the 3 rickshaw ride to Bandra Terminus (the journey that began on Friday the 13th)

Since my tickets got confirmed, my packing went on in double speed. Recalling the last time when I had missed the same train, I decided to leave home one and a half hour before the departure time (04:55 pm) of the train, i.e. 03:30 pm. A rickshaw ride from my home to Bandra terminus (BT) without much traffic on road only takes half an hour, but equal time would be required for finding a rickshaw that would agree to take one there, especially when one is running late.

With ample amount of time in hand, it took me about 20 minutes to find a rickshaw. My first question to the rickshaw-wala, as I boarded, was about the time it would take to reach BT. In a slow north Indian tone, he replied “half an hour”. I was reassured by his answer that this time I wont miss the train. The feeling was short-lived. The rickshaw ran at such a slow speed that even a cyclist could easily overtake it! Annoyed, I asked, “how much more time will it take to reach BT?”.

He answered with a question, “what time is the departure?”

“04:55”

“wont make it”

“if you drive at this speed, I surely wont make it”, I was annoyed and irritated.

“you may higher a faster rickshaw if you want.”

Stunned, shocked, irritated, frustrated and angered at his audacious reply, I yelled, ”to hell with you, stop the rickshaw right now.”

Had I not been pressed for time, he would have surely faced some music. As I handed over three 10 rupees bills for a fare of Rs. 28, knowing I was in hurry, he shamelessly said “chutta nahin hae”.

A rush of adrenaline – a voice in head shouting “throw a punch at his disgusting face.” I, in some other situation, might have considered the suggestion, but right now I had more important things to tackle – finding another, faster rickshaw.  Same situation all over again. It was already 04:30 pm! In desperacy I stopped a cab. The driver was an old Sardar jee with a fairly white long beard – a wise look. He quoted Rs 150 fare. I bargained for Rs 100, only to be stuck at Rs 120. That, right there breaks all the stereotypes about Sardar-jokes. just a look at me and this man gauged my situation. No, I wont yield! Just then I spotted another rickshaw coming my way. Fingers crossed. As soon as he agreed, I threw my bag on the seat, jumped in and asked him to drive on full throttle. The driver was wearing earphones. Jokingly he replied,”it’s a rickshaw, not a jet but ill do what I can.”

Tho worried, I smiled. 

“how much time?”, I asked the same question.

“15 minutes.”

I had 20 minutes in hand. He drove, I prayed.

Keeping in tune to its start, the journey took another twist.  Something went wrong with the rickshaw and he had to stop it aside in a gully, somewhere in Bandra. The only good(?) news was that it would take 10 minutes on foot to reach BT, as per the rickshaw-wala. 10 minutes were all I had in hand. I paid the fare and rushed towards the station, with my eyes scanning the gully for a ride and soon found one. The driver was a middle aged man, with a thin-chiselled mustache, a typical Marathi Manus.

“Bandra Terminus?” the same question that I must have asked atleast about two dozen rickshaw-wallas by now. His facial expressions suggested that his answer wouldn’t be a positive one. Before he could speak anything, I explained him my whole situation, while still gasping for air. True to a Marathi Manus’ nature,tho unwillingly but considering my situation, he agreed. I jumped in. He manouvered his rickshaw through the narrow gullies of Bandra, and I on the back, seat bit my nails. as I got out of the rickshaw, finally at Bandra terminus, it was almost the departure time of the train. Rushing towards the station, I asked a coolie standing nearby about the platform where ‘Nizamuddin Ghareebrath’ had arrived.

“Ghareebrath isnt scheduled for Fridays. You must be looking for ‘Yuva Express’, its about to leave, hurry.” He answered, pointing out in the direction of the train.

In all the ruckus, I got confused with name fo the trains. I rechecked for the train’s name on the SMS that I received after booking the ticket. Coach J7, seat 29. I was running on the platform to find the coach, fearing the train would start any moment. A man standing on the platform shouted out in Gujrati, advising me to board the train first and then walk to my coach from inside. I nodded my head in thanks as I passed him, still running on the platform with my luggage. There it was! J7. I hopped in, gasping for air and the train moved.

“whew, I made it!” I sighed.

PS: next – the journey from Mumbai to Delhi in AC Chair Car.