A Lesson from Mumbai for NZ Rail?

The New Zealand long term plan 2012-2022 initiative for one of its cities states that they would like to increase train fares and rates to fund modernising the ticket machines. Obviously they don't state it quite so baldly.  

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Right now, till 16 May 2012, they are running a questionnaire for citizens and residents for their input on allocating funds for long term projects. The objective is to let the public decide which project (out of five) should take priority over the other four. One of the projects is as above - to modernise the ticket machines. The government has outlined two or three relevant facts – the estimated cost, the number of years the project would take to complete and where the money would come from. There is a little description of each project.

I agree in principle with their long term plan to modernise trains and have electronic integrated tickets for buses and trains. I don't agree that the funding for the project should be generated through increasing rates and ticket prices.

Before I go into why, let me mention two very interesting posts on train travel. One is on trains in Mumbai and the other, titled "Boss on Land" on different types of trains the world over - both informative posts with interesting pictures and worth a visit. Each post has one fact relevant to this discussion.

The Mumbai post describes five different types of regulars the author meets on the train on her daily commute to work. I used to love Bombay trains - the sound of the train in motion, the shopping on the train, the friendliness of the commuters, the cheap fares and frequency. Getting in and out of the trains during the morning and evening rush hours was definitely not for the faint hearted but it was reasonably okay off peak travel hours. It is all there in the above post. At the end of the post the author gives us an astounding figure - the service is used by over 7 million commuters daily.

The other post is interesting in itself but what's relevant is the comments section. One commenter compares the cost of travelling by train and car in a western country.

And now, switching back to New Zealand. Having had experience of the Mumbai buses (B.E.S.T.) and trains, I decided I'd take the government up on their offer of inviting comment and wrote to explain there might be a third option. Would they consider doing exactly the opposite of what they were proposing and reduce ticket prices? To improve connectivity I proposed they not only increase the frequency of the service but have mini buses plying between bus stops, the train stations, office blocks and houses.

 

This was my reasoning.

• In some cases we waited half an hour for the next bus or train. If someone missed a bus, the next best option wasn't to wait for the next bus but to take the car or miss their appointment.
• As for ticket prices - bus and train tickets are already too expensive in NZ and to increase those even further to fund this project might defeat the aim of the project to generate revenue. Why? With increased prices fewer people might find the services a cheaper option than their cars; it would become prohibitive for the poor. Reduced fares would be the best incentive for people to leave their cars at home. The savings on huge car-parking fees would be an added bonus. Plus, it would be more affordable to the poorer sections of society.
• And most important, the revenue for the project would be generated through higher volumes of commuters. 
• As for mini buses (also with cheap fares) they would consume less fuel and yet ply at optimum capacity for lesser routes and shorter distances, thereby improving connectivity. 

 To my mind, a win-win-win for the public, the public transport agencies and the government! 

These, to my mind, are the obvious pros for my suggestion and I have no doubts there will be quite a few cons. Unless a discussion is initiated I'll never know. 

In conclusion, commuters won't travel by public trasport unless it is cheaper and faster than cars. My wish is that NZ takes a page out of the Mumbai railways and buses that rake in tens of millions daily, by reducing fares and increasing frequencies and connectivity. The increased volume of commuters is what will generate the revenue for modernising. 

Indu’s Trip To New Zealand

Nahi yaar, it is truly great. The air is so fresh and clean and although the stream outside our house is like a nala, you can see the bottom – so clean.

Wow, sounds beautiful.

It is 

Indu wasn't lying. What she didn't add was that she was lonely. Here she was, in a new country, the envy of all her friends back home and she was miserable. In fact she was hurt and homesick. She wanted to go back home and be amongst people she knew and had so much interaction with - shared laughter, movies together, yawns at boring lectures; there was the canteen, Madras Cafe’s delicious and cheep-cheep idli-sambhar, more roadside junk, shopping sprees... In the evenings it was simply more of the same and at night, if she wasn't partying she had her family, warm and delicious food cooked and served by their live-in maid, no washing up after, chats on the phone, the internet, TV. It never stopped. She wasn’t lonely for a single moment.

Well, New Zealand was beautiful no doubt. But how long was she supposed to dish out the praise. She was beginning not to mean it anymore. Every time someone asked if she was enjoying New Zealand she dutifully said she was. But if she had to say how wonderfully clean and green the country was, how fresh the air one more time, she thought she would scream! How long was she supposed to keep looking at hills or streams or ducks, penguins and natural beauty? Where was the action? Where was the bustle of life? Where were the roadside stalls, the crowds of people eating junk, visible and enjoying themselves? 

People seemed to go to work or Uni, then get back into their little cubby holes. After that there was nothing but four walls, the internet and TV. There were bars and pubs but they weren't really her thing. Movies, plays, cafes, shopping? Yes, there was that, but who did she go with? Alone was no fun and as for grownups... Indu sighed. She was staying with an Indian family who were nice in their own way but busy working 9 to 5 or chauffeuring their 8 to 10 year old kids to and from various activities. Then there was the cooking, cleaning, washing up. She tried to help wherever she could although they insisted she didn't. She was really grateful for a touch of home but she understood they weren't expected to entertain her as well. God knows they tried. Indu sighed. As for their get-togethers, they were slotted away into weekends, they were mostly 'at-homes' for other older folk (whose teenaged kids never showed up with them) and they were boring. Nothing seemed to be spontaneous and fun ...and young, Indu thought despondently. And the weather! No help at all. Was it any wonder people remained indoors? 

It hadn’t started out like that. Indu had come to New Zealand for her degree in management literally on air. She was going to take her new country of temporary residence by storm. She was going to enjoy each and every moment. She was prepared to like and be liked. The kids here would discover she was just like them except, she was going to top every class. She would enjoy the local kids as much as they enjoyed her. 

In a way she had idealised the kids here without really knowing they were as human and varied as kids back home. Her expectations had been way up. When she’d enthusiastically tried to join in, it was misconstrued as over eagerness, rude interference or plain needy. Her efforts were met with blank stares or polite smiles. The couple of conversations she’d attempted to join had died out quickly. She was baffled. The light that she'd exuded was snuffed out within an instant. Confused and hurt, she’d begun to withdraw. Her face had acquired an aura of loneliness. How juvenile her expectations had been, she thought jadedly. Huh! Who do they think they are, she thought defiantly. Who needs them anyway? Oh, how she missed her life back home, her family and friends. She hated her life in New Zealand. She hated the people here. She hated weekends and dreaded weekdays at Uni. Huh, Uni. Can’t they even say that properly?

Colleges over here are called Unis. If you call them “colleges” they think you’re talking of school.

What! Crazy. How can a college be a school?

I know. Stupid, isn’t it? Indu deleted that and decided not to agree. It wouldn’t do to let on how she felt – on second thoughts, why the hell not. Seema is my best friend, she thought.

I know. Stupid, isn’t it? Then, deciding to put a cheerful spin on it, she added, When I saw some young kids in uniform spill out of “Abel-Smith College” opposite our house on my first day here I just assumed they were visiting the college on a school trip. 

Haha Indu, and when they disappeared into classrooms you thought they were a whole bunch of child geniuses. Right?

Still the same old Seema :-) Good talking. I’d better go. It is early morning here and I should start getting ready for college, er, Uni.

Haha, you clown. Don't you dare go all Kiwi on me. Okay, bye for now.

Indu looked at the clock and reluctantly signed off. Dear Seema. She was the one person who still brought a smile to her lips. What would she have done without her regular chats on facebook with her closest friend? She had better start getting ready. Indu dreaded Mondays. She hated the feeling of walking into the class and having every eye on her. No one said anything. The silence was deafening. She even sensed that group of girls she'd tried talking to smirk behind her back. She looked to see who else smirked back at them. To be fair, everyone was busy and nobody was paying her any attention at all. Sadly, she couldn't decide which was worse. She went and sat in a corner, seemingly busy as she used her phone to text a message. She ignored everyone too.

“Hi, is this seat taken?"

 

"No, I don't think so." Being Indu, she gave the girl a friendly smile. But she'd been hurt too recently. She went back to texting.

Unfazed, the girl made another friendly overture. "Wow, Is that the Apple IPad 3?” Indu looked up to see the girl looking at her phone. She held it out politely but without smiling. She’d been hurt and was guarded. But when she saw the genuine friendliness in the other face she too became less uptight.

"I find it such an improvement on the IPad 2." 

The two chatted for a while, careful to keep the conversation on mobile phones, things happening around them, the new class, even the weather but nothing personal. Indu couldn’t help chuckling. When she saw the girl look at her puzzled, she said, “It is only after coming here that I’ve realised why people talk of the weather so much. Back home, we don’t have surprises from one day to the next. It rains for four months and is sunny the rest of the year.” 

The girl chuckled with her. "Here it seems to change from minute to minute." Then she added, “I’m Estelle, by the way.”

“Oh. Indu.”

That was the first bit of personal information they’d exchanged after a full five minutes of conversation. As they chatted, the two glanced at each other from time to time, to ensure the other was still interested, not distracted. If that happened, Indu was ready to move away. She felt skittish and at the same time, she had to admit it felt good talking to someone in class. If she glanced at Estelle, the smile seemed to be in her face and eyes. After the awkwardness of those first few moments Indu too opened up by the minute.

It was unfortunate she'd given up on making friends after one or two casual encounters with a few people she hadn't clicked with. There were at least a hundred more in that class. She knew now that it would have been better to have still remained vulnerable, human and approachable. She wouldn't have wasted those few precious days being miserable.

The lecturer (not professor, thought Indu with an inward smile) entered the classroom. Estelle took the seat next to hers. The two darted a quick smile at each other before getting their note books out. 

Indu knew she had lots to tell Seema when they chatted that night. She also knew she really liked New Zealand. So beautifully clean and green.

I swear, Seema, it is so clean and green. 

If you say that once more I'll scream and I swear you'll hear it all the way to New Zealand.

But it is, Indu protested. You've got to come and see for yourself. Why don't you? she added, meaning it with all her heart.

Thanks Indu. Will start collecting now and who knows, in fifty years...

Heehee. You'll never change. Really wish you were here, though.

Awwwww, thanks. 

------

Indu and Estelle became good friends. Over time, Indu came to know many more students. Her friends circle began to expand.

As soon as she found out where to look, Indu also realised there was plenty to do. Perhaps because of the weather, much of it was indoors.

Here's a short list of five things she tried.  

• The skating rink

• The public libraries. To Indu's delight she realised they were free to join and books were free to borrow, as long as you returned them within a stipulated period. Late returns, even by a single day involved a small fine.

• Indu learnt to constantly look up library notice boards, supermarket notice boards , the Uni notice boards and newsletters, the free (home delivered) local newspapers or the local city council office (every suburb has one) for information on activities.
  

• She loved the plays and music concerts regularly advertised. Being cash strapped students with no income, she and her friends cheerfully went on the cheap ticket day (once a week) for people just like themselves. Of course they had to book in advance. Their student ids got them discounts everywhere.
  

• Thanks to some friends, Indu was motivated enough to battle the cold and her desire to remain snugly indoors. Instead of the gym, they joined the aqua aerobics class. The pool was indoors and heated but still, oh so cold just to step in. The instructor was a young, energetic girl full of life and fun. They exercised to music. If a song was familiar, like a Beatles number, the instructor swooped down and held the mike close to someone who was then supposed to belt out a line while vigorously moving arms and legs in the pool. Everyone sounded off pitch and everyone had a good laugh. After the forty-five minute full on workout, the adrenaline rush was astounding. 

Indu did not quite top the class but was happy with her results. There were too many distractions and what the heck, one is young only once.

Microsoft free clipart http://office.microsoft.com/en-ca/images/results.aspx?qu=friends&ex=1#ai:MP900442246|

 

Alms With A Difference

There was always a high flow of foot traffic on that bridge in Mumbai for it was the link from the suburb of East Dadar to West. Lost in her thoughts, Vaishali almost passed him without a glance. She was thinking about Sandeep. She sensed something had gone out of their relationship and, on the one hand, it was a blow to her ego but on the other, she couldn't help but acknowledge the sense of relief and light hearted freedom that had begun to suffuse her heart. I'll survive, she thought, knowing she shouldn't feel so ridiculously happy and toning down her thoughts to match that knowledge. For someone who had lost her boyfriend and who should look heartbroken, her face looked strangely at peace. If only I didn't have to face those looks of pity and concern from my friends and family. I know, she thought, I won't tell them. Not just yet. Or perhaps... Vaishali jumped, coming back to the present with a fright. Was that a creepy crawly that had brushed against her leg? Perhaps it was a cockroach. She shuddered. She hated cockroaches. They were ugly. With a strangled voice she bent down to flick wildly at her leg, stopping herself just in time as she saw a tiny hand, the tiniest she'd ever seen, withdrawn in fright. It belonged to a child beggar and he'd barely brushed it against her leg to catch her attention.

For a second, reacting to the fright he'd given her she had this urge to yell at the little boy. Then, sanity restored she looked at him again. He was a boy of about four. Exhaling on a shaky breath she would’ve continued on her way - such things happened on Mumbai roads all the time - but he had such a quality of vulnerability that without realising what she was doing, she stopped.

She looked at the child beggar not knowing what she should do. This was a gut reaction and not the face she'd trained herself to present to beggars. However much they kept invading her space, however much they touched her with their dirty, grubby hands she normally just kept walking, never looking at them, her face carefully trained not to show she'd noticed them, with her pace neither quickening nor slowing down. After about five minutes of this - their persistent touching as they tried to force her to look at them, and her determination not to give in - they ran off to harass another likely victim and left her alone. They never realised how close they came to being yelled at. Often her palm itched to hit out hard where ever she felt their hands on her person but she grimly held on to her lost-in-thought demeanour and measured walk.

Today was different. After that one touch, the little child did not touch her again. He kept sitting in the same spot she'd passed moments before. He looked at her with big eyes, not beseeching - the look these beggars normally assumed - but slightly fearful, slightly curious and very hopeful - a look that somehow pulled at her heartstrings. As she went for her purse, she realised there was probably a gang of other kids watching out for suckers just like her. They had a code - they wouldn't approach someone they instinctively knew was in two minds about giving a coin. Vaishali knew so many reasons why she ought not to shell out to this beautiful, dirt streaked baby and yet, she wanted to help. She wanted to wipe the sadness and fear off the little upturned face, the obvious hunger. He still hadn't acquired the streetwise cunning which she knew would mar his face before long - a beseeching face for people like her and quite the opposite for his beggar friends. She was aware the other pedestrians had started noticing her.  Some looked at her with interest but most had cynicism writ large on their faces. What a foolish young woman, those faces seemed to say. Perhaps she thinks she can change the world.

She suddenly knew what she must do. She clamped shut her bag and marched across to one of the street vendors standing not too far away. She bought a batata wada. She cautioned the vendor not to put any chutney in the bread. After her tiff with Sandeep, the two hadn't ended up at the canteen for a coffee and she still had a little cash in her pocket. She picked out the visible chillies from the vada with her fingers, went back to the child and handed it to him. He accepted it with excited eyes and a joyful face. She stood there watching over him while he ate – quick, tiny little bites - so that other hungry beggars wouldn't dare approach the child to snatch away its unexpected treat.

Vaishali reached home on a high. She was happier than she'd been in a long time. Not only was she rid of Sandeep, she had watched a young child finish half a vada and put away the other half for later. For the first time in a long time, he would've been too full to finish what was on his plate.

Jeevan, for that was the young child's name, felt full and happy. He slept. Waking up at 6 pm, he finished the other half of his vada. He knew his minder would come around the time it got dark to take him away and he didn't want to have to share even a crumb with anyone. So that's how batata vadas tasted. He had always smelt them but this was the first time he'd had one. It was delicious. His minders only gave him watery daal. He normally went to bed hungry. But not tonight. In fact, he couldn't have eaten even a morsel of the daal, so full was he.

The pretty young lady came every day after that. She always brought him a slice of bread or roti with a dry sabzi in it. It was packed in newspaper. It was half her lunch. She liked to think he looked forward to their little tryst as much as she did. Within a couple of days she thought she saw a change in him. His pallid face now looked like it had a bit of colour and his eyes were definitely brighter. Whenever he saw her he now had the strength to get up in anticipation and pleasure. They exchanged a smile. Then, with tenderness in her eyes she gave him the packet she'd lovingly prepared for him. It was never much but always enough. He sat down with it excitedly and as he made to open it eagerly, she bent down, patted his head and went on her way. She knew she wanted to do much more for this child but she didn't know what else. She didn't know anyone she could talk to who would empathise and give her sensible advice. Her wish remained locked away in her heart.

Over the weekend she forgot the child. Her routine was different and lost in it, she didn't remember the little boy until the weekend was gone. She was meeting her best friend on Monday and she knew she couldn't keep her break up with Sandeep a secret much longer. She would have to tell. She wasn't really looking forward to doing that.

As she started out for the short walk to the bridge she knew she'd forgotten something. With a sinking heart she remembered what it was. She hurried back home, picked a sheet of newspaper and hurried out again. Out of sight of her house but still within the boundary of her housing colony, she opened her lunch box with fingers that shook and rolled some of the sabzi into one roti for the little child. Her heart was hammering. How could she have forgotten the child over the weekend? He would've felt so let down. Perhaps he didn't beg over the weekend and didn't miss me at all, she thought without hope.  Thoughts of Sandeep had all but flown. To have given someone so young hope and a kind of dependence on her and then to let him down so badly made her realise her own cruel human frailty. Almost of their own volition, her feet hurriedly propelled her towards the bridge. With an anxious heart she hurried to the spot where he normally sat. He wasn't there. She thought she might have mistaken the spot - that she might've passed it earlier and somehow missed seeing him. She went back to have another look. He was tiny and perhaps she'd missed him both times. She crossed the bridge again. She went up and down on the other side. He wasn't there.

She reached her college on feet that felt like lead. Her friend, who'd heard of her break up with Sandeep - his version – saw her pain ravaged face and knew with a sinking heart that every word Sandeep had uttered was true.

The child sat on the new road his minder told him was much better than the old bridge. His stomach hurt with hunger. He knew he would get his daal only if he earned his keep. With desperate and beseeching eyes he touched the feet of a passerby. The woman expertly twisted her legs to avoid his grubby little fingers and having succeeded, triumphantly walked on.

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Many years later, with blogging all but the latest rage, Vaishali blogged her story. Her hope was that people would stop giving money to beggars. It is so easy to give a coin and feel good about ourselves. But it has started a whole new industry - that of gangs organising our kids - the ones who are poor and deprived - into a beggar's brigade. It is harder to prepare a newspaper pooda of something to eat and give that instead. Who knows, if the idea goes viral, it might bust the gangs.

-x-x-x-x-x-

I would like to acknowledge and thank a blogger on Indiblogger whose post about a child beggar, entered for the Stayfree, Time To Change competition., triggered the idea for this story. I doubt if I can find his post again with 300 plus posts, including this one, entered for the competition. I found his story moving and disturbing. It was about wading through the dirty waters flooding Kurla and having a tiny little 3 year old chase after him with a newborn babe in her arms, begging for a coin.