Bus kya!
Warning: I’m comatose so anything that I write might just be the blatant truth.
It took me two hours to get back home from work. It’s a distance of about 10- 15km I guess. The first three km took an hour. After that, I stopped looking at my watch and started staring at the line of fate on my palm instead. Surely there must be a positive side to this.
For company on the BEST bus I have work weary, dreary eyed passengers who look like they’re headed for a Nazi concentration camp and they know it. The guy sitting next to me might have been dead for all you know; his expression hasn’t changed in the last half an hour. Much like the traffic situation.
I try to entertain myself by reading all possible billboards, notices, shop signs, discount offers. In five minutes I have memorized everything in my line of sight. As if on cue, the bus inches and lo behold, I have added something to the scenery from my window. It happens to be the rear end of a truck which is green in color. Green color trucks belong to the BMC and carry garbage. I practice a new form of hatha yoga, trying to hold my breath while in a BEST bus. I succeed for precisely 10 sec. In the next 15, every airborne particle generated by the open top garbage truck enters my nasal passage and some decide to stay on too. The net effect can’t be described in words.
I try to sleep with my eyes open and then with my eyes closed. This sleep is what I call an optimists sleep. Whenever I have done that in Mumbai traffic, it is always with the hope that when I wake up I will find myself on a speeding bus with the wind blowing against my hair. I still am trying.
I decide to explore the scenery within the bus. Up ahead, there’s a nincompoop trying to dig gold desperately. His nasal excursions are serious and single minded. He is like Arjuna sighting only the eye of the bird. Of course Arjuna didn’t have much traffic around to distract him. This man is an even bigger warrior. Dig on my friend.
There is also the loud cacophony of a group of college going kids who are busy discussing who’s dating whom. To them the traffic and loud honking means just speaking even louder to drown out the din. They’re succeeding.
The man who runs the show, Mr Conductor has a Chaila look on his face. Chaila is Mumbaiya for a profanity that gets used as if it weren’t one. It’s actually half a profanity with the more potent half of it missing.
I doze off and the next thing I see is Mr Chaila shaking me vigorously. “Saheb utha last stop aahe” (wake up sir, this is the last stop).
Post Script: If you have faced this kind of a situation in Mumbai traffic before then please include me into your club, if you’re still alive and can intellectualize.
It took me two hours to get back home from work. It’s a distance of about 10- 15km I guess. The first three km took an hour. After that, I stopped looking at my watch and started staring at the line of fate on my palm instead. Surely there must be a positive side to this.
For company on the BEST bus I have work weary, dreary eyed passengers who look like they’re headed for a Nazi concentration camp and they know it. The guy sitting next to me might have been dead for all you know; his expression hasn’t changed in the last half an hour. Much like the traffic situation.
I try to entertain myself by reading all possible billboards, notices, shop signs, discount offers. In five minutes I have memorized everything in my line of sight. As if on cue, the bus inches and lo behold, I have added something to the scenery from my window. It happens to be the rear end of a truck which is green in color. Green color trucks belong to the BMC and carry garbage. I practice a new form of hatha yoga, trying to hold my breath while in a BEST bus. I succeed for precisely 10 sec. In the next 15, every airborne particle generated by the open top garbage truck enters my nasal passage and some decide to stay on too. The net effect can’t be described in words.
I try to sleep with my eyes open and then with my eyes closed. This sleep is what I call an optimists sleep. Whenever I have done that in Mumbai traffic, it is always with the hope that when I wake up I will find myself on a speeding bus with the wind blowing against my hair. I still am trying.
I decide to explore the scenery within the bus. Up ahead, there’s a nincompoop trying to dig gold desperately. His nasal excursions are serious and single minded. He is like Arjuna sighting only the eye of the bird. Of course Arjuna didn’t have much traffic around to distract him. This man is an even bigger warrior. Dig on my friend.
There is also the loud cacophony of a group of college going kids who are busy discussing who’s dating whom. To them the traffic and loud honking means just speaking even louder to drown out the din. They’re succeeding.
The man who runs the show, Mr Conductor has a Chaila look on his face. Chaila is Mumbaiya for a profanity that gets used as if it weren’t one. It’s actually half a profanity with the more potent half of it missing.
I doze off and the next thing I see is Mr Chaila shaking me vigorously. “Saheb utha last stop aahe” (wake up sir, this is the last stop).
Post Script: If you have faced this kind of a situation in Mumbai traffic before then please include me into your club, if you’re still alive and can intellectualize.
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