This story involves geography. Some fantasy books like The Lord of the Rings include maps at the back of the book. Even some Winnie the Pooh books include maps. For that very same reason, I included a map here.
(Some details are embellished for dramatic effect)
Stage One – Boarding the train at Vashi
In the past, I was an engineering student. I lived in the Bombay suburb of Kandivali and commuted daily to the suburb of Vashi. This involved a ninety minute journey including three trains on three different train lines. Bombay’s local trains generally run north-south and Kandivali-Vashi is an east-west journey. Not ideal.
In my final year of engineering, we were all forced to participate in an industry project. This involved trying to solve real-world problems without the appropriate tools or training, as is the norm in the great nation of Bharat. The end of this process is the “presentation” where you cosplay as a professional, dress formally and speak about your work and achievements. This is usually a shorter day at college and most people leave at around 13:00. A typical day ends at about 16:00.
These presentations require presentation software and software requires a laptop. Back in the late 2000s, laptops in India were expensive and difficult to find. Through privilege, I had one. A bulky Toshiba model, but still, I had a laptop. That day, I had two bags with me. My backpack and my laptop bag. This will be important later.
Vashi is not a terminal station but it does have a few trains that start from there. Vashi is on the VT (Victoria Terminus) – Panvel line and is the first station outside the city of Bombay, just across the creek. I refuse to participate in the Sena’s great renaming project and refuse to acknowledge the sex change operation they performed on train station names. I have no sympathy or love for the British or especially the British Raj but the name of the station was just fine. If it was a real problem, that name would have changed sooner. Anyhow, I digress.
If you board a train that starts at Vashi, the train is nearly empty. You have your pick of the seats which was the only motivation my three Gujarati friends and I needed to make a mad dash for the train station. Our presentations ended around 13:00 and we knew that the next train was at 13:14 or such so we hailed a rickshaw and made haste. We boarded the train just one minute before it left. The First Class compartment was empty. This being Bombay, the weather was tropically warm and oppressively humid. The solution was to stand near the doors (Mumbai local trains do not have automated doors) as the train sped across the Mankhurd bridge across the creek. This is what we did and when we arrived at the other side, we returned to our seats. Before we stood up, though, I placed my laptop bag on the overhead luggage rack. This is not something I usually do and always have my bags on me or on a seat.
The train crossed the creek and we were seated again. The weather and the swaying of the train lulls one into sleep and sleep soon overcame us. Our first change was as Kurla, about thirty minutes after leaving Vashi. Kurla is a busy station as it is on the Central line as well as the Harbour line. Trains from Vashi to VT use the Harbour line. The din of humanity and train horns signalled the arrival of Kurla and all three of us woke up and hurriedly gathered our belongings. We hopped off the train just as it was leaving and I counted the bags we had. Three.
We boarded the train with four between the three of us and there were now three bags. Which one was missing? Oh crap, it was the bag with my expensive laptop.
Stage two – Panic at Kurla
I panicked. My two Gujarati friends also panicked but they did not have skin in the game so their panic levels were lower. This was handy because they hatched a devious Gujarati plan. The plan was that we would board the next Harbour line train to VT and follow our train with my laptop.
Here is one more piece of important information. The three of us had train passes from Borivali to Vashi. This route had two possible train changes, one via Wadala and the other – the one we used – via Kurla. Our train passes were valid on only that specific route, nowhere else. The journey we were about to embark on was literally illegal.
The Gujarati duo did not consider legal issues in their mild panic and so off we went on the next train. On this train, we debated our options and made a plan. The first problem to solve was communication. We were three people with two mobile phones. One Gujju bhai’s phone was broken so we needed a solution.
That solution was for one Gujju bhai to take my phone. We reached this conclusion before working out the plan.
But we needed a plan second. That plan was for me to alight at the next stop and to watch the trains returning from VT. But how to communicate? Ah, we did not consider that. I got off at Sewri and the two Gujju bhais sped off with both phones.
Stage Three – Panic at Sewri
At Sewri, I hoofed it across the bridge to platform one, where trains arriving from VT stopped. I located the First Class markers and waited fo trains to arrive. I hastily boarded the first and looked up at the luggage rack. Nothing.
I did this twice more and the resident ticket checker – the enforcer of the law – noticed what I was doing. Here was a curious young man hopping on to trains and then hopping off, almost as if he was confused. The TT asked me for my ticket and I showed him my 100% invalid train pass. He noted that I was technically not allowed to board trains at Sewri and so asked me exactly what was transpiring.
I explained my predicament to him and he – surprisingly – understood. He took me to his office and asked me which train I was looking for. He consulted his charts and told me the exact time when that same train would arrive. It did and I checked the First Class compartment.
Nothing. As far as I knew, my expensive laptop was gone and I would have to explain this to my parents. They would be livid.
Stage Four – Gujjus at Masjid
The title of this stage is a pun. Meanwhile, on the train heading south, the two Gujju bhais were in furious conversation. They were also travelling illegally but this time, the first class compartment was not empty. There was a third Gujju, eavesdropping on this conversation. He realised he could help and help he did. The story was that his buddies worked in the suburbs but lived in the city. There knew about the train starting from Vashi and usually boarded it together, in the first class compartments, and played cards. Or ate snakes, which is what Gujaratis are well known for doing. Anyhow, on this fateful day, he missed the train and his buddies and so was on the next train, in the same compartment as my Gujju buddies. The solution was for him to phone his buddies. He phoned, they looked for my laptop bag, they located it and planned the rendezvous.
This was to be at the station of Masjid Bunder, the penultimate stop before VT. The meet happened and five Gujju bhais went off to drink falooda. At the end of this, after much relief, my two Gujju buddies realised that they had my laptop but had no idea where I was. At this point, the realisation hit that they also had no way to contact me. My phone was with them. Two people, travelling together, had the two phones we had between us. They also realised that neither of them remembered which station I got off at. Oh my, what now?
Stage Five – Panic at VT
These two debated their course of action and concluded that my course of action was to head to VT. How they reached this conclusion, I do not know. They headed to VT, again, without legal tickets and proceeded to check the station for me. I was not there, of course, I was panicking at Sewri.
What next? Head to the station master’s office, skip the fact that you don’t have tickets and ask for help. This is what the Gujjus did and the station master sent out an announcement asking for E Rebello to approach the station master’s office. E Rebello was too far away to hear this message. The Gujjus then repeated this at Masjid Bunder and when they received no response, they concluded that I had killed myself due to social shame. They had no way of contacting me and did not know me well enough to think like me.
Stage Six – Realisation and Communication
Back at Sewri, I proceeded to panic. The train with the highest chance of containing my laptop departed, there was no laptop and I had no solutions. My solution was to check every train arriving and at this point, the TT dismissed me as crazy and so left me to my devices. I also realised, mid panic, that I had no way of contacting the Gujju duo. I could not remember either of their phone numbers and so a public phone was useless.
I considered calling home and reporting the day’s events but soon realised that would be counterproductive. My mom would also panic and besides, she did not have the Gujju duo’s numbers either. So I waited in a panic, for about three hours, my mind racing.
Somewhere in that panic, I had a brainwave, an obvious solution even. CALL MY OWN NUMBER.
I knew my own number and I knew the people with my phone. I was surprised that this obvious solution to the communication dilemma had eluded me for almost three hours. I found a phone, dropped in a one rupee coin, dialled my own number and POOF! Communications established.
I learned of the days happenings and that the Gallivanting Gujju Duo were on a train headed north. I waited for them, boarded the First Class compartment, illegally. We all headed home, laptop on my shoulder, disaster having been averted.
After this event, I resolved to never store my luggage where I could not see it.
This served me well up until I took a train from the Netherlands to Belgium, where a skilled thief snatched my bag from the luggage compartment and walked off at Mechelen station. Bad luck for him. All he found was a worthless Indian passport and some used clothes.