Anand Prakash

DISCLAIMER: ABUSES AND STRONG LANGUAGE ALERT!

I was in the bus, waiting for it to start, with irritating thoughts running through my head. How long it would take for the bus to start? I wanted to talk to the bus conductor. That’s when it hit me. A sudden clap! This clap was so distinct that it was trademark of them in this country. The folded notes of Rs. 10 or 20 were stuck in between her fingers.

“Money.”Her, as she announced herself not that she was a female, hand landed on my shoulder. As I told you, the experience with them didn’t go well.

Her short hair, like a boy or a bob cut hair girl, were heavily oiled and neatly combed backward. Her forehead was broad and her eyelashes were neatly trimmed. The white of her big eyes were pomegranate red and the color of her pupils was dark brown, just like her complexion. Her nose was pointed at its tip. Three black hairs lurked out her nostrils. She was clean shaven and her chin had a depression. Overall, her face was like an apple but with a hard coat, as her skin had hardened a bit. She tried her best to look like a girl. I could see the uneven powdery whiteness on her face, as if she hadn’t properly applied some whitening cream. It would be no brainer to guess which cream it was from its smell: it was the best selling fairness cream in India. Her perfume hit my nose and I sneezed hard. It reminded me of one of the first perfume I had ever bought. I had been told that it’s so powerful that if you put it once, you don’t need to put it again for another three days. Because of my sneeze, her hand was off my shoulder. When I raised my head, she stood tall here in her red sari and deep cut blue blouse. There was nothing in her neck, like a necklace or a locket. I searched for it as I had grown seeing something in the neck of women. I felt like something was missing but then she wasn’t really a women. Though her hands had green and red bangles, but her hands were heavier than a women’s.

Her mouth again opened up with the demand, “Money?” No please or anything simply money. Her teeth were stained rusted red. In between the words, she covered her mouth to avoid leaking the paan juice, with fingers, where the blue nail paint was coming off, suggesting that she had painted them long ago. I thought about giving some money to her but next moment, her demand turned rude, “Give me the money.”

I looked away. She slapped the shoulder, that got me jumped in my seat. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Money, honey?”

“Which money? Remember giving me?”

“Honey… just 10 rupees.” She grabbed my cheeks with her fingers which she brought back to her lips, in a figurative kiss.

“Get away from me.”

“So, you will not give the money?” She clapped in their trademark fashion.

“Why should I?”

“You want me to show you.” She put her fingers in between her blue blouse. I turned to other people in the bus. A middle class couple, sitting right behind me, looked at her and then started whispering each other. On my opposite side, two teenagers passed a smile. The elderly gentlemen sat contemplating behind teenagers.

“Why do you want to humiliate yourself for just10 rupees?”

“I don’t care.” 

“So, you really want to see.”

I remained silent. The bus conductor had gone out, trying to bring more customers and the bus driver was watching all the proceeding from his rear view mirror.

“Look, what the God had given us.” She pulled my shoulder and dragged me to her bosom. The sprinkles of paan juice splashed in my eyes.

“What the fuck? Get away from me.”

“Haa…Haa. I bet you like it.”

I got up from my seat and she pushed me down.

“Madarchod, now you will give me everything? Just wait.” She started taking off her blue blouse. I stared at her.

“Hey driver, are you going to sit and enjoy it from there?”

“Hey get out.” The bus driver said from his seat.

“Bhadwe, don’t you dare to say anything or else I’ll strip in front of you.”

The teenagers started giggling. I didn’t notice the change in the expression of the elderly gentlemen. The discussion of the middle class couple continued.

“Do you want your mother and sister to strip in front of crowd like me?” She had taken off her blouse. The whites of her eyes got redder. The corners of her lips were stained red. Her nostrils inflated in anger.

“Who said you are my mother or sister?”

“Hey give him 10 rupees,” the male from the couple said to me.

“If you are so willing, give her the money.”

“Come here” he said.

“Just wait. First, I want money from this Madarchod. ” She was naked from the top. Her chest shaven, so like men. I couldn’t control my laugh.

“Sale Hijre, is that what you want to show me?”

Just when she started to strip her skirt, three of her people stormed in clapping, and yelling, “What happened sister?”

“He said ‘Sale Hijre’ to me.”

“He said Madarchod to me first.”

Two of them pulled me down from the seat.

The passengers didn’t move from their seats.

“Let’s go from here.” They said.

“Take out his wallet.” One of them advised. I had put it in my bag long time ago.

They brought me in the aisle and started slapping me. I threw my hand in every direction until I got hold of my water bottle, which had been stuck outside of my bag. I kicked them in my self defense when I was on the ground. When they tried to snatch my bag from me, I heard a roar.

“Stop it.”

They dispersed away from me.

A pot-bellied constable stood in the bus gate with his bamboo cane. He had handlebar moustache. Behind him stood the bus conductor, who must have brought him here.

“What happened?” the constable asked. I got up from the ground. They told their version of story. I remained silent. I was so out of mind that it all sounded gibberish to me.

“Why?” the constable looked at me.

“She asked me the money and abused me when I didn’t give.”

“Come out, all of you.”

“But I have taken a bus ticket.” I resisted.

“Come out for a minute.”

I followed them out. He stood there for a moment, adjusting his dirty cap. They surrounded me.

“What’s wrong with you? You seem from a nice family. Why didn’t you give her money? Look for 10 rupees what mess you have created.”

“What are you talking about? You are taking their side.”

“There is no side, son. You want to settle it here or you walk with me to police cabin there.”

“Settle? What? I don’t want to settle. Take me anywhere.” I yelled loudly, as I saw people gathering around us. I hoped someone from the crowd would help me.

“All of you disperse!” He brandished his bamboo cane.

“Take out your wallet.”

“No. Why should I?”

“Okay. Listen and understand it clearly. Why you want to miss your bus for 50 rupees?”

The bus conductor whistled and yelled for passengers.

“Come on bro, if you want to go. I can’t keep the bus waiting for you.”

                                                                                           ***

Sitting in the bus, the male from the middle couple put a hand on my shoulder, almost in shock, I turned around, “What?”

“If you had given 10 rupees…”

My fist almost reached to his face but then I stared at him, “It’s my fucking money, I will do whatever. My your fucking business!”

Never in my life, I felt like hitting someone.

“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.

“I understand what you are trying to say. Whatever you could have done, you must have done by now.”

“No, Ma. Now, he will do whatever he feels like doing. If you think you can control him, I don’t think that will happen.”

“Yes, it’s possible that he may fall in bad habit. You can’t do anything about it but if he hasn’t by now, he’ll probably be okay.”

“Whatever kind of work he wants to? Work is work. Let him do anything.

“So he says that he will earn his own money. By doing what?”

“Why should we care? Oh, that’s what he said.”

“Now, you can’t do anything.”

“No don’t get angry at him. He may as well insult you and tell me what you will do then.”

“Ma, he has changed. He has grown into this person, you think you know but you actually don’t know. I guess he thinks that whatever his parents and close relatives are telling him is not for his benefits. He must have this opinion that we all have ulterior motives. Yes! Ulterior motives to see him do something in his life.”

“Pain is inevitable: either he takes now or later in life. He has to go through. There is no other way. “

“Ma, my stop is coming. I can’t do anything. He is not picking up my phone.”

“Wait for a ten days. I need to talk to him in person.”

“I will try, Ma. But as I told you calling will not help. Hang on, Ma, I will call you in a minute.”

The guy behind me the bus, tells her mother to wait. His words choice and his restrained delivery make me believe he is very mature guy.

I’m not like him.

“First, you guys loved him and gave him whatever he had asked. Whenever he got angry, you soothed him. Now, you can’t stand his caustic remarks. Tell me what can I do, Ma.”

            I sat there in a dosa shop, waiting for my Onion dosa to arrive. It had always been a long wait in morning, if you want to eat anything specialized. The service for Idli, Vada, and some rice dishes were available within minutes of your order. After continuous and unabashed eating of Idli and Vada for six months, I was almost done with them. It’s not that I won’t eat them but given chance, like on weekends, I would rather eat something else. So, I waited.

            A guy of short stature came in front of the shop. A mongrel dog barked at him, like dogs bark at a homeless person. He didn’t even look at the dog. His steps didn’t show any urgency despite the dog’s barking. With his measured steps, he stepped into the shop. The dog stood there. He wore a crumpled dark sand colored pant, as if it had been squeezed tightly after washing and never ironed after that.There was something in his left pant pocket, which had ballooned up. The color of his shirt was dull white, not the Tide white. He wore something inside below his shirt, for he didn’t look this healthy from is slender legs. The inner wear could be because of sudden cold breeze that was blowing. His face was totally wrapped, only his eyes were visible, in a saffron colored cloth, like the daily wage laborer who worked in a local construction. His eyes probed the dosa place. For a moment, he looked as if he would be going to someone and would ask him to pay for his food.

            I lowered my gaze. Next moment, when I raised my head to face him he had been filling his tiny water bottle of a non-descript soda company. He filled it up and left it there. The water container was next to the tea stall. The tea stall guy didn’t say anything to him, when he left it there, which meant that they do know him like a regular. He took off the cloth from his face to show his white, moped hairs  along with boney features of his face. He stood in the line for the orders. When his turn came, he ordered something, collected the change and stood there waiting for his order. He looked around. He was astonishingly calm. Not a single expression changed in his face. Whatever anyone buy? Whatever anyone say to him? However anyone look at him? He just stood there with his frail body and resplendent face with shining features. Not a word he had spoken either after he had ordered.

            The one dosa wrapped in a newspaper was handed to him. He took it and asked for extra sambhar. The worker inside the dosa shop gave two polythene packets of sambhar to him. He returned to his water bottle. There once again he turned into the same person who had walked into the dosa place.

            Once he was out of the dosa place, he sat outside of the shop on to the stairs of another shop, which was closed. He took out a tiny stainless steel bowl from his pant pocket and put it on his right hand side. In this, he poured one plastic bag of sambhar. The dog who stood there in front of the shop went to him. He unwrapped the single dosa and bit into it couple of times. Once he ate half of it, he dropped the rest of it in the bowl. The dog started to lick from the bowl. He opened the another plastic bag of sambhar, stretched his neck upward, and drank it like water. Then, he waited for the dog to finish. The dog had licked the bowl empty and from the look of the dog, he remained hungry. The guy had dropped his plastic waste in the corner waste bin, washed his bowl under the municipal tap, and went away.

            Thinking that the dog must be hungry, as the dog was looking at me, I bought an Idli and threw it toward the dog. The dog came forward, sniffed it, and went away. I waited there for more than half and hour, for my Onion dosa, but the dog didn’t return.