It is 11.35 am in the first class ladies compartment of a train headed into town. There are fifteen passengers seated around me. Three of them are college students, filling the compartment with their bright chatter. The remaining twelve appear to be married, working women between the age of 28 and 40. All of them are well-dressed, in colourfully printed saris or salwar khameezes. That a certain amount of care has gone into their appearance is clear from the omnipresence of eyeliner and lipstick and cleverly co-ordinated accessories. With mangalsutras and handbags firmly in place, they should be ready to take on the world. Except that seven of them are - asleep. That's right! Over fifty per cent of the population segment, a segment that is said to be heralding a social revolution, the darling of advertisers, the human dynamo in all those ads for detergents, talcum powder and refreshing tea, is dozing on its way to work!It made me think of Natasha. Natasha is 28 and on the verge of getting married to herlong-time boyfriend Deep. Both have been working for seven years. Natasha studied fashion and is currently employed by a garment export firm in the innards of Parel. Her work involves long hours, but in the spare time she gets over weekends, she designs costume jewellery. Deep has a mid-level job in a firm at Nariman Point. They have waited several years to be married. The reason? The same that bedevils most young couples in the city : space.In a fit of do or die, the two have finally scraped together some money and applied for a loan to buy a one-bedroom flat in the distant western suburbs. The move will mean adding a three-hour commute to an already punishing schedule. What's more, the loan may or may not come through. If it does, it will take the better part of their earnings for the next two decades to meet. The papers for the apartment need to be studied. The money for the stamp duty will need to be raised. There will be nothing left over for even basic furnishing. Given the circumstances, it ishardly surprising that in the weeks preceding the wedding, there is little joy or anticipation, just a tight nervous apprehension about the future.Now from this point on, how will Natasha's story go? Fancifully, I can think of two possibilities. Option one: After a year of juggling domestic and professional responsibilities, Natasha has a windfall. A design she doodled to pass the time on the train journey to work wins the prize at a major international competition for jewellery design. The triumph is covered by the press. Lucrative offers pour in. Her life is transformed. She begins to jet-set all over the world with her designs. Deep leaves his job to manage the flourishing export house the two decide to set up. They are on their way to living happily ever after.Option Two: Natasha gets pregnant. She leaves her job and invests her Provident Fund in a sale of clothes and jewellery she has designed. The sale is a flop. Her savings are wiped out. Meanwhile Deep's employers have closed shop due to therecession. He takes a pay cut for a new job and begins to travel second class. The baby is born. Natasha spends Deep's Diwali bonus on pampers and baby things from Mothercare. An attack of jaundice delays her return to work. They miss an instalment on the loan. Deep receives a threatening call from the bank.That evening the trains are delayed for the nth time. After waiting for an hour outside Jogeshwari station, the passengers start stoning the driver. The police arrest Deep for rioting.Okay, so I said I was being fanciful. Life is rarely as thrilling as a fairy tale or as unremittingly tragic as a Rohinton Mistry novel. The truth is usually far more mundane and resilient. And in this case, it will probably mean that the lively Natasha I know will soon be dozing on her way to work.
