April 1 – 14, 2004

By Sathya Saran

Each one of us has our own sphere of confidence

HAVE told you many train stories; there's a new one unravelling every day, in fact every hour... Like today. I took the train on impulse. I managed to get myself on the 9.15 fast, and stood jammed against four women as the train hurled its way into town. Once I had got my bearings, and could look over the shoulders and curls that had quite screened my face till their owner relieved me of the pleasure, I discovered there was some deft selling going on inside.

A WOMAN was fanning out nightwear - maxis in local parlance - and many hands were reaching out... I know, I know... these shapeless garments are every designer's nightmare, they are responsible for reducing Indian fashion to the lowest common denominator and one of life's most pathetic sights, design wise, is to see young mothers coming to the bus stop in these hide-it-all, shapeless sacks. But they do have their uses, and I know a lot of old ladies who find it much easier to sleep in one of these rather than a cumbersome sari.

THE woman selling the maxis was dressed neatly, and carried a large bag from which she drew out the goods. She was a woman who knew her job; she would quote a price, and then give her lowest possible quote, and there was no going beyond. Her demeanour suggested she knew she could sell the lot; if you did not want it at the price she was offering it at, well, someone else would. It is good fabric, she said, and I have colour fast, non-shrinking cotton and jersey.

IT was a sign of the times. A woman who was using her marketing skills admirably, and also selling cotton, once the lowly material in India, at a higher price than the jersey knits.

I MUST admit I fell prey to her selling skills. I picked two block printed maxis... it was my way of saying 'shabash' to the entrepreneur.

THEN, I realised I was not carrying enough money even for one. I suggested she take them back, she asked me to meet her on the train the next day, she would get on to whichever train I wanted to take, if I could give her a time. After various options, she decided to travel to the end of the line with me, so she could wait outside the office while I got the money. I picked up one more piece to make it worth her while. I owed her Rs 420.

MAYBE it was the number that made her hesitate... She wondered aloud if the office was far. I had my purchases with me, and she must have wondered briefly whether I would vanish in the crowd. Also, could we please walk quickly, she said, because if she was caught, 'they would make her pay'.

SHE looked at the Times of India building when I told her that was where we were headed. "Is that your house or are you in service?" she asked, a bit awed. I wondered at her naiveté; she had obviously lived her working life on the train. If I lived here, would I have to take a train, I joked, I would take a helicopter. She laughed; we were friends. "I will give you my number, get me new clients," she said. I promised to take her number when I came back with her money.

BUT when we reached the gate, she looked hesitant... I bade her sit at the bus stop so she would not feel at odds, and would not end up being questioned for standing around... I went into the building to get the money to pay her. I was back in five minutes. By then, her entire manner had changed. She sat at the bus stop, not straight and proud as she had been on the train, a woman among women, but dwarfed by the life around her, the tall buildings, the buzz of well-dressed people... She sat hunched and looking very insecure.

I HANDED her the money, and she looked up at me. Thank you madam, she said. And before I could ask her for her phone number, she padded off, across the busy road, into the safety of the train again.