The Stories of A Self Proclaimed Vagabound These are my stories, they are all I have.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Radhika.

She was worried. She wasn't the first. My father had warned me against it, he had suffered through it first hand. I had heard many many stories. But I couldn't help myself, I couldn't have come to Mumbai and not done it. My trip would have felt incomplete.

"Yes I'm sure, lead the way."

She hesitated but I hadn't budged. She sighed and went to the counter to collect two tickets and we headed to the platform. The other commuters had similar grim expressions as they brushed past us, some walking, others running, all determined to get to their destination as quickly as possible. Every second of every minute was precious. I felt guilty for being so carefree.

When we reached the platform, nothing had prepared me for what I saw. Hundreds possibly thousands of people swarmed around the open doors of a sleeping train, pushing and shoving their way on board. The train was painted a bright blue with a centre strip of light blue; a combination of numbers, handlebars by the doors and the horizontal bars on the small rectangular windows were all painted a bright yellow. Against the bright colours of the iconic Mumbai train, the wriggling beast of human flesh paled in comparison, and yet, I couldn't look away.

"We have to fight through that?!" I exclaimed.

"Hold your bag close to you" she commanded. She grabbed my free wrist and headed towards the "ladies only" section of the train, it was less crowded but far from sparse. She weaved through the crowd guided by her expert knowledge as a local, brushing up again cotton, polyester, silk, flesh, sweat. And then somehow we were on board.

I was about to head inside when my companion pulled me back, I looked back at her, confused, she was still standing by the handlebars. I could see the other women in compartment do the same as the train rose from it's slumber with a loud horn, the unsuccessful women on the platform moved back in dismay but the men were not so quick to give up. Several jumped on to the moving train, even as it was gaining momentum.

Several passengers hung by the open door, a foot, a hand firmly placed in the compartment while the rest of their bodies dangled dangerously in the air. Merchants began plying their trade in the crowded compartments.They sold spiced nuts, sugary delights, shiny trinkets and glossy magazines. Beggars followed suit, preying on people's sympathies. It was the same mad struggle for every stop.

This was the essence of Mumbai.