top of page

By:

Quaid Najmi

4 January 2025 at 3:26:24 pm

Mumbai local train murder stuns commuters

Mumbai: A routine commute to home on a dark rain-soaked night in a Mumbai local turned into a nightmare when a 22-year-old commuter was allegedly stabbed to death inside a first-class compartment following a heated argument over shutting the train door, late on Tuesday. The victim, identified as Mayank Lohar, 22, worked as a salesman with a private company in Andheri and lived in Virar, nearly 60 km from Churchgate. According to Western Railway (WR) and Government Railway Police (GRP)...

Mumbai local train murder stuns commuters

Mumbai: A routine commute to home on a dark rain-soaked night in a Mumbai local turned into a nightmare when a 22-year-old commuter was allegedly stabbed to death inside a first-class compartment following a heated argument over shutting the train door, late on Tuesday. The victim, identified as Mayank Lohar, 22, worked as a salesman with a private company in Andheri and lived in Virar, nearly 60 km from Churchgate. According to Western Railway (WR) and Government Railway Police (GRP) officials, the shocking incident took place aboard the Churchgate-Nalasopara Fast Local (Train No. 90663), which left Churchgate at 10.05 pm and reached Andheri at 10.42 pm. As the train pulled out of Andheri, heavy rains started lashing the city. Lohar reportedly requested a fellow commuter standing near the doorway to shut the door, as rainwater was blowing into the compartment and inconveniencing those seated inside. The other commuter, wearing a dark shirt and trousers, allegedly refused and it started a heated verbal exchange which quickly escalated into a raging argument as the train raced through Goregaon and Malad. Then, in a horrifying burst of violence, the suspect allegedly pulled out a knife and repeatedly stabbed Lohar in the abdomen and chest as the train zoomed past Kandivali. Stunned Silence The other terrified commuters watched in stunned silence as the attack unfolded and ended within a matter of minutes claiming the young boy. Writhing in pain and bleeding profusely, Lohar collapsed onto the compartment floor as panic gripped the passengers and they scrambled away from the attacker, who reportedly continued to pace about menacingly. Eyewitnesses later said that as the train slowed while entering Borivali station’s Platform No. 6, the suspect calmly jumped off, ran up the staircase and vanished into the wet darkness. When the train halted at Borivali at 11.04 pm, the other commuters immediately alerted railway authorities. WR, GRP and medical personnel rushed to the platform within minutes with emergency equipment, medicos, porters and a stretcher. Lohar was first rushed to the station’s Emergency Medical Room, where a doctor examined him and declared him dead. His body was later shifted to Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar Shatabdi Hospital in Kandivali for post-mortem and other legal formalities. Special Teams The brutal killing sent shockwaves across Mumbai’s suburban rail network. In the morning, Borivali GRP Senior Police Inspector Datta Khuperkar said seven special teams were formed and nearly 400 CCTV camera feeds were scrutinised to trace the suspect. The attacker was captured on multiple surveillance cameras, cool and casual, without a hint of remorse, walking out of Borivali station after the attack. Following an intensive 14-hour manhunt, he was tracked down and arrested at Panvel in Raigad. The Borivali GRP has registered a murder case and launched a detailed investigation. As news of the shocking crime spread amid Wednesday’s torrential rains, commuters expressed outrage and disbelief that a trivial dispute over closing a train door could culminate in such a savage killing. Pall of gloom in Virar Early Wednesday morning, the Lohar family of Virar was devastated on learning about the horrifying killing of their favourite child, Mayank in a train altercation. His parents, three brothers and a sister could barely speak, with his wailing mother demanding “he must be hanged”. Consoling each other, one sister lamented how he was a quiet boy, rarely stepped out of the house without any reason and had his entire life before him that was snuffed out. Venting their ire, they asked “where was the police, why the other commuters didn’t help him” and warned that today it was their son, “next it can be anybody’s son”. The massive dragnet Barely hours after the brutal killing of Mayank Lohar, the Borivali GRP launched one of the biggest manhunts to track and apprehend the suspected killer from Panvel in Raigad district. He was later identified as one Roshan Suvarna, 30, of Mira Road, running a barcode business, informed Borivali GRP Senior Police Inspector Datta Khuperkar. “We formed seven teams with around 10 police personnel supervised by 15 officers. They scanned footage from over 400 CCTVs to trace the regular movements of the accused. The GRP stations of Borivali, Andheri, Mira Road and Nalasopara were involved in the search. We deployed tech-intel to scour his mobile and with help of our network of informers, finally caught him in Panvel,” a weary but victorious Khuperkar told ‘The Perfect Voice’. He added that after completing the legal and medical formalities, he will be produced before a Borivali Court for remand.

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

Comments

bottom of page