First day, worst day

 
The scorching month of May blew a breezy goodbye to Mumbai, painting the sky in hues of blue. Light breeze danced in the air and whispered the arrival of the first showers. Yet they caught many Mumbaikars unaware.

Praful frowned as he held his trousers just above his ankles and dodged the puddles, towards Church gate station. He felt that his satchel tucked under his arm would fall off any minute. Mamaji described the monsoon as Indra the Rain God, quenching the dizzying thirst of the burning dry city, and spreading cheer and greenery all over. He missed the part about the ubiquitous potholes, and the sticky, humid air. Moreover, the drizzles washed away Praful’s precious efforts to look presentable on his first working day…

That day, like every day of his life, he’d rolled out of bed at the crack of dawn, only to be greeted by the deafening silence and blinding dark. Here in the city, his relatives slept up to eight and hustled about their daily jobs till the wee hours in the night.
Light peeked in through the curtains at seven, but Mamaji and Mamiji snored away blissfully. Sipping his third cup of tea, he sat by the window and marveled at the mammoth city sprawled below. He felt like a tiny figure, poking his head out of a tiny block of a gigantic cube. A gigantic cube that housed about two-hundred people, each huddled in a tiny block of their own.


A few weeks ago, on his yearly visit to Bhandup, Mamaji strongly recommended that Praful crawl out of that burrow, Bhandup and build a new life in Mumbai, the city of dreams.
“Munna, you have a degree in B. Com no?” Mamaji asked, stuffing another pakoda, “Any office will give you a job. And I’m there to help you, why worry. My own friend, Satish, needs a clerk.” He eyed Praful’s mother. “Please send him to Mumbai, didi, there’s nothing in this cubbyhole for him.”
Seated in their small house, Praful’s mother looked at him for help, but he kept staring at the floor. She shook her head dubiously.
Before he knew it, Praful stood at the station holding his small trunk and wishing farewell to his mother and half of Bhandup, who’d come to see him off.


Now, at seven in the morning, seated by the window-sill,  and thinking of his new job, anxiety twisted and churned his stomach. Mamaji pointedly explained that it was a simple job involving punching, filing and stapling of papers and doing a few accounts here and there. Nothing creative, thank god! Yet, the cloud of doubt hung over him, dark and dreadful.

He exhaled deeply and proceeded to get ready. The beige shirt needed a little ironing, he decided, but the trousers seemed fine. A quick bath later, he changed into his office attire, tightened his belt just above the waist, and parted his generously oiled hair to resemble a nerdy school-boy.  After sticking his wallet into his pocket, he paused for a second and contemplated: putting all the money in one place… not a smart idea, maybe some money should be safe in his trousers. He flipped the wallet open and deposited half the money into his trousers, elated with his presence of mind. Ready to go, he clutched his satchel in one hand and phone in the other. On his arrival in Mumbai, Mamaji’d presented him with the new phone. It cost a mighty thousand rupees! He clutched it tightly, as though holding the Kohinoor. After a last look on the room, he bent to touch Mamaji’s feet and tiptoed out the door.

His watch flashed nine o’ clock. He wiped the sweat beads from his brow and fanned himself frequently. A fat balding man, constantly swearing into the phone and a lanky teenager sandwiched him in the 64 no. bus to the station. So much for waiting an hour on the bus-stop and jostling past a magnanimous crowd, he grimaced.

A mere five minutes separated bus stop and the station, but with muck all over the street, time stretched into an eternity. The city grooved to its own unique rhythm, he noted. Incessant honking of vehicles mixed with screeching and screaming voices, and songs blaring on roadside stalls bombarded his ear-drums. Hailing from a quiet, small town, the noise and chaos startled him. Finally, when he plodded through the metal door-frame into the station, a shrill, long beep pierced through his ears and he froze. Recovering almost immediately, he tapped all the pockets in his shirt and trousers, for he thought he knew a thing or two about security checks. A volley of unpleasant thoughts raced through his mind…

At that point, a group of suited professionals walked out the doorframe, followed by a few girls sauntering into the station and a few more leaving it. And he heard the loud beep, again and again. Feeling slightly foolish, he grinned and slapped his forehead, and started towards the ticket counter to join a mile-long queue.

In his turn, he said eagerly, “One ticket for Elphinstone road, please.”

The elephantine woman at the counter, lifted her annoyed face and barked, “Single or return?”

He considered the question for a couple of seconds and blurted, “Single.”

The woman hammered her keyboard, louder with every click. In a meek voice, he mumbled, “No, no, sorry…I want uh…return.” He had to come back the same way, he reasoned with himself.

Her coal-black eyes smoldering, the woman yanked the note out of his hand and slapped the ticket onto the desk.

Across the ticket window, he glanced at the ticket back and front. “Uh where is Elphinstone road written? I mean it is very light…this will be accepted no?”

“Yes!” she hissed and yelled, “Next!”

“Okay.” He folded his hands in gratitude and weaved his way out of the impatient crowd behind him. Only the man who stood right after him gave a sympathetic smile. Praful raised his hands to him too and turned. While pocketing the notes, the man snickered, What an ignorant fool!

As he ambled towards the train, Praful barged into an old, haggard lady.

“I’m sorry, very sorry, Maaji.”

“Beta, please buy me biscuits, please give me something to eat…” she pleaded in a scratchy voice.

An ill-fitted blouse and skirt dangled on her shriveled body. Her exhausted grey eyes and wrinkled face melted his heart as his mother’s image cropped in his mind.

The frail figure facing him, continued, “My son, my son was going to pick me from the station, my son hasn’t come, I am very hungry, my son…” Almost hysterical now, her voice trembled. There was no way he wouldn’t help this poor mad woman.

“Okay, maaji, please wait here. I will get something.” He rushed to the nearest stall and demanded a pack of biscuits, then removed his wallet again to pay for the same.

Satisfaction overwhelmed him as he watched her gobble the biscuits. A few minutes later she said, “Can you get me some milk?”
“Of course, I will get it.”

When she finished drinking it, she offered to return the empty bottle, while he strode over to the dustbin.

The man at the stall muttered “Maaji, your son forgot his mobile…” pointing at Praful’s thousand-rupees-worth Kohinoor.

She thanked him and quietly tucked it into her skirt-pocket and boarded the closest train.
As Praful trashed the wrapper into the bin, his hand felt… empty. On realizing the missing item, his heart gave a lurch. He bolted to the stall, mad with fear.

“My mobile phone, my mobile phone….” He yelled helplessly to the man.

“I gave it, boss, I gave it…” he claimed, while arranging a packet of chips.

“To whom?” Praful wailed.

“Arey, to your mother,” he answered with a hint of irritation.

Praful’s heartbeat steadied a little, as he expected the old lady to be waiting right behind him and hand him the phone. His eyes bulged in horror, as he saw her clung to the door of a departing train. As the train left the station at a dreamy pace, she flashed a toothless grin, her grey eyes twinkling. Praful pulled his hair and came on the verge of tears, but the lady was gone, along with his phone.

Shoulders drooping, he trudged towards a compartment and stood at the door. The computerized indicator announced in a slow, dull monotone, “This is a fast train to Borivli. This train will not stop at all the stations.”

Praful’s mind strolled far away into a dark, hopeless alley; his phone haunting him at every nook. Frustrated, he dropped into a nearby seat, and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes snapped shut. How could he be so careless, so astonishingly stupid? A woman robbed his phone in broad daylight! Mamaji would explode at hearing it, but he’d tell him only at night. This wasn’t the right time…
It could’ve been twenty minutes or perhaps twenty seconds, but from a distance he sensed someone announcing, “Next station, Dadar.” First in English, followed by Hindi and then Marathi…

As soon as he grasped its meaning, his eyes flew open and his ears pricked up. He tried to concentrate. Mamaji had informed that Dadar came after Elphinstone. Had he been sleeping while the station came and went? Two tragedies in a single day!

He tapped a Bermuda-clad boy on the shoulder and enquired, “Excuse me bhai sahib, did the train cross Elphinstone station?”

Plucking his ear-phones out, the teenager quipped, “Dude, you’re in the wrong local. This is a fast train to Borivli.”, and replaced the ear-phones.

Praful absorbed every word and then moved his sweaty palm over his face.

“Sorry bhai sahib, but what can I do now?” he shook the boy again and asked.

The boy replied, perfectly calm, “Get off at Dadar and take a slow train to Elphinstone from platform number…2!”

Praful folded his hands and babbled, “Thank you, thank you very much.”

“No problem boss.” the youth grinned.

Praful’s wrist-watch warned of another impending disaster, twelve o’ clock already! That’s when his boss expected him. Gazing out the window on his second train ride of the day, he yearned to laze under the soothing, green canopy of a neighborhood banyan tree. But the tumultuous day refused to calm down…

A sea of people scurried to and fro  like a colony of rats at the Borivli station, and as he alighted, Praful thought there was no better place than a station to gauge the pulse and beat of the city.

He read the board outside the building when he left the taxi, and smiled brightly. His destination at last! “The Navjeevan Society”. It looked neither fancy nor dilapidated, merely another gigantic block of bricks and cement. The small piece of paper in his hand confirmed its name, and further informed that his office occupied the first block on the right, on the ground floor. He re-settled his hair, secured his belt again and advanced towards the door.

A petite girl with a round face chatted on the phone on a desk facing the door; who he presumed was the boss’ secretary. On seeing him, she replaced the receiver and offered a courteous smile.

“How may I help you sir?” She shot the words at the speed of a rocket, as he approached the desk.

Taken aback, he whispered “Myself, Praful Mukesh Patel….You do not speak English?”

She blinked twice and repeated, “How may I help you sir?” a little slower now.

“Uh…I came to see, Mr. Venkateshwar, your boss.”

“Oh…Venkateshwar has not come for work today. And he is… not my boss.” The smile never left her face.

“But he gave me the job of the junior clerk; he’s my Mamaji’s friend. So… who should I see now?”

She raised her eyebrows at the first sentence and then said, “I’m sorry Sir, but Venkateshwar is our sweeper and he isn’t in charge of giving jobs. You are probably at the wrong place.”

Praful sighed and chuckled, "Of course! How can I ever reach the right place in this lovely city?"

A little bewildered, Ms.Smiley-face simply stated, “I’m sorry Sir, I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do, please excuse me.” She picked up the receiver and dialed a number.

“Madam, uh, can you please tell me where this place is…” he handed her a chit of paper.

She read it and her smile widened, “Sir, there are two Navjeeven Societies, one in the east and one in the west. You’ve got to go to the east. Plus the name of your office is Venky’s Co. and not Vicky’s Co. which is our name. Many people get confused, it’s okay.”

Praful raised his joined hands to her, and trotted out the door. For a little while, he sat on a bus-stop, head propped in his hand, thinking of the nightmare he was caught in.

Sitting on an alienated bus stop, in an alien place, in an alien city, he cursed himself for giving in to his mother’s pleas. Finally, he got up and saw a phone booth a few steps away. A call to Mamaji seemed like his only option. Reluctantly, he dropped a coin into the slot and dialed.

“Hello? Hello Mamaji? Hello?”

“Arey, I’m not deaf! Who are you bhaisaheb?” Mamaji walked briskly along the road, as he spoke into the phone.

“Mamaji this is Praful on the other line…”

“Praful? But why are you calling from the PCO? Where is the phone?”

The truth almost came out, but Praful controlled himself. “Mamaji…Mamaji, actually I have lost the phone”

“Lost? Praful, you were sleeping or what in the train? How many times…how many times have I told you to always keep your eyes & ears alert at all the times?”

“I….I am really, really sorry Mamaji….I will buy the new phone and give you...”

“Forget it! Where are you now? Office is over.”

“Actually, I never reached only…I got lost—“

“So you were happily roaming in hanging garden until now? Didi was right, you are a good-for-nothing fellow!”

“No Mamaji I tried to find the Venky’s and Co. but…then…someone stole my money also, so no money to go in a taxi also….”

“Hey Radhe! What a donkey didi has produced! Now go to a station, a station near to where you are, and take a train back home….”

“Er, Mamaji… I cannot see a station here….Can you please come here and take me home?” All his hopes pinned on the reply; he prayed that Mamaji said yes to his suggestion.

“But I am out of house right now…And you is no longer a baby. You can come on your own!” With that Mamaji disconnected the line and Praful’s only hope to escape.

A few seconds later Mamaji passed the same phone booth in which Praful stood with his head dropped down. Mamaji was yelling at someone on the phone. Each was unaware of the other’s presence...
Luck had eluded him, yet again!