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!
