Buses

OK, so I'm back at the ashram. What can I say? I'm a yoga junkie (or a spiritual junkie, as someone said when I pointed out that I'm just as happy (or happier) in a Buddhist retreat). I'll only be staying here for a few more days, and this coming Tuesday - I'll be bravely taking the 3-day train for Delhi again. For those of you who do not remember my impressions from the last 3-day train trip - the bottom line was: DON'T DO IT. However, the alternative is either unbelievably expensive (airplane) or physically so much worse (bus).

Now, the thing I really want to tell you about is the buses – or rather - the people who work on them.

I just have to mention, before I go on, that once again, I am sitting here in a small hut that serves as home to a social-worker, and is now being used by the local children for a singing class. So that, just on the other side of the cardboard partition, they are all sitting on the floor and singing at the top of their lungs (probably partly for my benefit). I just want you to have the right idea about the settings. Occasionally, one of the kids gets smacked for misbehaving, and you can hear the thwack from quite a distance. The Indians evidently aren't shy about discipline.

Now, about those conductors & assorted bus-workers. I have spent the last ten days or so riding the local buses. So I've had time to get a better idea of how they work.

To begin with, you don't pay at the ticket counter before you get on the bus, or at the door when you get on, either. They trust you. You get on, you find a seat (if you're lucky), and eventually, the bus driver finishes burning his incense (for a safe trip), revs up the motor (so they hear it across town), and you trundle off for your destination. May I remind you at this point that the roads in India were probably last maintained just before the British left here in 1948. I would also like to point out that space limitations mean nothing to the people here. Any vehicle will hold twice the people it was meant to, while the late-comers don't mind hanging on to the outside bars on the sides and back, or sitting on the roof (why would they mind - that way, their heads don't bang against the ceiling when the car hits one of the many holes in the road...)

Now, about the bus personnel. There is the driver, of course. And there is the conductor, who pushes through the throng, collecting money after the bus is under way.

And there are the door-keepers. These are the most interesting of all. They don't drive, they don't take money. They just hold onto the door. Quiet job, you think? Let me tell you, it is an action-hero's job. The simple part is ringing the little bell attached to the ceiling next to the driver's head - once for him to stop (because some local yokel waved, and maybe he wants to get on the bus); and twice to get going again (because how is the driver going to see if everybody got on and off properly, with all those arms and legs and heads in the way). So if you want to get off the bus, you just catch the eye of the door-keeper, and he will take care of you.

Then, the bus goes passing another vehicle on the road. Now this in itself is enough to get your blood racing, considering the narrowness of the road, the existential uncertainty of where, exactly, it is (because there's nothing there but rocks and holes), the steep slopes(remember we were on our way to a hill station - "hill" meaning mountain), and the total indifference of the truck you are trying to overtake. So this is where the door keeper functions, ringing his little bell furiously, just to tell the driver that he's looking out the side, and, yes, you can keep going, you haven't scraped the side of the other car yet. The same thing happens when your bus has to reverse. You can't expect the driver to see anything behind him - he can hardly see in front. So again, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding to signify - nothing back there to be run over. Yet.

And then, you want to see what happens when two busses meet each other in the city. One coming from the left, the other from the right, both aiming for the same street. Needless to say, right-of-way and such niceties as road-etiquette are unheard of. Whoever manages to push his way in first, gets to go first. And there is your door-keeper, and this time, he is pounding his hand against the OTHER bus-side, while his other hand is ding-ding-dinging the little bell. (Which, by the way, is nothing more that a piece of metal attached to a string that is threaded through a series of loops on the ceiling.)

Don't tell me this is not an active job!!

The only thing left to tell you about is what happens when the bus gets full. Well, after people have packed themselves in the standing portion of the bus (no more crowded that your average sardine tin), and sitting three or four in seats that were meant for two, they start spilling out the sides. Do not mistake this to be a sign for the driver to stop picking people up.

No, this is where the interesting part begins. First, the door-keeper will stand on the door-step, holding the door under his arm-pit (by this time, you see, it is physically impossible to close the door, because of all the bodies inside). At every stop, he gets off, herding the passengers that are getting on or off, and then banging the bus wall twice (if he has no bell) to let the driver know it's time to move. And hopping onto the door-step as the bus starts moving. Eventually, his position is taken by other passengers, and he ends up with no more than his toes on the door-step, his body completely out of the bus, and hanging on to the (open) door for dear life. I wonder what the mortality rate for this job is...

OK, enough hair-raising tales. 

Keep the faith