Life on Mumbai local: ‘Please write… I want women to stop taking phone calls standing by train doors’

Kajal is a transgender and a familiar face for commuters whose path crosses Mahim on any given day.

She is cheeky, mischievous and winks at anyone who smiles a curve longer.

And this rainy afternoon, as umbrellas open wide, she is playing a showstopper – right in the middle of an otherwise lazy station.

Wearing a very beautifully stitched blouse and saree, her day begins in the morning – asking for money in ladies compartments.

“Can you also add ‘for love’?” she asks.

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She takes trains between Mahim and Khar, fills up at least 50 routes in one shift, double on a good full day, and heaps self-praises every second line, as she adds “Who can miss this face?”.

A regular on Mumbai locals since the last 15 years, she shifted her commutes from Central Line to Western as women there had a tough time opening their purses.

“The crowds. The tight crowds,” she whoops. “The women would have their hands locked, their clothes scattered, their bags squeezed, with no space to breathe.

Imagine me entering the local train in the middle of all that,” she laughs.

On the Western line, she says commuters are much more relaxed, and most inside their headphones.

Every time a train stops, there is at least one woman who walks to her and smiles. Originally from New Delhi, she says the trains have been her home – for the longest time.

“There is timepass. Full timepass. Things are moving. Journeys are always stories. People watching is absolutely satisfying,” she says.

But it’s here, that her biggest asset, her voice, is put to exhibit. “In my 15 years, I have never clapped for money. I sing. I entertain,” she offers.

“Only songs sung by Lata didi,” she says before breaking into an impromptu rendition of Kitne Ajeeb from Page Three.

In the last few years, she has attempted to reach to her idol, Lata Mangeshkar.

“But there were security dogs in the building where she resides. I ran from there. I have sung her for 15 years. Maybe that is my way of connecting with her,” she says.

For Kajal, women are her companions.

“Mostly I have great experiences. Girls sometimes take fake calls when they don’t want to pay money, some tune their headphones louder. I understand and walk away. There are some who speak English loudly, and I just smile. Most of them though are nice to me. I have heard many stories these years. Women often just want someone to hear them. This city can be very lonely sometimes,” she adds.

But her favourite pastime is checking out women in fashionable clothes.

“I stare. Yesterday, there was this girl who had worn really tight shirts and really short pants. I just stared. I thought to myself what I will need to do to get that beautiful figure,” she laughs.

“I love to see beautifully dressed women.”

A friend, a commuter who met her two months ago, alights from a train.

“She just asks people, ‘How are you’? Things flow from there,” says Sangeetha Ghamre, 40, a home nurse.

Another commuter has just walked to her. Jeya Surya, 23, works in Mahim and recalls the manner in which Kajal kept teasing people in the local, without offending anyone, and still making them laugh. She was born as Nazia, the name Kajal was given to her by a woman vendor who died years ago.

“I retained the name,” she says pointing to her eyes, highlighted by a pair of striking feline grey lens. A Borivali local stops a minute longer and the motorman honks thrice, as he turns to tease her.

“One day I am going to enter his cabin and break that horn. I know this one from a mile. He honks one round longer when he sees me,” she sneers.

She says the most difficult part of being a transgender in a public space is the constant pranks people pull.

“And then they whistle. I hate gents compartments. They act as if they haven’t seen a human being,” she says.

But the biggest tragedy of being a regular commuter in Mumbai is the number of accidents that she has seen.

“A lot many. Bodies on track, people electrocuted above train lines. It’s hard to go home on those days,” she adds.

“I don’t want to speak any big lines on the state of transgenders in the city. But can you please write that I want women to stop taking phone calls standing by the door of trains. I have seen enough accidents. They just get hit badly by the pole.”

A man just crosses the platform with an amused look on his face.

There is a crowd gathering, and people are busy talking about Sultan, the Salman Khan starrer.

“I saw Hum Aapke Hain Kaun and that was the last movie I saw of his on screen. I was teased, sneered and insulted by the crowd. I wish I could see him again on the big screen. For now, I sing Lata Mangeshkar songs from his movies on trains,” she smiles.