my room, but unfortunately, it needed a pin converter. I got that, and went upstairs to my room to leave my laptop to charge up, and went downstairs again.
There were a bunch of people accumulated there, all from Air India, all hollering at each other, rumors floating in the air. Some people said that the flight would leave later that night. Some said we were stuck there till December 26th. Some said we'd be sent back to Chicago. It was crazy, and I made a face and tried exploring the hotel. It was pretty, no doubt about that. The reception was tastefully decorated, and there was Christmas decoration all over the place. I loved the two Christmas trees, and the gingerbread house, complete with a gingerbread crow on the chimney!
Before I knew it, it was time for lunch. A bunch of us decided to eat lunch together, and searched for a place to eat. We finally decided on the quaint Italian bistro in the hotel, and accordingly, went there. I looked over the menu, and finally decided on a turkey wrap and a cup of mandarin oranges with yogurt. The German waitress asked me anxiously, "Iss goot?" I smiled at her. "It's good," I assured her, and she went away, pleased. I felt myself laze, and even managed to forget the fact that I was stuck in a foreign country, where English was not the main language, for God knew how long, and in a way that was cutting into my vacation time at home. I felt at peace after the meal. I even managed to order a huge chunk of blackforest cake and an enormous cup of latte, and a bottle of water to finish it all off, while the other passengers looked at me, astonished. One of them even asked me, "How do you eat all that and still remain so tiny?" But my hurt look made him hurriedly change the topic!
Outside, the street was busy. There was a tram station right outside on the street, and green trams arrived every five minutes, so so it seemed to me. People thronged the street, Hamburger Allee. Cars drove past -- cars! Sleek, elegant German cars that made me drool. Every fourth car seemed to be an Audi. The light changed over the scene as the sun made its way across the horizon. I watched the scene, entranced, until the waitress came over the clear our table. Some of the people suggested a quick tour of the town, but I had to turn down the proposition, as I didn't want to catch pneumonia traveling in the cold Frankfurt night with nothing warmer than a hooded sweatshirt. I, instead, decided to go back to my room.
I exited the bistro, and saw a huge crowd at the reception -- all passengers from Air India. I went over and joined the crowd, and at the center of it all, discovered one of the Air India crew, trying to be heard over the noise. Finally, I got the gist of what he was saying: Air India had been unable to fix the busted engines of the airplane we had arrived in, so a relief aircraft was being flown in from Calcutta. It would arrive in Frankfurt early tomorrow morning, and we would set off sometime around 8:30am. In the meantime, to keep us busy, we had 10 minutes to talk to anyone anywhere in the world over the phone, and two hours of free internet access. The second option was what uplifted me.
I went to the elevator, and pressed the button for the 38th floor. Also inside the elevator was a pilot in uniform, a tall, rangy blond man. He kept looking at me, and after we'd gone up some ten floors, he pointed at me, and said: "Longhorn?"
My jaw dropped, and I gave him a grin of pure delight, while making the hook-em sign with my hand. He grinned at me, made the same sign, and got off at the 35th floor, while I continued on to the 38th. I retired to my room, and with something resembling a yell of joy, went to my favorite website -- Google. The internet! I realized for the first time how much I relied on it. I checked everything I could, trying to make sure I spent every minute of the two hours wisely. I checked my mail in every mail server I have an account on -- Gmail, Yahoo, Hotmail, AOL, even the UT server. I checked my Facebook page and wrote back to some people who had scribbled on my wall. I looked up my grades on UT Direct, and emailed a professor about them. I checked my bank account, and was delighted to discover that the call to India the day before had cost me only $10, and I had moreover just received my paycheck for December, so I had nothing to worry about, financially. I felt relaxed after the bout of internet-surfing, and called my parents to let them know of the updates about the flight situation. After all that, I packed up my backpack, and went down for dinner.
Dinner was again at the Champions Bar. This time, I actually felt a little sad that I would never see the place again. I'd grown fond of Frankfurt, for in spite of the incompetence of Air India, I had spent a good two days here. I had a hearty dinner, finished it off with apple strudel, and went up to my room. Grad school has given me the ability to doze of anywhere, anytime, for any number of hours, and wake up not feeling like a zombie, so I woke after three hours, feeling reasonably refreshed. I went downstairs, and saw all the other passengers accumulated in the lobby. I checked out, had a last cup of coffee, returned the pin converter, bid the cheerful receptionist goodbye, and went out to the bus for the trip to the airport. When it was full, the bus glided through the dark, empty streets, with a gaslight-like glow from the street lamps, giving it a surreal look. I bade a mental goodbye to Germany, and we left the city of Frankfurt, and landed back at Frankfurt Flughafen.
Again, there was Air India incompetence at work. Although they'd summoned us at 6am, there was no one manning the counters, but we had grown so used to it, we didn't even complain. We stood in an enormously serpentine queue, waiting for it to dissipate. Finally, the check-in counters opened, and people started checking in. I went through check-in and security, losing my bottle of water in the process. An old security guard at the security check remarked on the number of books in my backpack, "You like to read!" I gave him a grin, and went through.
Finally, feeling as though it were all a dream, I was on the plane. It was a smaller one than the one we'd come on -- it was a 777 -- and much nicer than the 747 we'd arrived in. As I watched, it started snowing outside, and the world grew white. Finally, unable to keep my eyes open, I dozed off. I woke up at 10:30, to the announcement that we were about to take off, so please fasten your seatbelts. Mine was already fastened, so I sat back, and felt the engine purr outside. The plane started moving. It moved faster and faster, till it was gliding over the runway, and then suddenly, with a little bump, it was in the air. A great whoop of joy went up from all the passengers, and the atmosphere in the plane lightened considerably. I gave a grin that stretched my mouth from ear to ear, and opened up my manga -- I could read it now!
The two movies running were the irritating Bratz, and an obscure The Last Legion, so I closed my eyes, and dreamed of home. I guess I must've fallen fast asleep, for when I woke up, it was 4:00pm German time -- we'd be landing in under two hours! I cleared the cobwebs from my brain, shook off my sleep, and resumed reading my manga, the iPod in my ears, the battery dangerously low by now. The stewardess came over with food, which I gobbled down somehow, suddenly caring for nothing more than to meet my parents and my sister. The plane droned on through the night, with faint patches of light far below the only indications that we were passing over civilization.
Finally -- finally! -- the pilot announced that we were about to land in Mumbai -- at which a cheer went up from the crowd again. The crew started bringing over customs forms, which I filled with alacrity. My breath actually shortened when the plane started losing altitude, and I strained to look out of the window. And there it was! The bright yellow and white lighting of Bombay! Well, of any other city, but I knew it was Bombay. We flew over the ocean, and then swooped back over the mainland, the ground approaching us at breakneck speed. The ground came closer and closer, there was a little thump -- and we were on ground! The engines strained to slow us down, and the plane coasted over to the airbridge -- and we had landed! The doors opened, and I was one of the first ones out, flying out of the aircraft as though it were on fire. I practically ran through the airport, noting immediately, the warmth, humidity, and the smell -- I knew I was back home! I had to wait for ages at Customs, and then again at the baggage check, but finally, with baggage in hand, I made my way out, and saw my parents and my sister! My joy was unbounded, and I fear I scared quite a few people waiting there -- they probably thought I was some species of a wild animal. But I was delighted -- after the long -- loooong! -- trip from Austin to Chicago to Frankfurt to Mumbai, I had finally made it back home!! And, it might have delayed me a lot, but thanks to Air India's incompetence, I got to see a beautiful new city!

Mumbai's local trains

Traveling in Mumbai's local trains is an experience one must have during one's lifetime. Seriously. Where else would you find 100 people squeezed into space meant for two, and still managing to play card games, shell peas, sell jewelry and even sing religious songs? If you live in Mumbai -- or Bombay, as I still prefer to call it -- you have to have traveled at least once in a local train. Or you're not a Mumbaikar.
I recently went back home to Bombay for a month (well, slightly lesser than that, but who's counting?), and managed to travel in the trains. My parents were dead set against it, mind. They firmly believed that after traveling in the CapMetro buses of Austin, I would find it hard to travel in the chaotic locals of Bombay. (It's actually the other way round, but I didn't want to sit and explain all that -- I had a train to catch!). So off I went to Victoria Terminus (VT), now renamed to Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST) during the renaming heydays of the Maharashtra government.
There's a train from the place where I live, Vashi, to VT, every 5 minutes. However, I was planning to go at 9am, and at that time, even getting a meter within the train's radius requires superhuman powers. Determined office-goers, chirpy college kids, bratty school kids -- all of them push, shove, kick and elbow their way to the train, so that the mere mortals traveling merely for the heck of it get thrown all the way to the back of the line. There are three start points for trains traveling to VT on the Harbor Line -- from Panvel, Belapur and Vashi. It's insanity trying to even look into the trains leaving from Panvel or Belapur, so I contented myself waiting for a Vashi train.
It came soon enough. The local train system is super-efficient, I'll give you that! I got in, feeling like a bit of a stranger since I hadn't ridden in one for over a year, and grabbed a seat. Now that's another task requiring some show of strength and cunning and speed and agility. You basically hurl yourself into the still-moving train, and, if you happen to spy an empty seat, you use all your wiles to get to it before another person can. In this case, since I was in the women's compartment, I competed with the women to grab the seat I saw. I managed to beat a plump lady wearing enough jewelry to open up a store, and a sharp-faced skinny woman who gave me the evil eye to the seat, and sank down, and immediately shoved the earbuds of my iPod into my ears and turned up the volume loud enough to hurt so I could block out the curses aimed my way.
The train started moving. I actually felt moved when I saw for the first time in over a year the view from the train window. Right outside Vashi station is the Thane creek. It's a thin body of water stretching from Thane all the way to Nhava Sheva, the port. The train bridge built over it was the first to connect the island of Bombay to Thane district, I do believe. I love the creek, and used to hang out of the train to get a glimpse of it when I was a college student. For some reason, I associate the creek with cricket. A crazy thought, isn't it? I think it's because I used to watch cricket matches live from New Zealand just before I left for college at 7:30am (since the country is 7 and a half hours ahead of India, the matches used to start really early). I used to watch usually till the tea break, and then leave for college, and all the way, I'd be contemplating on the various outcomes of the match, even more so if my favorite cricketer Shane Bond would be playing. I think that's why I associate the creek with cricket.
Anyway. Once the creek is past, there really isn't much to look forward to on the train journey -- except for the antics of my fellow passengers. That day, there happened to be a college girl, a loud woman and her sister-in-law and baby, a tired-looking bai (maid), and the ubiquitous macchiwaali (fisherwoman). These macchiwaalis are quite a race. They are the loudest, most voluble of passengers traveling in the train. They carry with them a straw basket, in which they ostensibly carry the fish, though I've seen the fish only once. These baskets are usually dripping with some kind of gray-ish water, so people tend to give them a wide berth. They dress in that style so typical to the macchiwaalis , with the saris drawn between their legs, dhoti-style. The one opposite me had a paan in her mouth, the juice oozing out of one corner of her mouth, making her look like the victim of assault and battery. She had an enormous red tikka on her forehead, her hair drawn up tightly in a knot. She kept talking throughout, though I'm pretty sure no one was paying her any attention (including me -- I had my iPod going). The college girl next to her shot her dirty looks which went unnoticed. What did not go unnoticed was my iPod -- an iPod is still a rarity in India, at least in the women's compartment of the local trains, and feeling numerous hungry eyes upon it, I clutched my precious possession close to me and guarded it like a dragon.
There are 14 stations between Vashi and VT: Mankhurd, Govandi, Chembur, Tilak Nagar, Kurla, Chuna Bhatti, Guru Tegh Bahadur Nagar, Vadala Road, Sewri, Cotton Green, Reay Road, Dockyard Road, Sandhurst Road, and Masjid. The last one is VT. At each station there is a seething mass of humanity struggling to enter the train. It's actually fun watching -- unless you're one of the hapless ones caught near the door, in which case you get enough abuse to turn your hair white, and numerous threats of bodily harm, most often, to throw you off the train while it is gathering speed. It's all just bark, though. No one, to the best of my knowledge, has ever actually acted out on these threats.
Another interesting fixture in the trains, at least in the women's compartment, is the various sellers who enter it. They are usually young-ish women, maybe in their late twenties or early thirties, carrying their wares. The most popular ones are the jewelry and vegetable sellers; but other vendors can do good business too, if they're enterprising enough. Once, one of them actually got me to buy a glue stick from China. I was struggling to file my papers (this was back when I was in college), and a few of them kept sneaking out. The sharp-eyed vendor, a girl not much older than me, immediately came over, and tried to impress upon me the importance in my life of a pale blue glue stick with Chinese letters on it. I tried to convince her that I didn't need it, and she tried to convince me that I did. Finally, just to get rid of her, I bought one for 5 rupees. I threw it in my backpack, sure that I'd never need a questionable glue stick (what if my papers dissolved in it?). Strangely enough, that very week, I needed to glue something together, and the stick actually came in handy. And no, the papers didn't dissolve.
I couldn't listen to any of the conversations, unfortunately, for I had Matt Costa going full volume in my ears with These Arms. But it was fun looking at the animated expressions of the women commuters! They tend to have three types of expressions -- the happy, I don't care for anything type; the indifferent, exhausted type; and the belligerent type. These are the ones you steer clear of, incidentally. If you go and try to make conversation with one of the belligerent ones, you're just asking for trouble.
All this I observed with a half-smile on my face (I was hoping that people would think it was because of the song, not because of them), until the train went past Masjid. Masjid looks like the most ancient station along the Harbor Line, possibly because it hasn't been renovated ever since it was built. After Masjid, the train runs along between some buildings, which gives way to flowery patches on both sides of the track, which gives way, suddenly, to an enormous area consisting solely of train tracks -- that's when you know you've arrived! Then everyone on the train gets in a queue, pushing and shoving, though everyone knows that no one else can get off when the train's halted, and everyone is going to get off at that point, anyway. Pushing is the just part of the fun. It's not serious pushing, mind you -- just some good-natured jostling that's part of the daily Mumbaikar routine.
And when the train halts at VT station, everyone gets off in a rush. This is what happened that day as well -- the entire crowd just melted out of the train, and before I knew, VT was deserted -- in a manner of speaking. I plopped my earbuds out of my ears, and went to find a place to stand where I could wait for my friend. I was chased away by all kinds of people -- the ticket checkers, the food vendors, the passengers, the shoeshine boy -- even a beggar! Finally I found myself an inoffensive spot to wait, and did so, until my friend arrived, watching till then the ebb and flow of humanity with the arrival and departure of the various trains pouring in from all parts of Bombay.
And that's what a ride in the local trains of Bombay feels like!