The Bus Driver

I am just done with yet another road journey to and fro Jammu-Delhi. The buses from Katra ply on hourly basis to various destinations of Northern India and being a ‘Holy town’, the amount of people floating from and in to the city is huge.  You can see people rushing for buses and crowd waiting for them at a ‘not-very-well-developed’ bus stand. Neither it is developed well nor does it has the potential to cater such a huge rush, still it is working and people do not regard it as a problem as they consider themselves ‘blessed’ if they are visiting the town. But being a ‘citizen’ of the place from last four years, a sense of ‘judging’ grew up in my mind as, now, I am a part of this holy town, too. Because it is a normal human tendency to start judging something which, you think, is yours!

Well, the focus of this post is not the problems of the town, will discuss that too someday. The problem a commuter faces during travelling on this route is something which is perennial and ‘can-not-change’ types and the tale is same for almost every time. What made ‘this’ journey different from others was an unfortunate incident that shook me a bit. Being a ‘frequent-highway-traveller’ since last four years, I have been through many such experiences which a ‘normal’ human being would describe as ‘shocking’, ‘deadly’, ‘how is it possible?’, etc. Travelling in any Roadway’s Bus service can actually get a hell out of you and it has happened with me ‘n’ number of times. Once the wheel axle broke down in Haryana (the experience of the driver saved all), once bus broke down in Punjab and the driver and conductor flew away (that was private service, of course), and it became the longest Katra-Delhi journey till date, of 25 hours, which is actually a 14 hour route.

The reason of my being in Delhi, this weekend, was some college stuff, which had to be finished by Monday. After all the mayhem in the city itself, like getting late for the bus, running behind an auto for half a mile and beating up the auto-wala for ‘mistakenly’ taking away the luggage, getting some ‘protein-rich’ daal moth at the end of a meal-less day, I boarded the 9:30 PM Haryana Roadways bus to Katra. It was fully loaded as always and I managed to get an aisle seat so that I could fix up my luggage in between, somewhere, as the carriers in this service are not meant for XL luggage, though they are sufficient for small hand bags and water bottles. The journey began on time, which is the best part of Government bus services. With a pet – Coca cola costing Rs. 35 (because it is being served to you in the bus) and one water bottle, I started off. For two hours it was all ok.

The driver halted somewhere in Haryana, which was not meant to be the stoppage. The conductor left the bus, and with my drowsy eyes, I could see another Roadways bus on side. Tired, I calculated that it would be something to do with the driver’s concern and kept sitting on my seat with the heavy luggage. As the bus didn’t move for 10 minutes, the ‘young’ passengers got restless and stepped down to investigate. A guy came back, telling his companion, “Bus ka accident hogaya hai!”, pointing towards the other side of the road. I turned back and could see a Haryana Bus standing, totally smashed from the front. The accident was recent as I could see the crowd and police mobile vans wandering around. The sight was harsh and sad. “What would have happened to the driver?” was the first thought that struck my mind, as the front part of the bus was, what we call, ‘finished’! After few minutes, our bus moved on, but the atmosphere was different. Most of the passengers didn’t bother about it in their sleep. Those who were awake, like me, and few others, turned silent. It turned, suddenly, very creepy, doleful, and uncomfortable. I was about to doze off but my mind started thinking about the incident continuously. Sitting at the back side of the bus, I was trying to read the conductor’s face, who was discussing the same topic with the driver, but could not find out.

After fifteen minutes of ride, the bus stopped again and both of them again went off. This time, I kept an eye on them so that I could be aware of what’s happening. They went into a building across the highway and I could barely see a blue board. The board reflected when a car crossed from its side and what I could read was “civil hospital”. I couldn’t read the name of the place and at that time, I didn’t bother about it. The concern about the victim (I didn’t want to use this word) intensified. This time, the stoppage was for a longer period, which woke up the other passengers also. A lady sitting behind me woke up and in a very annoying way said, “ye kyu rok raha hai baar baar”, to which added her husband, “pata nahin kya dikkat hai isko!” I turned back and told them the story behind it so that they could stop cursing the driver.

Within minutes, there were around 10 roadways buses, and the situation was turning more uncomfortable for me. The sight reminded me of a childhood memory. One evening, I was standing in the balcony at my place with my mom and we noticed a huge bunch of cows standing on the street. We didn’t know why they were there and the number kept on increasing followed by an MCD Animal Van. They were there to pick up a deceased cow, lying in the society park. The person managing the task was an old guy, he looked at us and said, “Inhe kaise pata chalta hai.. aaj tak samajh nahin aaya!”, pointing towards the cows. ‘They were there to attend the funeral’, that is what I could figure out. The incident touched me so much that I remember it by heart. I wonder what power, the nature has given to that ‘speech-less’ animal, how did they came to know about the incident, god knows. To the contrary, people sitting (now, they know the situation) started murmuring that the driver would have died. Some started discussing that he would have got his face smashed because of the impact on the bus and within minutes started some other topic and started laughing as nothing happened. Senseless. Not humane at all.

I was doing nothing. I could do nothing. I was just sitting and listening to the morons chatting continuously, looking towards the hospital, trying to get any update on it. Nothing came up and without knowing, I dozed off. When I woke up, it was 1:30 AM, and the bus was still standing! I started wondering what actually has happened and why they took so long. As soon as I could reach my senses I realised that it was some other place and we had stop for dinner. I searched for my conductor and asked him about the situation. What all he said was, “Hospital mein admit hai voh!”That was a relief for me. He is alive. He is in safe hands.

Rest of my journey went off in thinking about the life of a bus driver. He works for others; he is the one who takes everyone to their respective destinations; he risks his life every day, every moment; he gets a nominal pay and that too according to the rounds he complete; he is being cursed by ‘almost’ all the passengers, if he’s late; Still we never see him with respect. Some might even find this funny but have we ever thought about their lives. One of my friend discussed this with me once and said, “Thank god we are in (what people call) ‘respectable’ job. Life is so tough for those like the drivers. We are not at all capable of doing that daring job!” I used to wonder why my grandpa always says, “Thank you dada!” (Dada in Bengali means big brother) to the auto-wala after every ride. (I inherited that habit from him only) That taught me that a person is not valued  or respected by his profession, but by his worth and, now, after travelling so much, I have realised the worth of the person sitting on the ‘driving seat’.

The next time you are riding in a bus, auto-rickshaw, or any other means, please remember that if you can’t say Thank you Dada!, its fine, but please don’t curse him without any reason.

Dedicated to all the bus drivers who made it sure, that every time I reach my home to my mom-dad, safe and fine!

The Super Hero

(Text and sketches by D.B.)

While walking through a crowded market space, street or a commercial ‘hub’, we seldom notice an uncommonly capable race of Super heroes – The Office-goers! The breed is extensively available and is very ‘normal’ in appearance. They look like any other person walking down the lane. They wear no badge or ‘sign’ on their chests nor do they wear their underpants over the trousers. They don’t have laser beams striking out from eyes nor can they fly off like a bird. Still they beat out everyone on the list of Super Heroes. What they actually posses is the immense will power; power to work under any circumstance. Be it any season, any weather condition, any emergency, until unless there is a national holiday (that too, not applicable for BPO employees); ‘The Office-goer’ keeps on working.

The Carriage of the 'Hero'

He wakes up every morning with the list of ‘things-to-do’. Daily, he carries with him the load of work which he couldn’t complete the day before. He rushes from his place before time so as to catch an early bus (his carriage) so that he can reach office tidily. The moment he leaves his place, his struggle to thrive in this cruel world starts. He faces a tough competition at the bus-stand itself. There are many others just like him. He finds that he’s not alone in the world. Like him, there are many, who want to board the bus. He manages to stand one step ahead than others in a hope that the bus would stop just before him. As soon as he gets the first glimpse of it he gears himself up for a ‘clash’ that would decide whether he is a good employee or not. (Remember, it doesn’t matter how much hard working you are, if you are late, you are dead!) The clash becomes difficult when he realises that his conveyance is already overloaded! He brings up all his powers and steps into the huddle. The moment he steps in he senses one ‘shoe-mark’ on the left side of his ‘properly-ironed’ black trouser. After a second or two, he’s been dragged by someone through his shirt damaging the crease on his right. His bag is being pulled by someone continuously. His pen (in shirt’s pocket) is almost ready to jump off. The lens of his specs is being ‘disabled’ with some oil deposit from someone’s head. Those who have the ‘average’ height, senses the ‘aroma’ of different kinds of hair oils and hair gels. This is possible only in the morning. That’s the only time when one can sense the fragrance of the Super Heroes.

The Super-Bus after the crowd enters

The slaughtered Super hero realises his importance and grabs a nook in the bus. His whole journey passes in attempting to reach as closer to the window as possible which, he discovers, is jammed (due to the rust that was deposited in the last rain). Signs of efforts to open that pane could be seen easily on the hook that is being bent and thrashed by the members of the same race, earlier in time. Our hero, now, has the responsibility to open that window so as to relieve the human race from the heat that is being built up inside the bus. He draws together all his powers and opens the jammed pane followed by appreciations & gratitude flowing in from all sides. Once again, he saved the human race.

As he reaches his destination, his fight with the time begins, again. Why the bus took three minutes extra at the last traffic light? Why the ticket collector had to stop this bus only? Why don’t humans understand the value of time? Why the roads are so narrow? Why the buses don’t use the BUS LANE? With such thoughts in mind and an eye on his wrist watch, the Hero starts rushing towards the office. On his way, he notices many other heroes, but as he is late by three minutes, he ignores all his mates and moves on.

Finally, he reaches the place where his own powers are of no use. The place where there are other heroes but they too lose their powers; the place where his heroic deeds and stories are ‘too common’; the place where his efforts to save the humanity are futile and ineffectual; the place which is headed by a Higher spirit, not good, not decent, for sure. As soon as the hero enters, he’s welcomed by the messenger (another hero in his own sense) of the ‘Higher Spirit’ with a message, “Come late by five minutes, again, and you’ll be marked absent!” Thus, the Hero & his heroic deeds are shunned off and he loses all his powers. The place is ‘The Office’ and the higher spirit is ‘The Boss!’

And thus once again our Super Hero works and prepares himself for another battle! Battle with time & submissions.