[Reader-list] The Singer and The Acrobat

[Zainab Bawa]

29/12/2003
>From VT to Byculla
Time: 5:30 PM

The Singer and the Acrobat

Today’s was a difficult journey, difficult because my mind was mostly 
preoccupied with fact of whether I would be able to get off at Byculla 
station with relative ease or not!
I stepped into the train at 5:30 PM in the evening. It was a Monday evening. 
The train was bound for Ambernath; it was a fast train which meant that it 
would not stop at the in-between stations and would only halt at junctions 
like Byculla, Dadar, Ghatkopar, etc. Evening travel time by trains is 
popularly known as ‘peak hours’ or ‘rush hours’. I am not at all a seasoned 
train traveler and am definitely not the long distance traveler. So, I have 
no clue how to juggle around and deal with the crowds during the rush hours!

By the time I got into the train, it was already ‘packed to the teeth’ (what 
does this phrase mean? I have quite a few gaps between my teeth!). The 
ladies compartment was full of women who were returning home from office. 
Here is when one gets the chance and the flavour of the concept of ‘Saheli’ 
among women. In Marathi, a female friend is called ‘Maitreen’. During the 
evening rush hour (which means that there is also a morning rush hour), 
workingwomen normally travel in groups with their Sahelis or Maitreens. 
These female companions are either office mates or co-passengers whose 
journey timing and destinations is the same everyday. Seasoned travelers are 
well aware of the train timings and destinations in the evening.

The Sahelis and Maitreens chat along all their way back home. The 
conversations and discussions are usually about the day’s happenings. If the 
Sahelis are office mates, you can imagine the amount of ‘bitching’ (such an 
appropriate word nah??) that takes place – ‘usne aisa kiya aur usne waisa 
kiya!’’ It’s great fun listening to who did what and all the twists and 
turns the bitching takes.

When I stepped into the train, I simply stood guard near the door. I was 
among the rare passengers in that compartment who wanted to get off at such 
a short distance. Most of the women were long distance travelers.

In the compartment, an old woman was singing and dancing. She was not what 
we would think of as a ‘typical old woman’. She might have been in her 
mid-forties. Her hair was dark and she had freckles on her face and on her 
slim waist. She was singing a Hindi song and dancing on that song. The song 
she sang was:

“Kya karte the saajana, tum humse door rehke? Hum to judaai mein, chup, chup 
ke roya karte the!”
[What were you doing or beloved when we were away from each other? During 
the period of our separation, I would hide and sob!]

This old woman had a peculiar way of dancing. She was not exactly dancing. 
She was acting out the song, as little children do when they recite poetry 
for a recitation exam or competition. She was moving various portions of her 
body while acting out.

She sang the entire song. There was no sense of shame while she performed. 
She was singing and dancing and this was her routine way of earning for her 
daily meals. She kept saying how she hoped to make at least twenty rupees in 
this train journey. She said she was confident of eking out this amount 
today because the compartment was packed and her goddess was showering her 
blessings on her.

While she was singing and dancing, two women standing by the door were 
watching her. One of them was a middle class Maharashtrian workingwoman. She 
kept scorning at the lady. She hated the lady’s movements and she kept 
making faces which suggested that to her, this singer’s dance movements were 
nothing less than vulgar. From her facial expressions, I could make out that 
this lady seemed to be saying to herself, “What a shameless old woman! She 
should just get lost from here!”

When I look at someone like this old lady who was singing and dancing 
without any sense of hesitation, I feel that here is someone who is 
unpretentious and who does not have shame in doing something like this to 
earn a living. I did not think of this lady as shameless; in fact, I found 
that I did not have the guts to look at this lady all the time. I thought 
this old lady had her sense of dignity. At least, she was not begging.
I did not look at this old lady myself because her presence was very 
confronting to me. I felt that here is someone who has enormous courage. She 
is courageous because she can sing and dance in front of so many people with 
the least inhibitions. She did not have a great voice, neither was she a 
very good dancer. Her accent was wonky! One could just about manage to 
understand her Hindi.
To many, she would have been a nuisance because she was mirroring every 
woman’s image in each one’s own eyes. She was a mirror for all our 
pretensions that we wear on ourselves in order to survive in this city! She 
made a lot of us appear naked in our own eyes. And yet, she really didn’t 
mean to do all this. She was just being herself!!!

After she finished singing her Hindi song, a young playful lady, standing 
next to me, gave her a rupee and complimented her. She truly seemed to have 
enjoyed this old lady’s performance. The old lady took the coin, looked up 
(there was no sky! Only the ceiling of the train compartment could be 
seen!), thanked her goddess, and announced, “Now, I will sing a classic Asha 
Bhonsale song in Marathi!” The playful lady standing next to me squealed in 
delight and said to her Maitreen standing next to her, “Aiyaa! This is a 
classic! It will be so much fun!”

I felt that this lady provided a breathing space, a space to unwind in the 
midst of enormous crowd. She was not really an artist (I failed to fit her 
into my conventional mindset of artists!). Mumbai City does not exactly have 
an artist square, except the one outside Jehangir Art Gallery at Colaba 
where three to four artists sit down and make portraits and several crowds 
stand there, watching the sketch and the people posing. Each one among the 
crowd likes to give their own comments, as if knowing a lot. Yet, it is such 
a unique space where people just come and stand; they stop running and they 
just get awed and they stand still and they watch! An artist square gives a 
sense of leisure and space in the midst of the speed and blind traffic! An 
artist square is a sort of breathing space, a reminder that life need not 
always be a rushed business, that success does not only mean running with 
the time and trying to compete against it! I wish Mumbai City had artist 
squares, several of them, without specialized artists, with just everyday, 
simple, experimenting, ordinary people who are being themselves!

Anyway, coming back to the train journey. It was time for me to get off. I 
moved closer to the door. Two ladies were standing there. I asked them, 
“Where do you want to get off?” One of them said, “Vikhroli!” I said, “Then 
move aside and let me get off at Byculla.” The other young girl standing 
there realized that was a novice. She said to me, “Don’t worry, we will let 
you get off when Byculla comes.” She smiled at me. I realized that some 
system of unspoken understanding exists about getting off at various 
stations which I am not aware of.
As Byculla approached, this young girl dexterously swung around the pole to 
make space for me to get off (and the train was in motion before it stopped 
completely!). When I got off the train, I found her hanging outside the 
train, by the pole! I was a bit horrified and worried for her, but then, in 
my heart of hearts, I knew that she must be used to such acrobatics, 
everyday! They are now a part of her system by which she lives and survives 
in this city. This is her adjustment mechanism to the trains. I wonder 
whether death scares her at all?

-	Zainab Bawa
-	For communication, email zainabbawa at yahoo.com

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