I am on a bus journey from
Bangalore to Madras (will never call it Chennai). Before I left, Sakthi asked
me, no suggested, no kind of bullied me into choosing movies that I could watch
on my tablet during the ride. I tried telling him that I would rather sleep but
he wouldn’t hear of it. So, I had the pick of movies from English, Tamil and
Hindi. Wicked me would have preferred something in Malayalam though.
Nevertheless, 5-6 movies on the tablet, laptop, phone, chargers for all plus a
battery pack went into my backpack. Sakthi dropped me off at the bus station
and guess what I did as the bus moved? Slept!
I woke up when the bus stopped
for passengers to have lunch. I had mine packed. So, I could just sit back in
the bus and stare out. And, I reminisced about all the bus rides I have been
on. Well, at least the ones I can remember now.
My earliest memory of a bus ride
is one I may have taken when I was 3-4. Appa took me from Madras to Tiruchi, to
my maternal grandmother’s home. Sparse details include holding Appa’s hand and
climbing on to the bus, little square-ish pink candies he thrust in my hand
(was he bribing me to have a peaceful journey?), the play of light and shadow
streaming in and out through the bus windows, waking up in between to see a
string of lights and some amorphous reflections on a large water body which I
took to be the Kaaveri and finally, running to meet Baba (my grandmother) who
held my hand firmly yet with a lot of tenderness and walking with her.
The next ride I remember happened
in my 5th grade. The school had organized a picnic to Mahabalipuram,
a rite of passage for almost every kid who studies in Madras. Back then, there
was no East Coast Road that now helps you zip past but not notice the distant
blues of the Bay of Bengal, the white frothy waves that lash ceaselessly,
coconut and palm fronds rustling, occasional wafts of fresh catch of fish
brought in by the fisherfolk, barren sand dunes and an occasional glimpse of
the backwaters. I don’t remember much of the ride or what I saw in
Mahabalipuram, I have been there so many times it is tough to recollect
specifics. I remember sitting down on the bus next to Savitha, one year my
junior, only because she had something in her snack box, something she called a
cake. She let me have a little bite, it tasted sugary and which kid wouldn’t
want more of it? So, this ride is special coz I had my first taste of a cake!
Ever!
The next was one that happened in
my 7th grade. Again, a school trip, this time to Mamandur Lake,
Thirukazhukkundram etc. We had to leave early morning so all kids had to spend
the night before at school. The school I have hated all my life (more on that
some other time) became my abode for that night. We, countless number of kids,
crammed into one classroom on the ground floor. Under the glow of one orange
light, I remember a girl who pulled out a few bottles, dabbed little balls
cotton and wiped her face. I was mesmerised by the process which seemed to take
about 10 minutes. I asked her and she told me, this is a cleanser, this is a
moisturiser, this is blah, that is blue etc. To this day, I know nothing about
cosmetics but I learnt some terms for the first time that day.
Many rides happened since then.
Some were with family, including perhaps one from Kanyakumari to Madurai in my
9th grade and several with friends to Tonakela campsite every New
Year with the Cauvery Guides Group. But by far, the most memorable one was one
with Satish Chetty, my partner in crime for several adventures. 1996. It was
the weekend coinciding with Republic Day, January 26. We decided to go to
Pondicherry to see a friend’s sister who was studying there. I had met him just
once before but we decided to go together anyways. I got on to a bus loaded
with passengers and Satish was in it too - tall, lanky, all bones guy, earplugs
snaking down to his jacket (like you ever need one in Madras), and holding on
to a pole on the bus. I gave him a disdainful look, muttered to myself, “spoilt
brat, bloody Peter-nu nenaippu (Peter – somebody who wears garish out of place
clothes but thinks/acts like he is classy).” I held on to another pole on the
bus and kept reading a book and surely Satish must have had similar derisive
thoughts about me. Nary a word passed between us, we reached Pondicherry, went
to the girl’s hostel, went out for dinner, ate like crazy, did mindless
shopping and came back. More of the same followed the next day, a Sunday. By
now, we had warmed up to each other.
Around 4 in the evening, we bid
goodbyes and reached the bus stand. Reached out to our wallets and realised we
had 50+ rupees with us. In 1.5 days, we had spent more than 3000 rupees and now
we were down to just that. After binging on star rated food, we had to settle
for a couple of bananas each. Next, we reserved our bus tickets for a rupee
each. Satish decided to keep the 50 bucks needed for the ticket money in his
wallet so I wouldn’t be stupid and lose it. Two hours later, the bus arrived
and we stood in queue to get on.
The bus conductor asked us for
our reservation slips. We gave it. But... the ticket money was gone. We had
lost it! The conductor was getting impatient. I frantically waved my credit
card, saying I could pay (ha ha ha!). Satish flashed his walkman and his
gadgetry to prove we were not crooks up to getting a free ride. People behind
us started taunting us. We were desperate. What do we do? There was no way to
reach home. We both had to get back to work. Back then, there were no
cellphones, I didn’t even have a landline at home. It was embarrassing and
frightening at the same time. We pleaded but nothing worked. The bus was about
to leave. The conductor just waved us inside and said we could work out
something but what? We settled down in the bus not knowing what would unfold
next. Then suddenly, a young man threw a couple of tickets through the window
and told us to use it. He had asked us for our tickets half an hour earlier so
he could take his mother home! Even before we could say anything, the bus moved
and we were on our way home. To this day, neither of us can even recollect what
the man looked like. We reached Madras very late, borrowed money from our
neighbour to pay the auto that took us home. What an unforgettable experience.
There have been rides before and
some more after. One where a male co-passenger (a classmate really) tried
feeling me up, one between Ahmedabad and Baroda or the one on a Government bus
from Ajmer to Pushkar (never again!) the latter two both with Sakthi, one to
Jim Corbett where my Nokia colleagues and I sang Antakshari aloud and some became
very good friends. And, the one bus ride I missed – my child’s first ever with
his father.
None of these were made with
technology leashing me. No phone with whatsapp to update where I was at a given
point of time. No net connection to browse Facebook or news sites. Now, I am
giving a Salman Khan movie being shown on the bus a big miss and I don’t regret
that. But, I am typing this on my laptop while missing trucks passing by,
vehicles lining up on toll roads, white and red mile markers along, villages on
the way with ruminating cattle and scattering chicken, tractors, green fields,
various trees that I never learnt to identify despite 3 years of studies in
Botany, trees painted with alternating bands of black and white (why is that?),
hopeful villagers on the side of the roads selling oranges and tender coconuts,
rocks precariously holding on to each other for support, the blue and gray sky
with little puffy clouds, occasional lashing of rain on my window. I am missing
all this.
Well, no more. I am going to shut
down my laptop and leave it in my backpack with the tablet full of movies that
Sakthi so thoughtfully downloaded for me. Am going to look out the window and
see if I can identify any birds that I can show Surya the next time, if the
blue sky will cheer up and blush a bit, if some kid on the roadside will wave
at me, watch out for funny stuff painted behind the trucks and if a dog chases
for a distance. Movies can wait, memories are more important.
