by Parminder Singh
The hullabaloo around the Car-free Day was being generously supported on national news channels and social platforms alike. It had the gusto of a festival, quite similar to that on the launch day of the cleanliness drive, Swachhta Abhiyan Divas. The childlike enthusiast inside me joined the clarion call for a clean environment that was suddenly part of the collective consciousness. Brimming with enthusiasm, I decided to do my bit on Car-Free Day and cycle to work, something that wouldn’t have occurred to me had it not been for the repeatedly flashing news stories about Car-Free Day on various news channels. After all, I had been driving to my workplace for several years now. However, the tyre of my enthusiasm went flat as soon as eyes fell on my Hero Razorback, the bicycle I’d bought two years ago with much zeal to push back my beer belly. The fancy bike, obviously barely used, was filled with filth of the gusts of dust storms.
I pondered for a moment on getting the bicycle revamped but all my zest fizzled out at the thought of dragging it to the roadside bicycle mechanic a couple of kilometres away. My wife sniggered when I returned from the storeroom empty handed, with cobwebs entangled on my beard and my clothes. I regretted having boasted in front of her about my ideas of riding the bicycle to work. It was too late for me to take a cab now; she would kill me with her taunts. I decided I had to take the bus to work instead. How hard could it be? Thousands did it everyday, after all!
I had a quick shower and gulped down my sandwiches with a large glass of fresh juice. I had to walk to the bus stop, less than a kilometre away from my home. While leaving home, my Toyota Etios seemed to be ogling at me the way my wife would look at me whenever I went out with my friends although I’d planned to take her out. The car seemed to be asking me, “Are you sure you want to face the consequences of this decision?”
With little clue of what was about to follow, I walked to the bus stop, office bag in clasp. The humidity was intolerable and a boy begging for alms with some deity’s image of iron soaked in mustard oil kept irritating me. I noticed that fruit sellers had started hawking to the people walking to and fro on the other side of the road. A cobbler sitting on the pavement just beside the bus stop was worshipping a greased, half-torn poster of Saint Kabir with an incense stick. The bus appeared after a wait of fifteen minutes. I got a seat easily as there were not many on board. The bus conductor walked about the bus, punching and issuing tickets. I did not have change so I extended a thousand rupee note. The conductor kept muttering as to why people could not give change.
I was sweaty and the breeze coming in from the opened window was soothing. The bus stopped at several points along the way, each stop bringing in great waves of people. Soon, the space that I had thought was mine began diminishing and my body was being pressed against by people of all kinds. At one point, my foot faced an attack by the feet of an overweight woman. Despite my “Ouch!”, she did not show any signs of apology and kept mumbling something. When my toes crumbled under another attack from the lady’s sandals, I got up and offered her my seat. As she leapt on to the seat, I realised I had chosen for myself a more difficult situation. As the bus crossed St. Peters Church, it was so crowded that I could not stretch any limb. I was sandwiched between the people around me. A schoolboy had his face stuck to my perspiring armpit. I was embarrassed but to my surprise, he stood unmoved. Either his nostrils were blocked or he had become accustomed to this kind of journey.
A middle-aged man was pressed against my side so closely that I was sure I would be left with either a broken laptop screen or a cracked rib. A young woman was pushed back until she leaned on me, much to her annoyance. Even so, she gave me a dubious look when her rear touched my crotch. Thankfully, before it could have taken a dirty turn, the bus halted at the Industrial Area and most people got off the bus.
My stop was still about three kilometres away. I started preparing myself for alighting. I tucked in my shirt, which did not look like it was ironed less than an hour ago. My hand touched the rear pocket of my trousers and lo… my wallet was missing. I raised an alarm and shrieked to the conductor, “My wallet! Did someone see my wallet?” The conductor smirked, “Sahib, if you flaunt your purse impregnated with big notes in buses, what do you expect? People who regularly ply on buses are too smart. The police station is at walking distance from the next stop.” Thankfully, my credit card holder was in the laptop satchel but still the loss was almost ten thousand rupees, my driving licence and a couple of identity cards. I regretted the moment I had decided to board a bus to work.
The bus was almost empty by the time it reached the next stop. As I proceeded to get off the bus, I found my wallet lying in the corner. The money was, of course, missing. But the thief was generous enough to spare me the headache of getting duplicates of my driving licence and other identity cards. The conductor admired the honesty of the thief for returning the moneyless wallet; I got off the bus cursing all the news channels that showed the inconsequential utility of the car-free day and for my optimistic thinking that I could be car-free for a day.
This is what “mango” people go through everyday ..we sit in our 4 wheelers and once the car door is shut we shut our eyes to reality as well the trials and tribulations of the masses ..stories like these give us an insight into the great ordeal a common man go through each day till he buys himself a two wheeler or better still a 4 wheeler and life just goes on !!
Thanks ji!
Great