Beware of the bumbag

People of Delhi are often frowned upon as being rude and outrightly unfriendly. No arguments. They are also renowned for the rather superficial display of money, power and looks. No arguments there either. However, what others do not know about the Delhiites is that they have honed themselves in the art of bus travel - ranging from grabbing a seat to getting off where they want. There are several aspects of bus travel I could write about, because a single half-hour bus journey in Delhi would show you all that can happen to a new visitor or a seasoned veteran. If there is a quizzical look on your face wondering what could possibly be so intriguing about a bus ride, just consider it just short, if not equal to the drama that surrounds local train travel in Bombay! :)

There are usually three categories of people lined up at the bus-stop - one, who would prefer to wait it out at the bus stop, sweating, dabbing their foreheads with their neatly ironed handkerchiefs, careful not to wipe off the Fair and Lovely or Fair and Handsome their cheeks, till a bus with hardly any passengers standing and assuring a seat drives by, second, those who cannot wait it out in the scorching heat and rampant pollution and just cling on to whatever space presents itself on the floorboard of an overflowing bus, and lastly, we have the alert ones, those who keep calculating risks involved, taking into account how much sweating could compensate for the availability of a seat. Now I know you might think right now that the last sort need to get a life, and that they bother too much about something so trivial. But rest assured my friend it is these category of people who survive the jungle out there, that is the Indian public transport.

As soon as you get on to the bus, the mind registers the change in temperature, and the other things later, but the eyes, trained to search and target any open spaces is at its reflexive best. Homeostasis kicks in after the subliminal conscience ( I had to flaunt the word - XII grade Biology still runs strong in my veins :) ) After locating yourself optimally, giving your feet enough freedom to shift weight from one to the other, your nose strategically placed to steer clear of any bystander shoving his armpit your way while clinging to the overhead bar, a clear view of the road outside making sure you know where to get off, since the concept of bus stops is virtually obsolete in this city now, and lastly have either cheek in the way of whatever little breeze that might find its way into the otherwise stocked and muffled bus.

The conductor makes, or rather squeezes his way through the unwilling-to-budge-just-to-annoy-the-others-and-not-lose-their-sense-of-personal-space people, asking the new additions to the stockpile of bodies for tickets. Buying a ticket is a power struggle between the conductor and the passenger to see who can get through the exchange with the upper hand - if the passenger wants a Rs. 3 ticket, and gets a question in return "kahan jaoge?" (where do you want to go?), then he has to salvage his pride by either denying to answer completely or coming up with a smartass comment on it being none of the conductor's business. But unfortunately, the meek shall not inherit the Earth and most of us end up feebly stating the final destination of our journey that day. This is what happens with a simpleton - a no-nonsense simple bloke not wanting to rev up a quarrel.

Cut to a seasoned veteran - he knows the beast approaches, with his claws open, ready to sell you a ticket of a higher denomination than is actually required. But this bloke now, unlike a deer, is a sly fox, and he readies himself for the onslaught. Offence is the best defence. So here's what you do. Make a snotty face. You read it right the first time, make a snotty face even if the wind is in your face, you have a comfortable seat, the person sitting next to you is a hot dark-haired chick giving you the vibes. Tell yourself, you are unhappy because of the conductor. Tell your conscience that it is because of him that you are traveling in a bus rather than an AC car. Make yourself believe that the bloke in the khakhi dress with a bumbag around his waist is probably the worst thing that happened to Indian democracy. Once you're full of disgust and hatred, blow up your nostrils outward, squint the eyes closer together, making a three-lined bulge on your forehead. As soon as the bumbag is near your face, take the three bucks in your hand and shove them right in front of his face. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT make eye contact! The beast is nothing short of a minuscule Medusa, some of them can read the trick and call your bluff.

Usually the beast would not have the audacity to question your travel plan after such a brilliant show of "piss off you pain in the bum". However, if he happens to do so, now is your time to shine, and woo that beautiful dame hopefully sitting right next to you. Do not make the mistake of naming any bus stop - that would save your skin, but not get you your two minutes of glory. Instead, explore either of two options - the rowdy one where you simply state "tere ghar jaa raha hun" (am going to your place), which might backfire in case the conductor is stronger, or the sophisticated one where you cross-question him asking for his license number and demanding explanations as to why people are traveling on the floorboard despite it being against the law, cursing him for not stopping the bus at the designated places, and to finally get the crowd's attention and support, play on either "the women are also being harassed on your bus" or "this is a public service yet you ply as if it is something that was part of your family fortune". Delhiites love being part of a "collective fight", probably making up for the absence of a phrase like "the spirit of Mumbai". All you need to do henceforth is sit up straight, smile and soak in all the glory. You are the hero of the hour, and this battle belongs to you. But beware the war is still on, and embrace yourself for the ride back home in the evening. *Imagine the theme music from a horror show*