Nairman Point is a once ritzy commercial address that's seen better days.

Years ago, office real estate in this neighborhood of Mumbai was some of the most expensive in the world, selling for about 25,000 rupees a square foot,

"If you were in corporate, you had to be here. You had no other choice. Now, there are quite a few other places," says Minesh Shah, 29, Doshi's co-founder. As the infrastructure in Mumbai has improved, newer, sleeker offices have opened up farther away from the city's center.

Real estate prices have now fallen to about 7,000 rupees a square foot, and those faded fortunes show in the smudged hallways scrawled with incongruous "Jesus loves you" graffiti on the ninth floor.

When Doshi and Shah started the company in 1999, they had to fib to the local bureaucrat that Webodrome was the name of a university in the United States they'd both attended, since made-up names are not allowed as official company names. When they moved into this building, they had to bribe the phone and electricity guys to get those services installed.

While Doshi and Shah live within a few minutes' drive of the office, and party in the tony Colaba district, many of the 30 engineers who work for them travel every day by train from far-flung suburbs for more than an hour and a half. They represent India's educated middle class; their parents work in a range of businesses, including shoe manufacturing, wholesaling and retailing, or the garment biz. For some, programming is no new fad: one Webodrome engineer's father used to make his living programming in COBOL.

The programmers travel by commuter rail cars so crowded that local newspapers condemn them as "inhumane." That's not just an instance of the giddy hyperbole the Indian press is famous for: The trains are so ruthlessly packed that in early March a commuter fell from one, dying from head contusions suffered in the fall.

By the time these trains reach Churchgate station in Mumbai at rush hour, arriving once every three minutes, passengers are literally hanging out the doors. Women ride in "ladies only" cars up front, but they're hardly as genteel as that turn of phrase sounds -- a crush of brightly colored fabrics, the packed bodies of hundreds of commuters, bulge from cars designed to hold a fraction of the number of occupants forcing themselves in.

Don't even think about sitting down or reading or talking on your cellphone. Breathing is hard enough. "It's much too crowded," says Sandeep, 28, a programmer at Webodrome, who travels two hours on these trains both to and from work. The programmers joke that the trains are so packed that buttons pop off passengers' clothes.

But "there is no point in grumbling," says Piyush, 28, another programmer here whose rail commute is even longer -- two hours and 15 minutes, both morning and night.

"We are tolerant. We are the sons of Gandhi," explains Phanindra, drawing a big laugh from his colleagues. He travels a comparatively brief one-and-a-half hours each way.

Doshi explains that some of his programmers had to travel so far to get to work that the company helped them rent a one-bedroom apartment across the street from the office. Four young men -- three of them Webodrome employees -- now live there, sharing the 10,000-rupee-a-month rent.

After one hears how they get here, their office looks, even feels, less crowded. How do they describe the workplace atmosphere?

"Total freedom," Sandeep says.

"There are no restrictions," adds Reena.

"No politics, no hierarchy, basically," adds Deepa. "It's like a second home. I love to come to my workplace."

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