Ever helpful bhais

I don't know whether to call this fate. When people knew I was going to Mumbai for my new job, they would excitedly tell me stories of that magnificent city - it's pace of life, it's human spirit, and so on. And about the metro train there - people travelling in it are actually kind, you know, they told me, they'll help you up if you're trying to board the train and it was leaving.
I was delighted when I reached Mumbai. It was just like Chennai - it was just bigger and faster. I'd always feel at home here, I knew.
I would start my work two days after I reached. I spent the first two days making sure I knew how to get around, with my "Ek gaav mein ek kisaan" hindi. It wasn't bad, I realised; most people knew at once (who wouldn't, if my ka's weren't any different from my kha's!) that I was a 'madrasi' and spoke in English they could manage. I was having fun.
Finally it was my first day to go to work. I neatly ironed my shirt and pant, and managed to tie my tie correctly (the umpteen lessons from internet I'd taken the previous evening really helped!).
I reached the train station. I had to go from Colaba to Matunga. Things went just fine. I found and reached the station right on time, and boarded the train right on time too.
Oh boy, aren't the trains crowded...crowded is such an understatement, rather. The coach looked like it was bursting on some invisible seams, ready to spit out people at every station only to take in more after people got down.
The Matunga station was approaching. To my rising panic, I found it difficult to get to the exit door pushing all the crowd. 12 B in Chennai is far better, I tell you. My panic reached its peak as the train started pulling out of the station.
It was just a few seconds after the train got moving that I actually got anywhere near the exit. I screamed, cursed, pushed and finally got down. The train had been moving at a pretty fast speed when I got down, that I had to sprint for a while before I could stop.
And just then, three men from another coach who were hanging at the doorway, swooped me right back into the train again.
Fate, really. Those three men (maybe I should be nice to them and say kind three men) had thought I was trying to get into the train. Thinking of it now, I laugh, but back then, I would've started crying.
By the time I actually reached my workplace, I was 45 minutes late. It took me that long to take another train back to Matunga from the next station, and to find the office in that darned big place.
Of course, now I know when and how to get down.