Carrying 8 Millions commuters each day, Mumbai locals are one of busiest places to be at. Students, office workers, laborers, senior citizens, the diversity and the quantity is astonishing to say the least. While it transports me, does it really transport and take my queerself too? There’s no space to look cute or queer and that’s the price I pay for comfort. So all aboard on my commute to queerness, or maybe comfort? We’ll cross the track when we get there.

Thane

Eyes? Full of hope, ambitions and gaydar to clock the queer girlies

Head? Completely filled with latest gay memes, two brain cells overworking and figuring out the logistics to reach destination with least armor damage

Clothes? An overpriced ill fitting, figure (un)flattering graphic shirt that makes a niche pop culture reference clearly hinting that I work in a creative field. I catch a starting train that in theory, guarantees me a seat but in real life rarely does and so my journey begins with me begging the aunties where they get off at, in hopes of someone leaving ideally at the next stop or realistically at Ghatkopar. One kind college student guarantees me a seat after six stops.

Mulund

A corporate lady bashes into me, her hands filled with a larger than life tote bag and a small lunch bag, my gay ass rainbow umbrella seems to poke her slightly, making her react as if I am the reason why she didn’t get her increment. So I stuff my gay ass umbrella inside my bag.

Nahur

Somehow men who sell trinkets and earrings are allowed in the women’s compartment which has never made sense to me just like the rule of men being able to enter ladies’ coaches until after 11 PM. It does pain my brain a bit when I think about it, but these vendors unfortunately sell some fun merch at a cost that puts the thrift stores to shame. Case in point, at Nahur, I bought animal crossing’s Isabelle earrings for a mere INR 20/- and the iconic lesbian (alleged of course)  couple My Melody and Kuromi bracelet for literally INR 40/- and that makes me let go off my radical train of thought.

Bhandup

At Bhandup, a lady clad in Burqa enters and immediately gets yelled at by the corporate lady to prove whether she has a first class pass or not. The corporate lady then decides it is a good time for a monologue on how people like ‘these’ are the reason why first class has no space. I can’t focus on this Twitter thread I’m reading on my phone about climate change and class so I shut the app and tune into music that is of course gay asf.

Kanjurmarg

Kanjurmarg is a stop away from Ghatkopar which is notorious for an influx of rowdy crowds. Women gear up to fight their place to enter and exit. My carefully curated playlist filled with a weird ratio of hottest queer pop songs and confusingly misogynist yet earworm-y bollywood item songs gets immediately disrupted. A Kevin Abstract song makes a double entendre in my ears and my head spins, not because of the song but because the rush of women body-slamming into me abruptly. ‘So long gay playlist, you shall be missed’, I think to myself as I switch off my playlist abruptly and push into my bag.

Vikhroli

By Vikhroli, rain seems to be violent and my hair pinned with a cute butterfly clip starts sticking on mine and the lady in the back’s face. I aggressively grab my hair that I painstakingly straightened at 5 AM which now looks frizzy and not so cute. I end up pulling some of the strands and make a messy bun. The short bangs that I got to hint at my queerness and hide massive acne prone forehead, now blind my vision and give me sensory overload. I remove a bunch of bobby pins and stick the bangs up. My queerness takes a backseat while comfort becomes the driver.

Ghatkopar

Ghatkopar is ghastly, but I reap the benefits that six stations ago Nikitha made when she wisely decided to not be a social introvert and ask around for a seat to like ten different women with groggy voice, including waking up a poor lady from her deep slumber. I sit on an already warmed up seat, no rain droplets, a seat ready to rest my body for the next four stations. All the sleep lost, ready to be regained and relaxed.

Vidyavihar

*Zzzzz*

Kurla

*Snores and drools*

Sion

Sion always tricks me into thinking maybe I have missed getting down at Dadar. I plug in my reading playlist to relax my nerves that are about to be fried at Dadar and examine my nails. At one point of time, during my uni days, not so long ago, I used to paint my nails with expired acrylic colors of bright colors and seal it with an enamel coat to smoothen the texture. That way I didn’t waste my acrylic paints and my nails would look super cool too. Each nail would be of a different color painted with my expensive brush that was meant for oil paintings. These nails, now, were simply bare, not even a hint of chipped nail polish, it was trim, practical and no nonsense, no personality sort.

Matunga

At Matunga, I gear up for the mass exit of the crowd at Dadar. I stand up on my waterproof shoes that I carefully vetted online for reviews for its comfort, versatility on different shirt-pant combos for work, longevity and more importantly, the brand perception. The process took me a tiring 4 months to figure out which resulted in endless meltdowns because I wanted the perfect balance of comfort and design, it didn’t help that my advertising degree made me second guess any and every brand, ad, store and salesman selling me these shoes. The entire process made me paranoid which was so weird because prior to this I used to mindlessly buy heeled shoes, flats as cheap at 200/- that would look great with my fits. But now, since a seat is never guaranteed, trains get delayed regularly and the queues become longer, my feet don’t need accessories to tie up my outfit together, they simply need an easier surface to stand onto. Anyway, it’s time for battle (getting down at Dadar station).

Dadar

I stand at the entrance, feeling like a dystopian warrior princess set to avenge my father or something but really it’s just me calculating the recoil that I am about to face from aunties, their bags and their boobs. When I look down to straighten my clothes and hair before the eventual chaos, I can’t find any of my queer markers that I so painstakingly tried to carry with me. All of them are sitting in a corner of my big bag, as if waiting for me to realize that my queerness is not a relic, it exists with or without them.

And that was just my Central Railway Line journey on a daily basis. From Dadar, I have to switch trains to the Western Line and so the journey continues. My visibility as a queer woman is valid and empowering but it can also be vulnerable especially in public transportation. In the grand scheme of intersections of all the identities I have to, I pick and prioritize what helps me stay comfortable and connected to myself the most. My queerness is hidden in plain sight while I might not show it through a piercing or pride pin, you could take a sneak peak at my ‘for you page’ while I’m doom scrolling or make a mumbly rant about late stage capitalism that I might join you. Whatever be the case, at the end of the day, I make the rules and decide it, and that in itself is queer joy for me!