Bangalore 22nd April 2009
It’s been 2 weeks now that I am in this god forsaken city. And by stroke of good luck, my company has chosen to cut costs by not providing transport facility to its employees. This means, every day brings with it an all new lesson, an all new experience for me while travelling through those city buses plying on the streets of the silicon valley of India.
It was 7 PM, Rush Hour, when I boarded this bus with a dozen other people in front of my office. Two weeks of travelling by city buses has made me oblivious to who I am standing with and who is my co-passenger. This day was a little different because for the first time I found some space to sit in the bus. I hate crowds. So I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep in my place.
Suddenly a tiny dark-skinned hand rested on my knee. I opened my eyes to find a little boy of 4-5 years staring at me with a sweet smile. His other hand was tightly held by his father, a tall lanky man in his late 20s.
Kids have a different language of their own. Somehow they come to know who is a nice guy and who is dangerous. And while travelling on those buses looking at a thousand faces every day, I believe that he might have developed a strong sense of judging people by their face. He knew I was harmless as long as my eyes were closed. The minute I opened them, he might have gotten a different story. He immediately hid himself behind his dad to not come close to me for the rest of the journey.
Minutes passed and our stop came. It’s crazy out here in Bangalore. If you can get down in time, it’s good. If you can’t, well, pray to god. If you are all alone, it will be slightly easy for you to thread your way out of a bus. If you have a kid to hold with one hand, it is 20 times as tough. Chances are, you might skip a step and slip on the road on your face. And while falling, a father can never let anything happen to his kid. With all his mind and might, he protects his kid, even if it means a broken nose for himself. And brave kids don’t cry. They help the aliens in supporting their father to stand up and take him to the hospital for a plaster. It’s a different matter that the rest of the world moves on. The bus door gets closed automatically, and the driver starts the vehicle. From the closed door you can listen to the howl of the conductor for ‘tickets!’ the crowd keeps hunting for some bus while the traffic maintains its flow.
Had it been America’s Silicon Valley, lawsuits would have been filed, cases would have been fought, and the owners of the bus might have had to pay a compensation for making 10 times the allowed capacity to board the bus. In India it’s different. Life is in cheap supply here. You shrug and move on.
Tomorrow, news channels will flash some god forsaken leader making a thousand promises of a strong government and undaunted leader as Bangalore goes to vote, oblivious to the strength that flows through the streets of this country in their thousands every day. Meet the 4 year old boy in Bangalore bus, Mr Politician. You will see raw courage. And it cares a rat’s ass for you and your promises. For him, life is still the game of survival. And he is living it all right.
