“When will the bus start?” I asked the bus conductor, for they are notorious for not following the bus time table.
“Five minutes. Where are you going to?” With a plastic smile, he replied.
“Anand Vihar. Five minutes, are you sure?” Without a smile, I asked.
“Yes. Just come and sit.”
I jumped up in this air conditioned bus. I chose it because I knew it would take at least couple of hours to from Gurgaon to Anand Vihar, and I didn’t want to get boiled up in the traffic. The bus conductor forced air in his blue whistle. The bus driver looked in the mirror. Our eyes met in the mirror. The bus moved a little, toward the exit point in the bus station.
In next ten minutes, three type of people visited the bus: a coconut meat seller, a bald guy selling ayurvedic medicine for joint pain, and a third gender forcing the passenger to give the money. I somehow handled them; it wasn’t pretty to say the least. Then, I got anxious. I asked, “When are you going to start the bus?”
“Couple of minutes.”
“You have been here for more than ten minutes.”
“Some more passengers and then we’ll go.”
“What if you don’t get them by evening?”
Just then couple of families speaking Bhojpuri stepped in the bus. They had small bags. Rest of their stuff was in a big plastic. The conductor kept whistling and yelling for passengers. During these fifteen minutes, the bus moved 50 meters. Still some 200 meters from the exit of the bus station. With new passengers in, I thought the bus would start now. Before I would ask again, the conductor had reached to my seat and asked for ticket money.
“I don’t think you guys are going to Anand Vihar before 8 pm.” He took the money and remained silent, with the whistle stuck between his blackened lips. Before going deeper in the bus, he gave me the ticket. I realized satire wasn’t the language he understands. Or they understand but he would do whatever he would like to do. Either it is diesel economic of the bus or number of the passengers, whenever it would be profitable, he would whistle long and loud.
He whistled weak. The bus moved a little, as I stared in the eyes of the driver through his mirror, sitting from my seat. Some college students swarmed in the bus. The conductor rushed through the aisle to reach them.
“Tickets?”
“We have the bus pass.” One of them said.
“It’s a private bus. No pass.”
“Then, why are you driving the bus on this route?” Everyone laughed.
“Take tickets.”
“Let’s go guys. The government bus must be coming.”
All of them stepped down. I couldn’t even do that. I had already paid the money to this conductor. So, I said, “Hey man. At least move this bus from this spot?”
The bus driver heard me. He moved the bus some ten feet further.
“Anand Vihar! Anand Vihar!” The bus conductor yelled, with his head craned out. He whistled again. The bus moved another ten feet. I got up from the seat, walked to the bus driver and conductor. Something about being stuck here or weak whistle or something else got on my nerves.
“When would you move this?”
“Wait for some time. We’ll go from here.” Unaffected, the driver said to me.
“How long? If I stuck here, I will miss the last government bus for Bareilly from Anand Vihar.”
“So many buses go to Bareilly from there.”
“I don’t want to stuck in the traffic till tomorrow morning.”
“Go and sit. Five minutes, we’ll leave from here.”
I couldn’t control anymore.
“Your last five minutes lasted for half and hours. Do you know?”
I pulled the bus conductor toward me.
“What?”
Everyone in the bus looked in front, at us, with the expression as if what’s wrong with me or what’s so strange being stuck in the bus.
“If you don’t want to go, get out of the bus.” The bus driver yelled at me.
“Why should I? I have paid for the bus ticket.” I screamed.
“So have all others. If you were in such a hurry, you should have booked a helicopter.” The bus conductor joined the bus driver.
Before, I could reply, he walked away from me and yelled, “Anand Vihar! Anand Vihar!”
“Don’t come to this bus. I have been stuck here for half an hour and god knows how long I would be here. Get an auto or a rickshaw, you may reach before us.” I craned my head and yelled over his voice.
“Anand Vihar!” He yelled. Then added, in lower tone, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Whatever is wrong with you people?”
“Anand Vihar!” He yelled and whistled weak. The bus moved a little, just to show the possible passengers that the bus was indeed moving.
I returned to my seat.
“This is how you treat your passengers, you take their money and then keep them stuck here. What if someone had to go to some urgent meeting or place?” I spoke from my seat. I looked around. A elderly couple nodded. Other were busy. Some were looking outside and others had their headphones on. The families were busy chatting with each other. If I had been with someone, I wouldn’t have been this irritated, I wondered.
Another five minutes passed.
“What now?” I said to the bus conductor, when he walked past my seat.
“Don’t mess my brain.”
“What about my brain?”
“Here is your money. Leave!”
“Why? I will not go. I am already half an hour late.”
“Then sit silently.”
“I will sit ‘silently’ but I’ll complain against you and your driver Mr. Rajnesh Singh.” I read from his name plate.
He whistled long. We exchanged the glances. The bus’s doors shut with a noise, completely enclosing us in a capsule like interior.
We’re out of the bus station in five seconds.
