The two of us were on our way home from work. As we were boarding the second class ladies' compartment of a `Virar fast', we could see a handful of women inside. The compartment turns `general' only at 10 pm and we had plenty of time, we reasoned -- the train would take about five minutes to reach Andheri.

As the train began to leave Bandra, the `intruders' began to raise their heads. One, two... there were at least 10 of them at a rough count. There was not a whimper of protest from any of the women, only murmurs of displeasure.

At Vile Parle, we began to make preparations to alight. All the others moved to a safe corner, while we hazarded a step towards the exit. We were warned by a couple: ``Form a queue, or you won't be able to get down.'' The girl had begun to get panicky, and was reprimanding the boy for having got her into the compartment in the first place. We reassured her: ``It's not yet 10. Keep your cool. Everything will be okay.''

Then at Andheri,it hit us. Wave upon wave of frenzied brawn in pin-striped shirts. As we tried to alight, one of us was taken in two sweaty hands, and tossed to the other door -- providence, and a solitary iron bar, saving her from near-certain death, but not from falling flat on the footboard. The tide kept swelling, and tripping over us.

Somehow, we managed to work our way up. But by then, the train had started moving; we were trapped inside. The couple had no escape either. We had drawn considerable attention to our plight, but expecting help -- or even sympathy -- was far-fetched, we reckoned.

Soon enough, the abuse began at one end of the compartment, and spread like a noxious virus. ``Zor se dhakka maaro, ladies hai (Push hard, they're women),'' said one, inviting raucous laughter. The comments got more lewd with every passing minute, and had their fair share of revolting, ribald humour.

Initially, we believed it was just the usual `getting fresh'. As the train gathered speed, we realised just how seriousit was. There was nothing we could hold on to -- there would always be a male hand seeking ours out, and bodies using the opportunity to brush against ours. The prattle got louder, the stares more intense. A laser light was flashed at one of us. There was just no way to side-step it.

The girl who was shielded by the boy with her, let out an anguished cry. The boy turned sharply, and yelled, ``Haath mat lagao, peeche hato (Don't touch, move back). The others just looked on. As the girl said later, one elusive `hand' had lunged at her private parts.

There were defenceless women in that compartment, easy prey for a pack of 50 ravenous men. The rails jangled against our nerves. It was getting darker outside, and suffocating inside.

The train, we knew, would halt at Borivli for a couple of fleeting moments, and there was no way we'd want to remain among the wolves. So when the train stopped, we pushed and we shoved, scraped and haggled for every inch of space. As we tried desperately to get out, weclung to our bags, fearing more `attacks'.

But that was a meagre defence against a crowd egged on by coarse lust. One hand wound its way through the herd, grabbed one of us at a sensitive spot, and simply refused to let go. Pain was welling up, but there was nothing we could do, save wriggle out somehow.

We had managed to get off the train, and had barely collected our wits, when we heard a howl. In the darkness, we sourced it to a middle-aged woman who had fallen from our compartment onto the platform.

An armed constable watched the whole scene from his safe standpoint, rather sheepishly. We turned on him. ``There is nothing I can do, madam,'' he said, smiling apologetically, ``You will have to lodge a complaint. Tell the station master. I am alone, and can't do a thing.''

Still smarting, we left to take a `return' train. While we waited for the next train to arrive, we looked around. The crowds had dispersed, and all was `quiet,' as the authorities love to say. But deep inside, we wereboiling.

For the Mumbai that we so loved, is just not the same. Overnight, it seemed, a monstrous establishment of hatred, selfishness, unbridled lust, apathy, had spawned over the city's superstructure.

A week later, we are still fighting back tears of shame and anger. We had seen enough: That Friday night, our `protectors' had been transformed into aggressors. The dehumanisation of a city was complete.