Derailed??

I'm surgically attached to my iPod.
What is life with no background music? (Even though studies show that just 1 hour of using headphones can cause multiplication of bacteria times 700, and thereby leaving me vulnerable to Otitis Media-ear infection- and the like?)
Nothing beats the feeling of listening to the right music on these pleasant (extremely rare for Madras) mornings. Travelling in the train at break-neck speed, freshly washed hair all over the place, listening to Plain White Ts/Coldplay/Three Doors Down.
It's hard to explain.
Imagine taking a whiff of filter kaapi (cliche, but it really is therapeutic!). Butterflies in your stomach when you meet 'the one' (at least for now). Making the right diagnosis when you're given a case. Finding the book you so badly wanted. Spritzing on are-you-freaking-kidding-me-expensive perfume. Driving when 'it's just about to rain'. A warm hug when you need it the most.
A friend called these moments "chhoti chhoti kushiyan." I laughed at it then, but it makes sense now.
Back when I was fresh from Snob school and at the peak of my Immaturity, I thought trains (or any other form of public transport) were not 'for us'. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I used to carry an economy-sized pack of clean wipes, disinfectant and dry tissues, when I was first forced to take the train.
What irritated me even more were my fellow passengers. Since I take the Ladies compartment, I was spared from lecherous comments and almost-abuse moments.
But I had to put up with people who played treasure-hunt in their nostrils for, I kid you not, 34 minutes. This lady next to me, oblivious to my ews, continued to happily pick her nose and play with her booty (or rather, boogie).
Sputum in a cup, I can bear. Conduction of labour, deliveries, oozing pustules, no problem. Nose picking? EW.
Eating messy food next to you on days when you're dressed in designer white. Loud fights when you're trying to study. Four women trying to squeeze into seats meant for two. Hawkers yelling about their wares in humanly-impossible decibels. Beggar children who touch you all over until you give in. And I'm no Sarojini Naidu on my bad days.
Well. Three months later...
I still think the trains are filthy. I haven't given up on hygiene. I don't compress myself into tiny crevices to accommodate people.
But I've learned to look away when people pick away at any of their anatomy. I've learned to enjoy cat fights. I even bought half a dozen guavas the other day. And I tell off the parents of begging children in unadulterated Madras tamil.
And most of all, I've realized that there's no 'above or beneath us' anymore.