When in the US, I dreamt of riding on a Mumbai Local Train. When I did it last week it was not such a romantic event.
Sitting half- ass on the fourth seat, jostled by fellow commuters , I was amazed at the daily travails of travelling these people were putting up with. Two mustached Mallus were speaking in their glib lingo. One of them pulled out an ID card from his pocket -'My life membership card', he said. The bhaiya on the adjacent seat bent forward to have a look!
I went back to reading Leo Hartong's book 'Awakening to the dream'. The mind was quiet and there was a sense that It was here , as always: in the sunlight that came in though the windows, in the Mallu's clean ironed shirt, in the pen in his shirt pocket an in the rows of slums outside...
