मुंबई Central
It was dusk. I could see purple light on the edge of the skyline. I was dragging my paraphernalia through the dense crowd of coolies and passengers going in and coming out of one of Mumbai's major historical buildings, designed in the English era by Claude Batley, Mumbai Central formerly Bombay Central, was where I was going to board my train for Surat. Inhaling and relishing the last breath of the sultry salty air, which I knew I was going to miss for the next few weeks, I dragged my luggage over the ramp and finally inside the main building.
At this point let me tell you, what I mean by luggage. I was carrying a trunk, what they call Strolley these days, an amplifier somehow balanced over it, an Ibanez guitar in a beautiful black case hanging over my left shoulder, a fender, over my right, a long flute case on my back with the strap across my chest, and a laptop bag in my left hand, dragging the strolley with my right. I bet I resembled a clown who was getting ready for his juggling act.
Minutes, after I entered the atrium, and before I could react, I felt a strong had grasping my shoulder and dragging me towards the corner. Before I could gain my sense two more people converged on me. My initial thought was that it was travel agents asking me to buy tickets in ‘black’. But I had now realized they were in fact policemen in khakis. The man who had held me was possibly the strongest man I had ever met in person, with biceps twice the size of my thigh and a stony look on his face which told that he definitely meant business. The second guy was in his mid fifties, had a kind expression on his face. The last officer had moustache which covered his entire face, and had a paunch of the size of my strolley.
“ ए, नाम क्या है तेरा? ” asked the strongest officer.
“Aniruddha” I said
“real नाम” he said
“Aniruddha Chande” I replied.
“ID?”
I put down my guitar, freed my hand and managed to remove my college ID card.
“This is a fake” he replied.
“No sir this isn’t, my new semester hasn’t yet begun so I don’t have it signed and…”
“कहा से??” he asked
“Worli.” I said.
“कहा जा राहा है?”
“Surat, college… er ID ….”
“What’s in the bag” he interrupted. “And what’s on your back” he said pointing at my Flute case.
“Flutes है sir”
Now the crowd around had started to notice me with those officers, few people moved away from me, with a look that that clearly meant that they were thinking I might explode. Like a cherry on cake of my bad luck, a fourth officer, dressed in casuals and flaunting a Kevlar on his chest, approached me with a sniffer dog. Now the crowd around me seemed really worried. The three officers moved away from me, and the fourth one asked me to remove my gear and place it on the ground one by one. I, embarrassed to the core.
“Sir, listen to me” I protested.
“Do as said, चाल बाग निकाल !”
I did as ordered and placed the luggage on the floor. The Labrador sniffed around my luggage searching for god-knows-what. Then it was my turn, a few sniffs here and there, and with the officer’s disappointment, the dog turned away.
Assured that I was not going to explode, one of them said, “Pipe मे क्या?”
Pipe. Yes it was a pipe, a six inch dia-pipe, covered a black leather case, and a strap to hold on to. It housed a collection of around fifteen flutes, which I always carried around, could have been easily confused for a missile launcher.
“Flutes है sir” I said feebly, and irritated thinking that I had already answered that question.
“What?”
“बांसुरी”
“खोल ”
I opened the case for him. With a thorough look inside, assuring that it did not house a bazooka, he turned to me.
“Address proof?”
I showed him my driver’s license.
“Sharabati 15, worli, shi-phashe? Kaan, Abdul, Gaaf Kaan road?
“हो” I replied.
The three officers exchanged looks. I knew I was safe. For those who do not know me, Sharavati, worli seaface, is Government residential quarters, offered to IAS, IPS and govt. doctors. And suddenly, their tone changed.
“Sir, kaunsa collaage?” and i smiled.
“NIT Surat” I replied, now finally, ensuring that the dogs were away, and my luggage was fastened.
“ए जाने दो साहेब को!” the fat idiot shouted.
