Busing Around

The need to travel has always captured the imagination of the human race. While we race towards faster mobility, the omnipresent bus connects the city like no other.

----------------

circa 1980s

"eddolo, nim ajji maneg hogbeku ivathu !" ( "Get up, we need to go to your grandmother's house today !")

"esht bus hathbeku ?" ( "how many buses do we need to board ?")

"eradu, 7D sikre, ondey" ("Two buses, but if we manage to board the '7D' bus, then it'll be just
one")
----------------

The often repeated sentence at that time, was a cue for me to feign illness and stay back, for it meant a long journey including boarding a series of buses on time, to finally reach my grandmother's house. The 7D bus coming "on time" would turn out to be my prayer and wish for that day, at a time when my vocabulary left a lot to be desired.

Buses in bangalore have one thing in common - they all come late. Hawkers usually used this to their advantage to test commuters patience and their tastebuds. The enchanting smell of groundnuts while ensnaring our senses also helped the hawker make a quick buck. unable to bear my pestering for money my mother would curse the groundnut guy for being so opportunistic while handing me over the 50 paise.

Often buses are victims of their own fame. Much as everyone would like to use the service, it's poor maintenance makes it look like carcass on wheels. Either the seats have been cut mercilessly on the belly to expose its insides or the headlights have long stopped working and are merely reflecting the light from the oncoming traffic. Smoke from the bus is enough to dispel any doubts about us screwing the eco-system, while a dingy looking board in the bus meekly spells out "No Smoking" with a badly drawn skull next to it showing the result if one did. Sitting in the bus is no more advantageous than standing in one, and only makes the person standing more jealous instead of the one sitting any happier.

The need for travelling by bus as a student didnt arise in my case until i started my engineering course, since our Pre-university college was just a stone's throw away, while the school i went to was just a kick away.

My introduction to buses was a rude shock. Travelling alone has not been the strongest of my qualities.

"201 is your bus number, and you'll need to get down at banashankari 3rd stage", my father repeated for the nth time, like he was giving a minute by minute weather update that was subject to change.

Scared out my boots, i mentally summed up the number to see if it was lucky for me...rats !! 3 can't be lucky i thought, given that the '201' bus was an all-rounder, literally.

Being one of those buses which travelled the length and breadth of the city, 201 was more like a jampacked boat of survivors gasping for breath by the time it reached my stop.

The next day, after being already behind schedule, the bus slowly stopped, with passengers dangling precariously to it . I had almost made up my mind to ditch this bus and look for a free-lift, when passengers started boarding off the bus like there was some kind of a bomb scare. I couldn't thank my stars more when the bus was nearly empty in no time, only to realize that it was a ritual commuters followed to let the CO-poisoned passengers stuck inside to get down at their stop. 2 seconds later, there was a mad rush into the bus again ! while i didn't understand what was happening, i was quickly pulled into the bus by an old man who probably thought i was his grandson.

Stuck inside the bus, i lost all hopes of reaching college in one piece.

Jampacked as it is, conductors usually didn't dare to walk the length of the bus due to the danger of suffocating the already dying passengers and also the possibility of being siphoned off by pickpockets. Well the whole bus was so delirious, i'll not be surprised if the pickpocket stole from his own pocket without ever realizing it !

As for me, i could move around in the bus, stuck between people, without the need to touch the floor; such was the gravity defying crowd.

Added to this, the concept of "Women only" seats in buses. While men would haggle and fight the crap out to get a seat in the bus, women would scream their throats out, if anyone as much as dared to even come close to "their" seats....

Travelling by bus did help improve my reflexes though what with the bus driver braking like he was hammering a nail into the floor. The sudden braking would take many off-gaurd and commuters would fall over each other with inertia playing a crucial part in the melee. Newton 'stood' vindicated starkly during these times.

Conductors, as they are called, would do crazy things to fleece money from people....tickets would be more like 2.25, 3.75 rupees which meant we would end up giving 5 rupees expecting a change in return. Instead we would get a ticket with weird markings on it's back denoting the change due, to be collected on reaching his/her stop. Since getting down the bus was as big an event as getting onto one, passengers were forced to forget their change in exchange for their lives many a times.

Dealing with so many people is a task conductors prepare for everyday, by either being completely drunk and marginally coherent, babbling curses or just being plain indifferent to the happenings.

Not all Conductors were bad though, a few had even turned humorous with age. Quite a few of the buses i used to travel used to pass the NIMHANS hospital, famous for housing mentally ill patients. So whenever the bus stopped near the hospital, the conductor would shout out :

"yaar ree illi hutchru, nim stop banthu" ("all those who are mad here, we have reached your stop")

The goverment later introduced buses called "pushpak" which was moderately well built, and a tad bit more pricier than the regular buses, but was crowded no less, and helped people die in peace slowly and luxuriously than the regular buses that worked like cyanide.

Hanging out of a moving bus was a simple pleasure everyone indulged in, sticking their head out trying to get a breather, and on many occasions being their last one too...

If getting a seat in the bus is one tough task, holding on to it is another. prying eyes latch on to you like that of an eagle on it's prey. An inch of visible space near the already occupied seat would immediately be filled up with either a empty tiffin box, or a school bag and a cunning smile from the fellow standing commuter. Its an unwritten rule that expects people sitting in the bus to offer to carry the tons of luggage, including broomsticks, carried by those standing in the bus. I conveniently used this rule to dump all those loads of Engineering drawing paraphernalia onto midgets sitting in the bus, while i enjoyed the scenic beauty outside. Sitting in the bus comes with another disadvantage, that of dozing off to sleep. Nothing can beat the sleep inducing capability of a bus. I for one have dozed off quite a few times only to be woken up as result of my head banging into the seat in front, courtesy the bus driver.

Buses have long been oppressed and punished for no apparent mistake of theirs. While the city fights on whether miss world pageant should be conducted or not, one fool gets this clever idea of pelting the buses and lo behold ! some dozen buses are burnt that day !. While miss world happily enjoys a sumptous evening snack in her beach outfit, buses get stripped off their armor by hooligans !. Buses generally have this tendancy to get into trouble. Awfully late when needed, they are the first to be present in the midst of a simmering riot, more like "AA Bhail mujhe maar" ( "Bull, please hit me") as the saying goes.

All said, buses still provide that necessary link to the city and it's people. It's been a while since i used the bus to travel, but i know that it'll be around when i need one, a few hours late, but it'll be there... busing around..