The platform lay deserted. Not a soul was around. Mumbai had never before been seen without the usual mad crowd of office going folks after being dropped off at the platform by their brother or father, often on a two-wheeler; them wearing the usual shorts (and exposing their manliness with a thick set of hairy legs) and a mean scowl directed at whosoever dared to check out their “(female) family member”, who would invariably be wearing a stole, a type of scarf to protect your face from the sun, dust, and traffic. It’s a different thing altogether that now they would be wearing a mask to protect themselves from contracting the coronavirus.

A sudden movement in the distance caught my eye. A haggard man was shuffling towards the drinking water sink right underneath the platform number 3 board. He turned the first tap only to find it dry. He then tried the other two with the same result. Bending down with a groan, he reached under the sink to turn the water knob on and found it locked behind a wire mesh. He looked around for a stick to poke through, but the wire mesh was too dense to penetrate. He turned around to find me staring at him with a strange expression on his face as if to urge me to help him out.

My face was sweating behind the N95 mask purchased in the black market for triple the original price. As the man walked towards me, I instinctively stepped backwards and moved away from the bus stop shed I was standing under. Even at this distance, I could register a sense of disappointment from the man. Shaking his head as if to rid his mind of my offensive reaction, he walked to the shuttered shoppe, which usually bustles with people looking for a quick snack of re-fried vada pav garnished with a mix of spicy green and tangy red chutney before their next Virar local. Without the usual grinding sound of the juice mixer next to the soft bubbling of the orange and kala-khatta soda in huge glass containers on the counter of the shoppe, interspersed with the loud honking of locals and the lady making train announcements in three languages, the platform had a very eerie feel to it, and the silence was deafening, to say the least.

The man scratched his shaggy beard and took a full circle around the shoppe. He was trying to find an opening, I assumed or some half-empty packets of snacks. Unable to find an opening, he quickly looked around him, catching my eye just for a second before turning away to break the lock on the shutter with a sharp stone that seemed to come out of nowhere. Growing up on a steady diet of crime shows where breaking and entering was the least criminally criminal thing you could do, I didn’t even think twice before dialling 1-0-0 on my phone.

After waiting for the corona lady to finish her instructions, when my call was received by a monotonous voice that parroted a preprogrammed message, I wasn’t sure whether I had reached a machine or an actual person. When my hesitation made the voice repeat her greeting with a hint of exasperation, I gathered it was a person after all.

“Umm, I’m at Borivali platform no 3, the bus stop right outside it. There’s this man trying to break into the umm, shop thingy at the platform here.”

When the voice didn’t respond, I repeated my complaint in a more confident manner.

“Hold on. I’m dispatching the nearest beat unit immediately. Please take photos or videos if possible but maintain a safe distance from the thief.”

“Okay, all right.”

“Thank you for informing us of this crime. Stay safe. Jai Hind.” And the call disconnected with a click.

By the time my call got over, the man was nowhere to be seen. Trying to maintain a safe distance from him but being paranoid anyway and turning around to check if he’s behind me, I panic and tell myself to shush and calm the fuck down. But when a dog runs past me, wagging his tail furiously, I stumble over the flat surface and scream inwardly at his sudden appearance.

My eyes follow the dog towards the end of the platform to find the haggard man opening a plastic bottled water and cup his hands for the dog to quench his thirst. Realising my mistake, I immediately hit redial on my phone to take corrective action, but the incoming police siren makes me fumble and jump up and down in embarrassment and anxiety. I quickly run towards the man and motion him to follow me upstairs across the overbridge. When he doesn’t move, I grab his shirt and pull him up. He drops the water bottle in surprise, which rolls to the red soil of the platform veranda, spilling over and making it wet. The dog follows the water bottle and tries to lick as much water he can manage, his long snout pushing the bottle and licking the remainder of the water.

In my haste to pull him up, I ended up tearing the front pocket of his shirt. When he heard the police siren coming closer, his eyes widened in fear and understanding. He ran ahead of me towards the staircase with surprising speed. At the foot of the stairs, he turned around & gestured for me to hurry up. Quickening my pace, I raced him to the top of the stairs and hid behind an ATVM machine and motioned him to do the same.

When the beat police finally reached platform number 3, they only found muddy paw prints of the dog ending at the busted shoppe shutter. After they searched and sealed the shoppe shutter, the dog could be seen carrying a tattered wallet in his mouth, bounding up the staircase.