Fun in 50 km, framed by the bus window

Watching the world from a bus is an enriching experience, not to mention the buzz aboard

illus: for OP

Travelling by bus has led to many (mis)adventures for me. Using public transport was alien to me until I discovered I had to travel more than 50 km to and from college every week. The trial trip my dad and I made found me nodding off when it was time to get off, wandering on the wrong side of the road and losing track of the stops we had passed. Two months in, however, I was happy as a hamster in its hollow.

The buzz of life on a bus is exhilarating: children huddling together amid towering adults, like ducklings in the reeds; the elderly hoisting themselves up stoically on knees crooked at a permanent angle; the conductor wading effortlessly through a honeycomb of humanity.

Politeness is normally hard to come by on a bus. Thankfully, I have only ever met polite conductors who gently reprimand some passengers as if they were family members: “How am I to exchange two hundred rupees for you,

amma , have you no consideration?” “Don't plonk that mammoth bag on the steps, scooch over here.” “Hey, you youngsters, to the back of the bus, now!” I am in awe of the way they tuck cheroots of currency notes between their fingers, unrolling them like Chinese fans while handing them to passengers.

Once a couple of women whipped up a quarrel. The squabble resonated in raucous ripples through almost all the other women in the ladies’ section, barring me and another girl who were exchanging bemused glances. The conductor and the driver could not conceal their amazement at the ease of vocal aggression that was resurfacing right before their eyes. They actually begged the women to alight at the next stop before the bus turned into a Roman arena.

Another time I missed three transits while running alongside, with my luggage, on a 1,500-metre stretch between two bus stops. I made a spectacle of myself: bag jiggling off my shoulder, my face convulsing with dismay each time a bus passed. It was a good 45 minutes before I flagged down a fourth bus and notified my father, who scolded me soundly. Watching the world from a bus window is one of the most peaceful and enriching experiences I have ever had. Gentle scenes of naughty affection that reach me from the roadside, much like little jets of water, lighten my peephole consciousness. The excellent playlist choices of some co-travellers regale me as if I was with a troupe of caravaners. The dust and derangement of travel makes me feel more human than a psychology textbook could.

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