Bus Kya?
Late evening, and the highway could not live up to its name. It was clogged with those huge 12 seater cars with 3 people inside, the smaller autorickshaws with their unheeded shrill breeeeps and the little tiddly motorcycles making their way through like pee down a rough wall. The BEST had done everyone a favour by calling off the strike and sending its fleet of buses to add to the joyful menagerie on what is called the Western Express. Smirk, Express, heh.
Bus driver, glad to be on the job in the lustful heat. Khaki folded up, one leg raised to ventilate his loins, buttons flipped open, ponk ponk ponkingthrough the crawl. And as any BEST driver knows, the best way through a traffic jam, is to ease the bus forward in the 3 meters which have just opened, stomp on the breaks to bring the behemoth to a halt, wait the next seven minutes so that another 3 meter stretch is free, ease forward, stomp. If the passengers dont scream because of the jerky brakes, speed up the bus in the next gap, and stomp harder on the brakes.
This bus was special.
There was a year old cranky baby on board. Nothing, absolutely nothing could make him stop crying and kicking. The 70% humidity and 35 degree C made all of us want to slap the baby silent after the 45 minutes it was on board. He paused to sip water, and then continued his rant against the city. And I am sure the crying, and the Shhhushes of the passengers and the Tchs and the mutterings egged on the driver to slam the breaks harder and stronger, conducting the symphony of louder S-n-M Aahs, impassioned growls, the staccato of stumbling feet on the aluminium flooring and the sonorous bellows from the babe making music out of this beautiful chaos.
Enter a spoilsport European travelling on this 'burban route. He came lumbering from the back of the bus to the driver cabin, and in a medit accent thundered, "Whay yoou brek like that? You not hear people shouting? This is note haw you derive bus!"
Apna BEST Marathi Manoos fresh back on duty having stooped neither before the High Court, nor the BEST management, wasn't going to let this Firangi call the shots, was he? Predictably and illogically, apna MM replied in Marathi. Arre baba, we know you have a culture to protect, but in this international court of justice ad hoc bench, what good is your pompous reply of "Assach chalavtaat ithe. Zaa parat tumchya deshat"? And to get his point across cultures, he flipped open his khakhi collar wider than before. Firangi stood glaring.
For the next 30 minutes when Firru was standing beside the driver, (blocking most of the gangway) before getting off, MM never braked hard once. Not even when the truck in front stomped on his. A slow easy brake kept peace. But the baby didnt give a flying act of fornication for this altercation. Its ebullition was least affected. When the family got off the bus, I thought the baby will breathe fresh air and see the open skies and an angelic smile would sprout. Fat chance! As the bus crept away from the bus stop, I could see it kicking and hear him hollering, and the echoes receded only by the next stop.
Bad Baby.
Bus driver, glad to be on the job in the lustful heat. Khaki folded up, one leg raised to ventilate his loins, buttons flipped open, ponk ponk ponkingthrough the crawl. And as any BEST driver knows, the best way through a traffic jam, is to ease the bus forward in the 3 meters which have just opened, stomp on the breaks to bring the behemoth to a halt, wait the next seven minutes so that another 3 meter stretch is free, ease forward, stomp. If the passengers dont scream because of the jerky brakes, speed up the bus in the next gap, and stomp harder on the brakes.
This bus was special.
There was a year old cranky baby on board. Nothing, absolutely nothing could make him stop crying and kicking. The 70% humidity and 35 degree C made all of us want to slap the baby silent after the 45 minutes it was on board. He paused to sip water, and then continued his rant against the city. And I am sure the crying, and the Shhhushes of the passengers and the Tchs and the mutterings egged on the driver to slam the breaks harder and stronger, conducting the symphony of louder S-n-M Aahs, impassioned growls, the staccato of stumbling feet on the aluminium flooring and the sonorous bellows from the babe making music out of this beautiful chaos.
Enter a spoilsport European travelling on this 'burban route. He came lumbering from the back of the bus to the driver cabin, and in a medit accent thundered, "Whay yoou brek like that? You not hear people shouting? This is note haw you derive bus!"
Apna BEST Marathi Manoos fresh back on duty having stooped neither before the High Court, nor the BEST management, wasn't going to let this Firangi call the shots, was he? Predictably and illogically, apna MM replied in Marathi. Arre baba, we know you have a culture to protect, but in this international court of justice ad hoc bench, what good is your pompous reply of "Assach chalavtaat ithe. Zaa parat tumchya deshat"? And to get his point across cultures, he flipped open his khakhi collar wider than before. Firangi stood glaring.
For the next 30 minutes when Firru was standing beside the driver, (blocking most of the gangway) before getting off, MM never braked hard once. Not even when the truck in front stomped on his. A slow easy brake kept peace. But the baby didnt give a flying act of fornication for this altercation. Its ebullition was least affected. When the family got off the bus, I thought the baby will breathe fresh air and see the open skies and an angelic smile would sprout. Fat chance! As the bus crept away from the bus stop, I could see it kicking and hear him hollering, and the echoes receded only by the next stop.
Bad Baby.