1Malaysia 'ronggeng' - on a train

On a wet wet early morning of July I had my first experience of a muhibbah ride into hour-long misery. It's not that I've not taken the commuter train before, only this time around it was peak hour.

I was forced by the need to get back into harness, for among other reasons, to rein-in Alzheimer's keen appetite for brain cells. The idea was to catch him by the short and curly and swing him over the horizon. That should lar'n him as the Americans say.

My family dropped me opposite the railway station at about 7.20am and under an umbrella I managed to negotiate the insane traffic in zig-zag fashion across road.

No respect for pedestrians, those bloody buggers.

The train was resting, breathing like a stranded beast shrouded in mist made by the falling rain. Over at the northbound passengers platform my heart sank - the coaches were packed tight.

At that time I didn't have clue what that really meant. I furled the umbrella, squeezed myself inside and clung to the mid metal pole.

My fellow travellers made for a sad sight - either holding on to the overhead straps, some with eyes closed, others seated with all manner of bags or files on their laps, heads lowered in naps or with ears plugged in, listening to music.

It seemed like an eternity before the beast heaved, shuddered and jerked into snail's pace motion. The next station was Bangi and more passengers trooped in including a Malay mother with a gorgeous looking baby in arms who was forced to stand at the door's corner.

The baby looked at me with wide eyes as I pulled faces at him/her. Puzzled first, then broke into a heart-warming smile. I played peek-a-boo with the infant, triggering little giggles.

For the seated young blades, the mother and child were totally invisible. Why, they don't even offer their seats to pregnant women. A sad visible commentary on our system of education and culture under a slogan-loving stewardship of the nation.

Like the panel above the seats in some coaches depicting the coloured silhouettes of a pregnant woman, a woman with a baby, a person with a tongkat and a figure with leg swathed in bandage with crutch leaning against the side.

The legend both in Bahasa and in English accompanying the panel says: "They Need The Seats More Than You. WE CARE ABOUT THEM" .

There you go. Duty done. Conscience eased. Money made.

And as the train picked up speed with thud thud, thudy thuds and whoosh whooshes, various thoughts sparked by the ride and the sights flashing by, bounced around in my head. One was garbage heaps. Remember the 1980s ambition for a population of 70 million?

Flicker of faith in humanity

By now we should be armed with spades and shovels to dig our way out of our homes and to work. And the sewage? Swim through it of course. If that ambition had turned anywhere near reality I would've turned into sambal within a span of three stops.

At about this point the baby became bored and turned to stroke the mother's face for awhile before letting loose with loud noises. They were sharp enough to attract the attention of the crowd.

Then I was startled by the sight of a blue tudung and jeans clad young Malay woman straightening up, looking around obviously seeking the source of the sound while rising from the seat. All in one smooth instinctive move.

I waved my hands in front of the mother's face and pointed to the seat. She flashed a me smile and in next to no time was seated with the baby lapping up the attention from the surrounding females.

Ms Tudong had fanned that low-burning flame of fire of faith in humans within me flicker a little higher. And so the train thudded on disgorging its contents at appointed places and more got in than got off.

At one stage I lowered my eyes and watched the crowd from the corners of my eyes.

As the train picked up speed, it started swaying and bouncing. There they were bum-to-bum shoulder-to-shoulder male and female, young and old forced to dance the 1Malaysia ronggeng - courtesy of KTMB.

As the random thoughts continued their assault one question stood out; what happens to the much talked about productivity when conveyed in such conditions?

The other thing that hit me were the announcements over the PA systems especially at minor stations. A disembodied voice floats over the tracks politely repeating the mantra of what is not be done.

Then there is this electronic board which flashes the time of arrival. I've learned to dread that signal. Very rarely does it herald heartening news. More often than not it means the train is delayed.

Which means sardine time for those waiting, a cascading effect in fact. For more and more people would be piling up at the platforms right down the line.

And ah! when the train does arrive the stampede to board, I leave to your imagination. On second thoughts perhaps I should recall the situation at KL Sentral in the evening towards the tail-end of July.

On the escalator I was treated to a low-flying bird's eye-view of Platform 6 where south-bound trains halt.

If my heart could have caught hold of a jack hammer it would've straightaway punched a hole in the concrete below and promptly dived in.

There was sea of people either queuing up or sitting on the concrete benches. A train pulled up and had a hard time debouching passengers as those waiting started pushing in with the security guards having difficulty in enforcing order.

" Lima minit lagi lima minit lagi lagi satu tren datang ," they kept shouting as the train doors slid shut and it slowly moved away. Sure enough within the announcement time the train arrived. And what madness there was.

Myopic vision of 2020

One bald man obviously a KTMB worker boasting a hanging belly that could have comfortably held quadruplets in a woman, used that to excellent purpose - shoved it at the side of door, forcing the crowd there into some semblance of a queue.

Again I was shoved into a corner with bodies in the front and right. At every major stop, more struggled to get in until it reached the stage where the expression 'crush of people' took on substance.

You can't really blame anyone as obviously all were being driven by the need to get home as soon as possible. There were so many that the air-conditioning was overwhelmed by the pressing crowd, an ideal environment to send the A(H1N1) virus into deliriums of happiness .

And now it was my turn to go whoosh whoosh as the bodies in front bounced off my tummy whenever the train decided to strike up the 1Malaysia ronggeng rhythm.

I stood all way to the Batang Benar station in Negri. Honest, cross my heart and hope to die, that's really the name of the station.

Now we hear yet again, that the public transport system is going to be overhauled to make it more efficient. That's one long yawn until it becomes reality.

By the lord above. By the lord above. I swear if I had the power I would make it mandatory for every man Jack and woman Jane Jill aspiring for public office to experience peak hour public transport daily for six months to separate the grain from the chaff before the final selection.

And if they do get returned, make the experience an annual affair so the memory remains fresh before they're rewarded with overseas "study" trips.

You know not the type where mental horizons are expanded by focusing on the artistic intricacies of the swivelling movements of the belly button.

All these meetings and talks at five-star resorts with breaks for a round or two of golf to refresh tired minds are a load of baloney.

Nothing beats direct experience.

That's why as the Vision 2020 rocket soars towards stratospheric achievement, powered by fuel tanks filled with compressed hot air, it's conspicuous by absence of its impact at the ground-level.

Is it any wonder that the posterior received a steel-toed kick in March last year? Truly, the sins of politicians are visited on the citizenry.