Some of the Raunchiest Hookups of My Life Were on Mumbai's Crowded Trains

Two years ago, I found myself on the wrong train in the western suburbs of Mumbai. Reluctantly I was forced to get off at the last stop, Borivali, which just happens to be one of the busiest railway stations in the city. Moving at a pace of one inch per minute, I was at the mercy of those in front of me to keep moving, but I also had to to fortify myself from the ones vociferously pushing me from behind. A giant human orgy, so to say. After a while, I was so tired of the ordeal that I started to scan for men to cushion myself against, and make the remainder of the journey less cumbersome.

That’s when my eyes rested on a man I thought was cute. He was still far away so I began moving towards him in earnest, only to realise we’d already met before—once in a train, and the second time, in his apartment. 

I was obviously glad to see him, so I locked eyes with him, and progressed towards him somehow, just making enough space to stand next to him, and go, “Hey! What’s up, remember me?” But he just stared blankly back at my face, broke into an awkward grin and said, “No.” Then his eyes steadily shifted from me to the person next to him. It was only then that I realised that the person next to him was his wife. I had broken the unspoken rule of local train cruising: Never interact outside the realm of the sweaty, jam-packed train—or it gets messy. And this wasn’t even the first time something like this had happened to me. 

There are parts about my queer life that mesmerise my friends, and then there are parts they’re never able to wrap their hetero brains around. 

One of those is: Why do queer men hook up in local trains? 

Well, firstly because it offers privacy amidst chaos, and secondly, because why the fuck not? Here are some of the things I have done (consensually, of course) in my decade of train travel: I jerked a guy off while giving instructions to a family on how to get off, finger-banged a guy while he spoke to his kids over the phone, and massaged a guy’s penis over his pants while another man watched us, and started massaging himself—just to name a few.

Obviously, by now, one is bound to ask, “Weren’t you scared, or worse, ashamed?” To be honest, I was both. There was never a moment while I was doing these scandalous things in a public transport system where I didn’t find myself feeling ridden with guilt. But honestly, no one cared. 

The local trains of Mumbai are infamous for being packed to the point that leaving with your own limbs intact at your stop becomes a mission in itself. At last count in 2016, it was estimated that around eight million people in Mumbai take the train everyday; that’s approximately how many people live in New York City.

As such, no one is concerned about what two men are doing with each other’s cocks because no one can move an inch to look at what's happening down there. It’s like walking through this intersection where you are a burgeoning homosexual forced by destiny to travel with millions of men in one train. The odds are, there are other gay men in your vicinity. You just have to find them and make the most of a shitty situation. As they say, “When life gives you lemons, you squeeze them like a stranger’s balls on a train.”

There’s a legend among gay men in Mumbai surrounding the suburban local trains. A compartment simply titled “2 by 2”. This is the second door of the second bogie of the train (facing Churchgate or CST—the southernmost railway stations of Mumbai). Many men over the years have told me what they’ve witnessed in this compartment: of threesomes and simultaneous simulations that can scandalise any straight man who’s dared to board the compartment. But still, very little is spoken about this. 

There are entire forums dedicated to helping people recount their experiences here. Most stories start out the same way. You don’t just wander into a compartment and start rubbing against someone like Aladdin with an agenda. There’s no bigger misery than offending a straight male sexually while there are other straight men around him. Faraz Arif Ansari’s movie Sisak manages to capture this unspoken queer experience succinctly, albeit in a rather empty train. You have to travel everyday and you can’t risk being caught as such. This one time, a guy was bumping his erect penis against my butt and in return, I decided to return the favour and feel it up, only to realise he was now standing next to me, and my hands were on some random man’s crotch. I had to apologise profusely claiming that I was looking for my wallet.

The risks you take with PDA in public transit are manifold, especially if you aren’t well-equipped to handle a handjob while also pulling off a poker face. At the age of 17, I was a baby gay with no clue on how to catch a local (as we call a train in Mumbai) or keep myself safe from random men looking to rub up against me. One such time, a guy followed me all over the compartment, no matter how hard I tried to shake him off. I was scared he would steal my phone, so I put my hand against my pocket to protect it, and in no time, in my cupped fingers, I found a sloppy penis. I was aghast and in response, I shrieked. Soon everyone in the train had managed to see his penis, which he still refused to put away. This other time, much later in my life, a guy just stood at the door, and showed me that he was watching my stand-up clip on YouTube and feeling himself at the same time. Every human between him and me could see what was happening. I was flushed with embarrassment.

Surprisingly even to myself, after years of travelling by the general compartment, I chose to shift to the first-class compartment. And with that, the rate at which I’d encounter a fellow thirsty traveller reduced. Now I was traveling with men who were too concerned about the polish of their shoes, even if it meant standing on someone else’s feet. Money is a whole different trip. 

But now that the world has changed altogether, I cannot fathom one where physical intimacy with an absolute stranger seems like a safe idea. Just imagine struggling to find the hand sanitiser in a crowded train so you can sanitise the crotch first before you indulge yourself. But sanitisers do not make for good lubricants, and you’ll be left moaning for entirely different reasons (I speak from experience). The point is, public sex has always been a very integral part of queer culture. We are constantly told to shun our feelings and hide our true selves. As such, something like a sexual encounter in a train becomes an underground act of rebellion to reclaim the places tainted by ordinary minds. Misery loves company and the Mumbai local trains keep proving it time and again. But here’s hoping that sooner or later, the trains will start running regularly, and men will leave their spouses and troubles back at home to once again participate in forbidden acts that last as long as their train journeys.

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