One world

Travelling down the harbour line. Could that ever be bad? To ears untrained, this may sound like luxury, paradise almost. But to those millions travelling, within and alongside the train hugging down the Harbour Line in Mumbai, the imagery wouldn't quite be that of white sands, glistening water and milti-hued skies. Quite the contrary actually.

Broken tracks, crumbling houses, the stench of excreta and other undefinable odours, groups of men squatting on the dusty ground, sharing a beedi, playing a game of teen-patti (what they stake is unclear, really), women washing clothes, vessels and children in water that can hardly be called that. And the patter of feet climbing in and out of the train at Govandi (a suburban Mumbai station). Their game. a dangerous one. But then, what do they know about safety?

Although Mumbai has been home for a decade, I am a Calcuttan by birth. It is therefore my birthright to point a finger at Dominique Lapierre. To rave and rant at his audacity. Dare he paint a picture so grim, so dark, so true? Oh, white blood, you have no right. Would any of my own country men do such grave injustice to their own nation? I think not.

Then, at this juncture, I read what I'm writing. And wonder. Does poverty sell? Is it fair to say that we are at a level, closet sadists? Not quite correct terminology, since we're not all inflicting pain. But yes, we read about it. Heck, we write about it.

Would the lucre of Malabar Hill inspire me to dig out my notepad, and start scribbling furiously? Has not thus far.It is a strange world that makes us glorify rubbish heaps and abject hunger.

For most commuters, these sights are passe. It's called acclimitization. But it takes time to refrain from staring out the window and wincing at the sight of little children, scarcely clad, wandering down empty tracks, searching for food, shelter and security.

Oh Maslow, you may have a point.

I am new to commuting. These sights unnerve me. Not that I'm about to shed my capitalist garb, chuck up a high paying job and do great service for mankind by trying to heal the world.

Altruism is passe.

This is the new-age. I am a new-age woman. Give me my palm pilot, Nokia 8850 and watch me rule the world. My world.

Different from their world. The one I see passing by outside the window of my train. That would be unaware of the Microsoft trial, the Mauritian tax laws, Cronjegate or Ronaldo's injury.

They wait. For a miracle.