rantlust

Posted by dharpe guje on February 28th 2006 in Developing Nations, Humor, India, Rants
::  [Print This Post]

So as part of hanging out in India a few weeks back, I indulged in something that I had not done in a long time, no I didn’t pull (pun intended) a George Michael, travelling in a public bus. Travelling by city buses is a typical and widely used form of transportation in all major Indian states. Usually the state governments manage the service and barring a few exceptions, most end up running into huge losses, thanks to gross mismanagement and corruption. But the service itself is a primary means of transportation for a significant number of intra and inter state travellers.

Growing up I travelled exclusively on these city buses, which is a typical means of travel for most Indian lower and middle class families. It’s major advantages were that it was cheap and generally a reliable means of transportation over other options that were non-existent. I travelled about 10 kilometers to get to my school (for about 4 years) and likewise about 20 kilometers to the college (for about 4 years). The distance of 10 kilometers was typically covered in about 50 minutes to an hour and the distance of 20 kilometers was covered anywhere between 90 minutes and 2 hours. So in short a lot of growing up happened on buses.

Travelling by city bus was both an art and a science at the same time. Art in the case of demure college girls, ladies in sarees, school girls and older people because they accepted the given and did not questions the laws of nature. Science in the case of people who had to calculate, anticipate and manage to the laws of interia and Newton while getting into, hanging on to and getting out of these buses. Simply travelling without a seat in the bus was no easy feat either, one had to balance oneself, as the poor driver drove erratically over the degenerated roads that had plenty of pot holes and other obstacles; some man made, some natural, but all lethal to the human musculo-skeletal system. It was common for people to skid, slide and bump into each other helplessly all over the place.  One simply thanked one’s stars when they arrived in one piece at their destination.

The number of buses needed to man peak traffic hours was generally inadequate. This imbalanced demand-supply equation ensured fierce participation from everyone who wanted to get from point A to point B. Each bus came with a driver and a conductor, the conductor sold tickets and was responsible for maintaining law and order while the public got its sorry asses to their respective destinations. The dynamics between the driver, the conductor and the public was critical in running successful sorties. The communication between the three, usually faciliated using a whistle or by a bell connected with a long thread that traversed the entire length of the bus, was amazingly efficient. This included various types of bell rings, two pulls to start, one to stop, one and one half bells to slow down but not stop entirely, half a pull to not stop at the designated bus stop but maybe stop a little further so people were inconvenienced to pursue the bus. Suffices to say, it required extraordinary skills and excellent coordination. All drivers and conductors were well versed in the local vernacular and had an exceptional vocabulary of curse words. This skill was practised often and was a pre-requisite for survival.

Most able bodied men and boys helped regulate the traffic into and out of the bus using the footboard as the exchange valve. This specifically required the group to get down and get in at every stop as the bus labored its way to the final destination. The footboard accounted for roughly 30% capacity of the bus, something that is not factored into the design process for building the bus (I know, I worked for a bus manufacturer). The footboard exchange valve management was a highly risky and skilled routine because there is evidence of many individuals losing their lives and many others losing body parts. This happened when individuals got sandwiched between two buses or inadvertantly got smashed against a lone electricity pole that stuck itself unconventionally at some unsupsecting and obscure turn along the highway. In many cases it’s suspected that these footboard brave hearts go through these pains to attract the attention of the ladies or school girls by showing off their footboard regulation prowess or in some isolated cases, simply to get a breath of fresh air. Most often the giggles and smiles were enough to keep our heroes coming back for more action even if it had wide reaching and well known consequences on their physique.

Some notes…..the temperament of the conductor is critical for maintaining a sense of decor inside the bus. Some conductors invariably are short and tempered and believe in managing the show tightly as if to cover their inadequacies, this often has interesting but had predictable consequences. Some others let the public help manage their duties. This was ideal for cordial relationships and successful sorties. Most school/college students used what was called a concession card (simply called a ‘concession’)-a highly subsized pre-paid monthly pass. So money never changed hands for most students as far as fares were concerned. Occassionally, when one didn’t have a concession card he or she (very rarely) was forced to use your poker face to project having a concession card and in the process pocket the change for more productive things like a “bongi”-malayalam slang for lemonade. If caught without a card or a ticket, you were summarily embarrased in front of everyone,which was generally considered bad for your image especially in front of the ladies. Sometimes even when you somehow managed to skirt the conductor, because your stars weren’t aligned properly you had the nightmare of being caught in a surprise check by people intuitively called the ‘checkers’. The checkers were seasoned ex-conductors and pretty much knew every trick in the book. It was advised not to mess with them.  Embarrassment was the typical result and sometimes a fine of twice the ticket charge-there goes the bongi and the vada!
Buses for the most part were on time. As they approached the bus station, depending on the conditions of the day, the bus had a equal likelihood of stopping or not stopping to pick up the passengers. Bus stops in this scheme were over rated. In the event that it stopped and you got in, it was generally considered a good omen and a further reinforcement that the remaining day may go well. Sometimes the conductor used his repertoire to give a half bell or a classic one and one half jingles, being versed in this language, most predicted the outcome to be a stop half a kilometer from the designated bus stop. This is where, I am convinced, most track and field talent is identified. Darwin’s theory comes to bear and the winners take the prize. The ones left behind usually mouth off choice words for everyone-I always felt bad for this group. Not because they missed the bus, but because they had to walk back all the way to the bus station. And invariably there would be another bus that promptly stopped at the bus stop resulting in an embarrassing double whammy. Life can be so cruel.

Most buses were toxic to touch as they were painted by what I am now sure is lead based paints. Older buses were a resting ground for the most virulent forms of micro-organisms, rust seemed to be the norm and a tetanus shot was just a scrape away. Most buses had a sturdy construction made generally with sheet metal piled on top of each other and riveted together over a wooden frame. This ensured that any collision would result in a mutually assured destruction of the parties concerned. Rain was never a consideration for the designers of these buses (I know because some of my friends designed them), because when it rained outside, you were sure to enjoy it in all its glory inside. The piled on sheets of metal in conjunction with the open windows, manned with cloth based shutters, did well to direct the rain water neatly onto the unsupsecting heads of tired and sleeping passengers. On a tangent, if unlucky, you also had a good chance of getting poked in your eye by an old lady’s umbrella that was bent out of shape and wouldn’t close properly. To top it all off, the smell of sweat soiled clothes, in a closed non ventilated and dark interior provided the perfect ambiance to share our stories. The day mostly ended or started with us sharing the stories of the day or the previous day, making fun of each other or slowly stealing  glances at the cute girl you secretly had a crush on. Or in some strange cases by being rudely awakened by the conductor or driver because you slept your way to the last stop……..this one pissed me off royally. It was like adding insult to injury.

Needless to say, the nostalgia was heightened when I recently undertook a brave trip from Meenambakam to Nungambakkam with fellow blogger Papi. The conditions were mostly the same, but I found myself wanting in the skills of hanging on to the footboard and managing the footboard regulation valve. We covered the distance of about 10-12 kilometers in about 90 minutes. Some things never change…..city buses rule !