I am a first class passenger. For a rail commuter in Mumbai the class difference is more to feed a sense of insularity than to provide any significant measure of physical comfort. The sense of insularity is from that of the second class passengers. For a new comer to the city, the difference in the environment between the two classes is indistinguishable, as they perceive the whole train as painted sardine cans on wheels. As the new comer gets more acquainted with the trains, he notices that the red and yellow stripes of the First class compartments. H e may also notice that often these first class compartments are more thickly packed than the second class compartments. The first class compartments are only a section of two bogies. One of them towards the front of the train and the other towards the rear, Every station has red and yellow stripes on the walls or girders marking the approximate spots where the first class passengers are to wait. Since the trains stop for about 20 seconds in a station, this positioning of first class waiting area is essential. This also means that unlike a second class passenger the first class passenger who dashed to catch a departing train has to search and locate his compartment before grabbing the vertical cross bar dividing the compartment entrance. The season ticket fares of first class are 3.5 times costlier than that of second class. When a non-commuter gets all this information, he fails to see any sense in commuting by first class. However, to the seasoned commuter like me the subtle differences are manifesting the nuances of passenger behaviour.

In terms of physical comforts, the only 'extra perk' in the first class compartments is the green Rexene cushioned seats. Like in all Railway compartments the Rexene bears the round embossed emblem of the Indian Railways, the largest employer in the world. During a trip to Allahabad from Lucknow, I realized that this embossing is done to discourage thievery. When I entered the first class compartment at Lucknow jute covered berth welcomed me instead of the usual green Rexene. The green Rexene had been neatly cut along the rectangular edges and taken away and perhaps took a different 'avatar' as a bag or upholstery.

The extra a first class Mumbai commuter pays for is decent passenger behaviour and a more tolerable body door. Invariably all the first class passengers have their morning bath and are clad in clean neutral smelling clothes. Sometimes a whiff of inoffensive expensive mild international perfume floats by. This olfactory environment matters a great deal when you are forced to travel more than 2 hors a day clinging to an overhead metal grip with your nose in the next man's armpit which is exposed as he is clinging to his overhead metal grip with his nose in the next man's armpit. I often wonder what this chaotic nose in the arm pit stance of civilised looking people would be interpreted as in a game of charade.

Another extra has to do with pickpockets. The first class compartments are assumed to be relatively free of pickpockets. This may well be true because normally a pickpocket can not afford to look like a first class passenger. Then there is the investment of buying a first class ticket, which is 10 times costlier than a second class ticket. He probably lives in a slum and can not afford a daily bath and clean smelling clothes. For the same reason the rightful passengers immediately notice a second class passenger who attempts a free ride in the first class compartment. He soon becomes conscious of this dirty dishevelled prominence, the disapproving, indignant nose in the armpit stares of the 'first classers' are enough to put the fear of civilisation into he hearts of most of these errant 'second classers'. More often than not the feigned unconcern in their faces turns to one of uncomfortable apology and they scamper off at the next halt.

The third extra is the unwritten codes of seeing and standing between seats. The wooden seats of second class compartments though may have bottom depressions for three, squeezes in four in deference to the collective code of conduct. The same code of conduct permits a second class passenger to stand between rows of seats offering pants/pyjama/dothi view to the lucky 'seatwallahs'. The code in the first class is more stringent. Whatever may be the volume of packing, only three are to be seated in a row. No standing between seats is allowed. Any violation is quite vehemently objected to. If such a violation results in arguments, these heated arguments are attempted to be carried out in English, with a view to establish the notion that since they are carried out in an apparently civilised language, the quibbling is a class apart.

There is some common crowd code that all the 3.5 million daily Mumbai commuters adhere to. One of them is the code of seat grabbing. Just before the train arrives, the commuters position themselves frightfully close to the edge of platform. In the forefront of this thick human line along the edge are the daredevils of both sexes, the female sex represented by the colourful patches in the otherwise grey line. The daredevils are a restless lot. They constantly crane their necks over the edge in an apparent bid to be the first to spot the oncoming train. Most of the daredevils are young with a surprising sprinkling of aged old-timers who one would assume are not capable of taking such risks. Behind the daredevils are the cautious commuters, spread out unevenly. Their caution has been forged in the aches and pains of their tenure as daredevils. Both the daredevils and the cautious commuters are engaged in animated conversation with their friends and fellow commuters. As the train is spotted there is visible alertness and tension in the air. The spread of cautious commuters move closer to the dare-devils, positioning themselves behind some of them and the human line gets more compacted and thinner. As the train rolls in there is great-uncivilised scramble. The people pour out of the train swearing and those who want to get in simultaneously push their way in to the solid steel of the compartment floor. Legs are trampled on, backs are pushed, elbows bang into the edges of compartments, watches come off straps and spectacles come off faces. In this disorderly scramble the bonhomie that prevailed among friends a split second earlier dissolves instantly. Every one for himself, whether he is clad in a designer outfit or in lowly kurta pyjamas. There is a split second after entry has been gained into the compartment when a visual survey has to be made for empty seats. Once an empty seat is spotted there is an ungainly fight for it. The one who gets most of his bottom on a given seat wins irrespective of whether he is friend or stranger. No room for gallantry here, for that would mean an hour of standing, often of the 'nose in the arm pit kind'. Gallantry comes to the fore only if the resulting discomfort is occasional. For a Mumbai commuter the scramble is a daily routine. The difference between travelling sitting and standing is the difference between a good or bad day ahead. He has no energy for gallantry. The split second after the seat scramble, people start talking to their friend, now in the various situations of sitting and standing as dictated by their share of spoils of the scramble. From the train arrives to the time the bonhomie is restored about 5 second may have elapsed. After these animalistic 5 second civilisation is restored.

Anther common code for first and second class passengers is the code of seat occupancy rights. No one is allowed to reserve any extra seats for friends. The seat he puts his bottom on is the only one for which he has occupancy rights. Further if a person gets up and moves away from the seat, the nearest person can dash in and occupy his seat. In other words the right to occupancy of a seat ceases even if the absence from the seat is temporary.

A clear understanding of commuting codes in Mumbai suburban trains as elaborated so far is necessary if one is to comprehend what happened to me the other day. I am a regular first class commuter between Borivili and Mumbai Central, a rail distance of about 30km. That takes about an hour of commuting each way. The terminus in the western line is Churchgate, a rail distance 4.5 km from Mumbai Central. I used to buy a quarterly first class season ticket valid between Borivili and Churchgate to cover and occasional trip to Churchgate. The steep hike in season ticket fares put paid to that practice. I decided that on days when I needed to go to Chyrchgate I would buy a second class ticket for the journey between Mumbai Central and Churchgate. The other day I mentioned was such a day. It was mid- week and I needed to reach Churchgate during the morning rush hour. Initially, I toyed with the idea of travelling between Borivili and Mumbai Central using my first class season ticket, getting off at Mumbai Central, buying a second class ticket valid upto Churchgate and travel second class upto Churchgate. The thought of long lines at the ticket counter in Mumbai Central and the prospect of pushing into a packed second class compartment at Mumbai Central made me change my mind. I bought a second class ticket valid between Borivili and Churchgate. This way I planned to get into a second class compartment at Borivili itself to avoid detraining at Mumbai Central.

When I got into a fast train at Borivili, all the seats were full. I knew that the next best option in the second class was to locate a standing space between seats. To my good luck there was one and I promptly moved in and stood there. As was the custom I held on to the luggage rack where I had deposited my brief case. This standing position was comparatively insulated from the wave of pressure that the standing bodies were subjected to as more and more commuters pushed in at each station. With some more luck one could also be the first claimant when anyone vacated a seat nearby.

The train moved out of Borivili as scheduled. I closed my eye and relaxed as most seasoned commuters do. This is the best way to get rid of the stress and strain of the rush at the stations and the scramble into the train. Like most commuters, once inside the crowded compartment I do not look at people's faces. I close my eyes and consciously eliminate the immediate causes of stress one by one. These stresses may come in various forms. It could be the sudden cascading rush of human bodies as new scrambles are in progress at each stop. Stresses are smoothened and equilibrium is restored through mutual silent tolerance I told myself that the second class journey was only for an hour and a quarter and there was no point in invoking comparisons with the perks offered by the first class. I think I thought too soon, for the fans went off and train went dead. The train had just arrived at Malad Station, a rail distance of 5 km. From Borivili when this happened. The power surely had failed a rare occurrence in Mumbai. As I learnt later this was to be an unusual power failure with the entire state of Maharashtra and parts of some neighbouring states going without power for some three hours. We did not know the magnitude of the power failure. All the passengers thought that power would be restored in minutes and the train would move on. Slowly minutes ticked on. This unusual waiting shook everyone out of their usual insulation and forced them to consider alternatives.

I considered mine. I was already standing for more than half and hour. Getting out of the train wouldn't serve any purpose. I had to get to Churchgate whatever the delay. Taxies would be too expensive if at all they are available. My standing position was better than that of many others. If I were to be sitting I could be comfortably waited this out. If only I could get a seat! This thought made me look at the commuters facing me and the ones behind me. An old man behind me and his young partner in front of me were conversing in Gujarathi. I listened keenly. They were considering the option of getting out of the train and going by Auto Rickshaw to Andheri. My blood raced in anticipation of their getting up. I was ready to plonk down on their seats the moment either of them got up. Their argument seemed in my predicament to prolong for an excruciatingly long time. Finally to my great disappointment they dropped the idea of vacating their seats. I cursed myself for having decided to travel second class. If I had decided to travel by first class, I could have at least had first class smells. God knows how long I would have to stand this second class smells! God knows how long I would have to stand this second class standing. I looked around for other potential 'seat vacaters'.

It was then that I saw him. He was sitting by the window right in front of me to the right. He was looking at me. I took it for a casual glance but I soon sensed that his glances had intent, a purpose. The commuter sense in me woke up to read his intention.

Is he planning to vacate his seat? Maybe he wants to vacate the seat temporarily. Why else would be looking at me. Maybe he wants me to keep his seat while he is gone temporarily. If that is so then the seat is rightfully mine, going by the code of conduct common to both first and second class. No distinction is made between temporary or permanent vacation of seats. The silent internal battle continued and by this time it was apparent that the power failure was indeed a major one. About an hour had passed since the time the power shut down occurred. This was all the more reason for my determination to grab that seat at the first opportunity. I knew that the best position to wait out the crisis was in a sitting position and a seat was scarce now, both inside and outside the compartment.

After what seemed to be eternity the worker in the tattered faded green safari suit appeared to give up. He seemed resigned to the prospect of vacating the seat. He must have some urgent work outside, I thought. He made a gesture to me indicating that he was going to get up and that I could sit in his place. I lounged for the seat and took it. Within moments my countenance turned relaxed and peaceful. I could wait out the power shut down now. A minute later I looked up and was surprised to see the worker in the tattered faded green safari suit standing where I had stood! He did not go out of the compartment. He had got up just to give me his seat! I was flabbergasted!

"Aap kindhar ja raha hai ?" (Where are you going?), I managed to mutter

"Charni Road thak.." (till Charni Road) he replied smilingly.

"Phir…." (then…), was all I could mange in terms of my query.

"Eak Gante ho gaya. Aaap thak gaye honge. Bandra thak Aap bitiye. Aisa atime me ek doosare ko madat karna hai na ? (It is already an hour. You must be tired. You can sit till Bandra. We should help each other out in such situations isn't it ?)

At that moment I had no illusions as to who was 'First class'!

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T.Jothi.