Recently, I was involved in an Olympic sport. Its not official yet, but it should be. Alert Chennai readers may have guessed - Yes! I successfully boarded a PTC bus. More importantly, thanks to the planetary alignment and all, I didn’t encounter any pickpockets or sexual predators. It was a major miracle that I got out with my wallet and dignity intact.
What a humbling experience it was folks. Like Akon says, this *beep* is one of those *beeps* that you gotta *beep* experience to know what the *beep* I’m talking about.
I can’t believe that there are people who enjoy and look forward to this stuff-EVERYDAY! Chennai auto-wallahs may strip you off your money, but the buses are where the real stripping happens - Literally.
I decided to ride a bus back home, on a beautiful Monday morning, when veteran commuters - with the charms of a wild rhinoceros - were steadily flowing into the bus stop, ready for a fight. Ok, that isn’t really true – some of them were looking to commit murder!
Usually, I’m very adventurous and prefer the death defying, life insurance justifying, making mother and sister one style rides (hint: ask a northie!) in the Chennai auto-rickshaws. Especially the negotiations regarding the fare – you should try it - it’s the icing on the cake, the
Sample this:
Me: “anna, besant nagar pollama? Yevallo”
Rickshaw driver (sizing my branded clothes and wheatish complexion up): “250 saaar”
ME: (wanting to scream the name for the male reproductive organ in 3 Indian languages, but manage to say): “yenna? 250yaa!! Ithu autova illae Kingfisher airwaysaaah?”
The meter rate is close to 80Rs, but meters in Chennai autos are merely an ornament. A la appendix, Or something to that effect, but I digress. So, as I mentioned earlier, I was feeling less adventurous. So, I thought of taking the safer option – the bus.
Lesson #1: Don’t bring a gun to battle a tank.
I approached the nearest bus stop, armed like the Mumbai police constables with their museum worthy rifles, ready to take on terrorists. Didn’t get it? Let me explain. Long ago, when the body was much suppler and the mind sharper, I enjoyed the bus rides. But now, employed as a consultant, I hardly get to exercise any faculties. The result - Brain and brawn have rusted beyond repair.
Soon, my bus arrived, and I was able to witness some vigorous, no holds barred, muay thai style fights between some regulars. It was pathetic. All this for a measly seat! Pah! Hailing from a highly educated family with strong socio-cultural values, I promptly joined them. What followed was a brief but valiant battle:
*grab collar* *poke the eye* *bite* *jab to the kidneys* *kick* *bite* *kick* *crash* *thud*. Ouch!
I was on the ground and on my butt.
What seemed like eternity was in fact 5 seconds on the watch. Both ego and butt needed an oil massage. In between sobs and sulks, I silently prepared for the next battle.
Lesson #2: That, which doesn’t kill you, makes you weirder.
My advice to rookie commuters is: if you are from a non martial arts background, but need to board a bus in Chennai – buy a gun.it might help.
I never thought watching Tony-Jaa movies could help me one day. As the next bus came, there was much screaming, gnashing of teeth, clashing of elbows, and twisting of bodies before I finally got my head in. Thanks to the mighty shove by one pot bellied uncle, I was finally catapulted in.
Lesson #3: When the going gets tough and their branded trousers get torn, the tough get pissed off!
Shrugging off the vicious assaults on my t-shirt, trouser, body, mind and soul, I quickly scanned the bus for empty seats, or ones that might soon get empty. I located one such prospective seat and fenced it in. Fencing the seats is the canine equivalent of spraying the lampposts. You let them know, this one’s taken.
The seat for 2 was occupied by 3 - an energetic junior of 5 or 6, his miserable father who looked like he regretted not wearing a contraceptive, and a peaceful old man who was reading a thick Tamil book. The junior was sitting on his father’s lap and asking random questions on random topics. Strangely, this reminded me of my MBA classes, where class participations were graded. I was witness to some feisty classroom discussions on hazzar random topics. Like my professors, the kid’s father was contemplating suicide.
Kiddo (pointing his index finger at a huge cutout outside): “Appa, who is that?”
Father: “That’s our chief minister da”
K: “Why have they made a cutout of him?”
SF: “He might be taking this route to attend some function da”
K: “But why?”
F (loud): “keep quiet! You talk too much”
K: (louder) “Tell me, why does he have a cutout??”
F: (loudest) “Because he is important! If you don’t keep quiet now, somebody is going to fly out of this bus!”
Meanwhile, the serene old man, unable to read, took interest in the adjacent screaming competition.
K: (meekly) “Appa, am I important?”
F: (with a remorseful look on his face) “You are the most important person in my life da kanna”
K: (louder than loudest) “Then I want a cutout!”
The elderly gentleman looked at the flustered father and smiled. Radiating kindness, he looked at the kid and said “paapa, cutouts don’t make people important, your thoughts do. Think worthy thoughts and you will be important! Do you understand? Here, eat this toffee“
The kid was quiet. The father was relieved. I was stunned.
As I sun-bathed in the rays of the old man’s wisdom, the bus reached Adyar and I got out. Many moons have passed since that bus ride, but sometimes, when I’m alone and in a reflective mood, I wonder “what exactly do sexual predators do on a crowded city bus? “
6 comments:
gr8 one.
reminded me of something very russel peterish:
"somebody is going to get hurt real bad".
and what happened to your prized possesion?
Good one Sunny bhai.
Funny and thought provoking at the same time. What really do they do on a crowded bus??
@Anonymous: Do we know each other?
@Nitz: i have a vague idea, but describing it is definitely out of syllabus!
Awesome! :)
:-)
Very interesting read indeed. But on the flip side - I think my infrequent bus rides in Delhi University come rushing back during my lonesome commutes in individualistic US where I need to name my car to feel as if there is someone else doing the commute to and fro from work.
The long conversations with total strangers over the most personal of topics - why get married? who do u get married to? what to do or become in life? what has the world come to? were so entertaining.
The ability in the Indian gene to step into the other person's shoe without even knowing their name, let alone their shoe size is most amazing and this amazement I carry and rewind and replay in my head like a favourite song playing on the ipod....
@chhavi: very eloquent! I'm in canada now, and everyone's on their ipods!
Everytime i ask something even remotely personal, i add "if you don't mind..". in india i can just ask, "so, you've done it?" and get an immediate reply too!
:) The world is getting smaller, but people are getting farther! that's my two cents! :)
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