There are ten stations between Secunderabad and Lingampally, the former being where I live, and the latter being the stop that leads to my sister and it's husbandicoot, the only people I really know in this city.
The local trains in Hyd-Sec are a blessing, although they are not very well organised. On most occasions, you will only know the platform number a few seconds before the train arrives. At the Secunderabad station for instance, it's not an easy scamper from Platforms 7 to Platform 10, the only options for the MMTS trains to stop. So you pray and run.
MMTS. Multi-Modal Transport Service, for some reason. Don't be fooled; our trains don't turn into helicoptors when we hit the magical Nature Cure Hospital Stop, which, ironically, is the part of the city that smells most like a cesspool.
Sitting in the ladies compartment is an eye opener. For all the chest hair than Andhra men believe they own, they have no qualms about getting into the ladies compartment on trains. On an average, the ladies compartment has a 40-60 split of men and women. Andhra men in general are the lowest form of masculine life, next only to those living North of...the South. No offence to my father and (some aspects of) his family, but in Andhra, we are into the serious business of bust-lining.
Afternoons are the best time for train travel, if you're brave enough to leave home in the scorching heat. The newspapers advise us to stay indoors between 2pm and 4pm, but if you manage to miss the peak-heat-hours, take a train. Some of the stations, especially those closer to Secunderabad like James Street and Sanjeevaiah Park, are quite pretty. The train ride itself is pleasant: the men are conspicuous in their gawking absence and not much can be heard over the metallic din of the train's chugging, stopping and starting. Vendors selling peanuts, bits of coconut and colourful coconut mithai hang around the trains, not really in a hurry to do much business, since the peak hours are on their way.
There are ten stations between Secunderabad and Lingampally. Enough time to do the Guardian Quick and the Sudoku. Altogether too much time to think, to yearn and to be a stranger in a strange land.
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4 comments:
Telugu vasthunda? Ha! Like, do you understand it some? My mother doesn't know I understand 70% of the Telugu secrets she shares with her sister.
Oi! This reminds me much of the chauffeur-driven trains that used to line up for us in Mumbai... Remember that funs? We couldn't move an inch without a train ofering to drop us home or away. Har har de har. Or, 'tumty tumty tumty tum', if you will.
Wish u wud visit delhi and write about it, especially abt the masculine forms found ard here.
they r lowest of the lowliest
You joke?
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