8.45 am ,The train pulled in to dock yard station ,a local train ,its iron wheels groaning under the pressure of thousand of human beings pressing to be in office on time .As he lugged forward to grasp the iron bar ,his foot missed the footboard ,dragged he managed that step and was on the train .As he made way through the compartment ,people cursing ,he stepped on feet and egos alike .A man pressed on to his chest making his lungs to collapse and as he gasped for air ,he cursed his luck for not being able to leave that highly paid job he was in to .
Life had not been easy, money no longer a necessity had become an objective of survival. Adventure was to get on that train .When he had come to Mumbai, people had warned him about the 8.45 Virar, a train notorious for the heavy traffic commuting daily on it, getting a place on it was a feat for the brave, a war, People got goose pimples just by the thought of getting on .Schedules made to avoid traveling on it. First class were no different, egos getting large, stomachs even larger, he had never missed it, an achievement of some kind .Crumpled clothes, a mark of victory. Thousands boarded it ,each day ,People playing cards ,celebrating birthdays ,ladies compartments a little less crowded acting as dressing rooms .A way of life .But life should have been better ,an option he could no longer decide on.
As he got down standing in a queue that started from the overhead bridge, he joined a few hundred men waiting for the same bus that would take him to the same destination as these men. He spotted a few of his office friends much ahead in the line, but then every body seemed to know every body, People smiled shake hands as they moved on to join the queue at the rear end .As he stood there watching the world go past him, he felt sick, sick of a life that had nothing to offer, no aim, am I a drifter? a question he had often asked himself .As his mind asked him the same question for the umpteenth time he decided it was time for action ,time to board for the bus and head for office .
His office, a kitchen of a five star hotel, he had worked hard to reach up to this position, working as a junior sous chef, he had mastered the art of the knife, today was no different, a melee of choicest of spices and abuses ,life had been unforgiving ,working for twelve hours a day , he cooked ,made sauces ,wielded his knife at trainees ,abusing them, taking out his frustration . As the day turned in to evening , he placed order after order ,the sequence coming naturally to him .Working in the hotel had its own advantages and food was no longer a quest , Savoring the smorgasbord he in the beginning had thanked God for a job which satisfied his creative self ,It had been over four years ,three on his current position .Promotion seemed to be a remote possibility ,he had seen his juniors rise .A promotion meant moving to a smaller property ,something he could not consider as he had loved this city .Creativity that, at one time intrigued him ,now bored him .A standard had been set and all he did was to follow the guidelines ,the Executive chef looking on.
The work left him exhausted and the adventure of traveling back on a relatively empty train would Mean he would be able to catch some sleep on the way back, A habit he had to dispose when once he ended up in a railway yard, after he had fallen asleep, only to waken up by the cleaning lady .The job being standard routine, he had now got used to it and he now no longer would look up to the challenge. But what was his goal?, his aim in life, He always had this feeling that he was meant for greater things, but here he was stuck in a mediocre job that paid him well.
Life had not been easy, money no longer a necessity had become an objective of survival. Adventure was to get on that train .When he had come to Mumbai, people had warned him about the 8.45 Virar, a train notorious for the heavy traffic commuting daily on it, getting a place on it was a feat for the brave, a war, People got goose pimples just by the thought of getting on .Schedules made to avoid traveling on it. First class were no different, egos getting large, stomachs even larger, he had never missed it, an achievement of some kind .Crumpled clothes, a mark of victory. Thousands boarded it ,each day ,People playing cards ,celebrating birthdays ,ladies compartments a little less crowded acting as dressing rooms .A way of life .But life should have been better ,an option he could no longer decide on.
As he got down standing in a queue that started from the overhead bridge, he joined a few hundred men waiting for the same bus that would take him to the same destination as these men. He spotted a few of his office friends much ahead in the line, but then every body seemed to know every body, People smiled shake hands as they moved on to join the queue at the rear end .As he stood there watching the world go past him, he felt sick, sick of a life that had nothing to offer, no aim, am I a drifter? a question he had often asked himself .As his mind asked him the same question for the umpteenth time he decided it was time for action ,time to board for the bus and head for office .
His office, a kitchen of a five star hotel, he had worked hard to reach up to this position, working as a junior sous chef, he had mastered the art of the knife, today was no different, a melee of choicest of spices and abuses ,life had been unforgiving ,working for twelve hours a day , he cooked ,made sauces ,wielded his knife at trainees ,abusing them, taking out his frustration . As the day turned in to evening , he placed order after order ,the sequence coming naturally to him .Working in the hotel had its own advantages and food was no longer a quest , Savoring the smorgasbord he in the beginning had thanked God for a job which satisfied his creative self ,It had been over four years ,three on his current position .Promotion seemed to be a remote possibility ,he had seen his juniors rise .A promotion meant moving to a smaller property ,something he could not consider as he had loved this city .Creativity that, at one time intrigued him ,now bored him .A standard had been set and all he did was to follow the guidelines ,the Executive chef looking on.
The work left him exhausted and the adventure of traveling back on a relatively empty train would Mean he would be able to catch some sleep on the way back, A habit he had to dispose when once he ended up in a railway yard, after he had fallen asleep, only to waken up by the cleaning lady .The job being standard routine, he had now got used to it and he now no longer would look up to the challenge. But what was his goal?, his aim in life, He always had this feeling that he was meant for greater things, but here he was stuck in a mediocre job that paid him well.
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