All We Imagine As Light: On Mumbai’s trains, the small, warm world of women

Everyday lakhs of women take the Mumbai local train from their homes, usually located in distant suburbs, to their workplaces. Others take the train too, to visit markets, relatives, drop their children off at school, or to run errands. The women-only compartments, or the ladies’ compartment as it is called, may have been started to ensure a more secure way to travel for women but they have emerged as a space of many hues.

I know there is a lot of romanticising of Mumbai, its trains, its never-say-die “spirit”. The city crumbles a little more everyday under the weight of its weak infrastructure. The jostling for space to sit and stand on a local train, during peak hours, makes commuters aggressive, hostile — a tad inhumane too, sometimes. Train “groups” are notorious for making it difficult for co-commuters to alight or board, and fights frequently erupt over space. If you are new, the women can be impatient, overwhelming you even more in this big city.

And yet, the women’s compartment of a Mumbai local is a place where you can simply watch or be a part of fleeting friendships. Like in the film, where the two protagonists, both nurses, sit in an empty train, taking a quiet moment — the younger one, Sister Anu resting her head on Sister Prabha’s shoulder — the women’s compartment offers something to everyone.

It also tells the story of how the city has changed. Every station has a history: Who has had to move from the centre to far beyond its periphery? Where does the workforce come from? Where does it go, alighting in thousands at stations where high-rises have replaced the city’s famed mills, and where none of the people on the train can afford homes?

The city’s real estate offers the most unreal homes — tiny boxes where space emerges and disappears, depending on the purpose. You can hang up all your clothes to dry inside the house during the monsoon but finding a quiet moment for yourself may not be easy. I see that most women seek space on the local, both to sit and to be. Most take a much-needed nap, closing out the world before going to work or to responsibilities at home. Some peel and chop vegetables for the meals to be cooked later. Most, these days, watch their favourite shows on their phones, or check WhatsApp statuses or Instagram stories. Some use the privacy of the commute to speak to their secret lovers, aware that there are eavesdroppers even there.

A handful read newspapers and books.

Years ago, a young woman tapped the knee of an older woman sitting across from her on a Churchgate-bound local, curious about the book the latter was reading. For the rest of their journey together, they discussed books. The younger woman wanted to know how to make a habit out of reading, saying that she finds it difficult to concentrate. The older one shared tips — start with mystery books, maybe; join a library.

You will often see women quietly cry. More often than not, someone will offer water after you are done crying. You might get an empathetic “it gets better” smile, or the best of all, the space to let everything out. On the train, you will find the best listeners. I’ve often overheard women pouring their hearts out about problems at work and home. When their destinations arrive, they alight without so much as exchanging names. The anonymity is comforting. Children often travel with their mothers and ever so often co-passengers will offer them something to eat, or reprimand them if they are bothering their mums. It takes a ladies’ compartment to raise a child.

A woman in Kapadia’s film says that the spirit of Mumbai is an illusion, one that you have no option but to believe in, or you will go mad. The “ladies compartment” makes it a little easier to believe in that illusion.