Bus route 234
SCENE I
I was standing with a friend on Roop Nagar bus stand waiting for the bus to take us to the metro station with huge black and pink umbrellas over our head. We were already late for our first lecture in college. The bench at the stand was slimy and wet due to last night’s heavy rain but there was a lot of green color around. Only a few more girls, presumably college students, with hand bags and dressed in salwaar kameez were there. I and my friend were having casual small talk while waiting for our ride
NEHA: Traveling by bus is so cheap. We just have to pay Rs. 3 whereas by rickshaw it costs us ten bucks.
ME: Very true yaar. Just a little bit of inconvenience, that too if the bus is crowded otherwise it’s the best bet. I save a lot of my pocket money.
NEHA: Route no. 108 suits us best. But there is 234 as well, which is a bit stuffed but its frequency is better than that of 108. No?
ME: Yeah. I hope the bus comes soon. We are already 10 minutes late. Khanna ma’am will kill us if we are later. Let’s take a rickshaw if the bus doesn’t come in 5 minutes.
Just then a rickety DTC bus, route no. 234, rumbled along the wet road. It was stuffed like an overstuffed aaloo ka parantha with people ‘leaking’ out of the bus like aaloo coming out of the sides. The bus was dangerously tilted to one side owing to some school boys who preferred to hang at the pedestal rather than standing inside the bus. Both of us looked at each other, sighed, folded our umbrellas and proceeded towards the bus.
SCENE II
Getting inside the bus from hind gate was one hell of a Herculean job. The school children were wolf whistling at us and some of the other passengers were looking at us as if we were intruding in their private property. I was feeling so proud of having accomplished the heavy task of boarding the bus that I gave Neha a clap on her back but was stared dangerously by an elderly uncle on whose back I had accidentally thumped. I mumbled a quick sorry and quickly turned away. I had a wet backpack hanging on my right shoulder, the wet black clumsily folded umbrella in my right hand, and a Rs. 5 coin in my left hand for the ticket. The bus was in a very bad shape with grills missing from the windows, paan stains here and there, the black seat cover, once red, was torn at many places. There was no question of finding a seat. Hundreds of faces in colorful and monotonous colors were seen but the conductor was nowhere in sight. If he would have been at the other end, it would have been impossible for him to find his way till the back. Finally, after many jerks and stops, we reached the metro station.
SCENE III
We got off from the bus. The red and white pavement was decorated with cow dung by our mother cows (and father bulls) and brown and red paan stains and all sorts of wrappers and poly bags and many other assorted items. But to our surprise there was a team of government officials dressed in dirty while shirts and black pants sporting rubber chappals. They were hurrying after all the passengers who had alighted from the bus and were questioning them in a strict manner. We tried to slink away but a shrewd looking officer, strongly smelling of cigarette smoke and huge black framed spectacles caught us and addressed us in the funniest English we had ever heard.
OFFICER: Show your ticket. Hurry, hurry. Show ticket. Me from DTC want to see ticket. No ticket? Ticket? Show. Now.
NEHA (looking frightened): Sir, please sir. We are getting late for college sir. Please sir. The conductor didn’t come for the ticket. The bus was so crowded. There was no way to buy a ticket. Look, I had the change ready for it.
ME (trying hard not to laugh): Sir, we bought a ticket. But we threw it inside the bus only. I promise sir, we had the ticket.
OFFICER: Girls try fool me? Bad. One say no ticket, one say lost? Making an ullu of me? You’ll pay penalty. Take out a 100.
NEHA (almost hysterical): Rs. 100? Sir, its too much sir. Please trust us sir, the bus was very crowded. What I meant was that first we couldn’t take the ticket and then we bought it---
OFFICER: --Lie not. Think you smart? Sign this chit and pay Rs. 100.
I consoled Neha and took out a 100 rupee note from my purse. Neha did the same. A smile of satisfaction danced on the officer’s lips. With a quick ‘good day’ he marched off to catch other unwary people.
In order to save Rs. 10 we had to pay Rs. 100. This remains my worst experience till date.
SCENE I
I was standing with a friend on Roop Nagar bus stand waiting for the bus to take us to the metro station with huge black and pink umbrellas over our head. We were already late for our first lecture in college. The bench at the stand was slimy and wet due to last night’s heavy rain but there was a lot of green color around. Only a few more girls, presumably college students, with hand bags and dressed in salwaar kameez were there. I and my friend were having casual small talk while waiting for our ride
NEHA: Traveling by bus is so cheap. We just have to pay Rs. 3 whereas by rickshaw it costs us ten bucks.
ME: Very true yaar. Just a little bit of inconvenience, that too if the bus is crowded otherwise it’s the best bet. I save a lot of my pocket money.
NEHA: Route no. 108 suits us best. But there is 234 as well, which is a bit stuffed but its frequency is better than that of 108. No?
ME: Yeah. I hope the bus comes soon. We are already 10 minutes late. Khanna ma’am will kill us if we are later. Let’s take a rickshaw if the bus doesn’t come in 5 minutes.
Just then a rickety DTC bus, route no. 234, rumbled along the wet road. It was stuffed like an overstuffed aaloo ka parantha with people ‘leaking’ out of the bus like aaloo coming out of the sides. The bus was dangerously tilted to one side owing to some school boys who preferred to hang at the pedestal rather than standing inside the bus. Both of us looked at each other, sighed, folded our umbrellas and proceeded towards the bus.
SCENE II
Getting inside the bus from hind gate was one hell of a Herculean job. The school children were wolf whistling at us and some of the other passengers were looking at us as if we were intruding in their private property. I was feeling so proud of having accomplished the heavy task of boarding the bus that I gave Neha a clap on her back but was stared dangerously by an elderly uncle on whose back I had accidentally thumped. I mumbled a quick sorry and quickly turned away. I had a wet backpack hanging on my right shoulder, the wet black clumsily folded umbrella in my right hand, and a Rs. 5 coin in my left hand for the ticket. The bus was in a very bad shape with grills missing from the windows, paan stains here and there, the black seat cover, once red, was torn at many places. There was no question of finding a seat. Hundreds of faces in colorful and monotonous colors were seen but the conductor was nowhere in sight. If he would have been at the other end, it would have been impossible for him to find his way till the back. Finally, after many jerks and stops, we reached the metro station.
SCENE III
We got off from the bus. The red and white pavement was decorated with cow dung by our mother cows (and father bulls) and brown and red paan stains and all sorts of wrappers and poly bags and many other assorted items. But to our surprise there was a team of government officials dressed in dirty while shirts and black pants sporting rubber chappals. They were hurrying after all the passengers who had alighted from the bus and were questioning them in a strict manner. We tried to slink away but a shrewd looking officer, strongly smelling of cigarette smoke and huge black framed spectacles caught us and addressed us in the funniest English we had ever heard.
OFFICER: Show your ticket. Hurry, hurry. Show ticket. Me from DTC want to see ticket. No ticket? Ticket? Show. Now.
NEHA (looking frightened): Sir, please sir. We are getting late for college sir. Please sir. The conductor didn’t come for the ticket. The bus was so crowded. There was no way to buy a ticket. Look, I had the change ready for it.
ME (trying hard not to laugh): Sir, we bought a ticket. But we threw it inside the bus only. I promise sir, we had the ticket.
OFFICER: Girls try fool me? Bad. One say no ticket, one say lost? Making an ullu of me? You’ll pay penalty. Take out a 100.
NEHA (almost hysterical): Rs. 100? Sir, its too much sir. Please trust us sir, the bus was very crowded. What I meant was that first we couldn’t take the ticket and then we bought it---
OFFICER: --Lie not. Think you smart? Sign this chit and pay Rs. 100.
I consoled Neha and took out a 100 rupee note from my purse. Neha did the same. A smile of satisfaction danced on the officer’s lips. With a quick ‘good day’ he marched off to catch other unwary people.
In order to save Rs. 10 we had to pay Rs. 100. This remains my worst experience till date.
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