The Mumbai locals, the lifeline of the city’s transportation system, have been around for well over a century and a half, and for over a century and half it has single handedly managed to bring people closer together. You’re squeezed against each other, like a can of sardines, packed during peak hours, so much that you don’t know where one person ends and the other begins. It’s like you two becomes one.
Its bodies pressed against each other, crotch meets butt, face meets armpit, oily hair meets elbow (for that matter, any part that should come in contact with it). You become brothers bathed in each other’s sweat, sweat brother, sweaty brothers, who in the end begin to smell the same. And with all that continuous bump and grind, it’s almost an orgy of dry humping, with all that hot and heavy breathing over the neck, only adding to the atmosphere.
You don’t need any cold cream or moisturiser. Just stand next to a well oiled head and you’ll be lucky enough to have it rubbed against you. The caveat being you should not be picky of whether it’s nariyal ka tel, or sarson ka tel, or any tel for that matter. Just go with the flow and you’ll be well oiled.
Hands become intertwined as they reach to hold whatever they find to hold. Legs become intertwined, trying to find a toe space, if a foot space is not possible (which is most of the time). Heads peering over shoulders straining to see what the other is seeing, what the other is reading, making it a group activity of reading, watching. With body parts intertwined, bodies intertwined, weaving into a fabric of the brotherhood of train travellers.
Thus the locals have been successful at bringing people together, that no man or thing can put asunder. In short, what the Mumbai locals brings together let no man put asunder.
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