Two.

It was regular to see cars swarming outside Bandra station on any evening. Amidst the yellow and black rickshaws struggling for customers, a white premier padmini silently parked just near "Bandra" signboard. Three men, dressed in casual jeans and t-shirts stepped out of it. It was the perfect attire; Bandra being the hub of suburbia cosmopolitanism witnessed this as its most sought and worn outfit.The commonly common. As the men walked directly towards the first platform, one of them received a call on his phone. Suleiman, a strongly built Mohammedan in his early twenties, answered the call. He heard only one line - "Saath pachees ki Andheri local, third last compartment". Suleiman hung up, and silently motioned his men towards the Churchgate end of the platform.

The pink and violet painted canvas of the evening skies looked magical, with the sea link magnificently standing broad in the background. It was the only thing worth looking at, in an overcrowded evening Andheri local for Irfan. Farid chacha stood right next to him, firmly holding his hand. The train was spilling with Mumbai's daily travelers, right from business men with their typical suitcases, local workers completed with their daily routines to students attending their evening classes. All with their sweaty shirts, their soaked handkerchiefs providing them with little relief. Hence Irfan preferred staying at the doorway, it was very fortunate for him to get the place. He never liked travelling by trains: overcrowded and noisy, he would tell Farid chacha. Yet, it was the cheapest and quickest way to travel for Mumbai's burgeoning middle class. As the train passed over the Mahim creek, it slowly started chugging itself towards platform number One.