No matter how much a normal girl from a middle class family dreams of riding a royal carriage driven by two white horses, which in the 21st century has been replaced by Lamborgini Reventon or Bugatti Veyron; the heartbreaking fact is that she always takes her ride by train, bus and auto rickshaw.
The crowded public transport is everyone's nightmare. But the same, many-a-times becomes source of sheer entertainment.
It was an early Saturday morning. I was going to college by bus. Since Saturday is a holiday for many educational institutions and offices, the bus was quite empty and I, very happily got a seat by the window. Even though there was very little traffic on the road, the bus driver was driving slowly in the hope of picking up more passengers. The already boarded passengers were swearing at him by several names. This, being a very common scenario on the Indian roads, I kept my ears and eyes closed to everything and went on enjoying the cool and fresh morning breeze.
Suddenly as the bus almost reached my destination, I was startled by the shouts of a man riding a bike. At that very moment, I heard the conductor of the bus shouting. Both of them had started yelling at the same time. In order to understand what had happened, I peeped out of the window. Since I was sitting at the back of the bus, all I saw, was the back of the man. He was riding his bike quite fast to keep up with the bus. Both of them were looking upwards at someone, who was sitting in one of the front seats beside the driver.
The bus kept on moving. Being indifferent to the usual shouts of the conductors and other drivers on roads, the bus driver kept on driving and didn't stop until its next stoppage. As soon as the bus came to a halt, I saw the man who was chasing with the bike, got on the bus. The conductor was behind the man. I could still see only his back as he was facing someone in the front. All I could hear was that both of them were shouting at someone sitting in one of the front seats.
The next stop was my college. So, I got up from the seat and walked towards the door. I still couldn't see the person's face. Suddenly as the man turned around and asked the conductor, "Who did this?", I didn't need any more word to understand what had happened.
The man riding on the bike was a tall bristly bearded man. His whole bristle-like beard was covered with pearls of beetle juice. Every hair strands of his beard bore a pearl of beetle leaf juice. I looked up at the conductor. Even his face was same. He was grinding his red teeth out of anger. A passenger gave him a handkerchief. He instead of wiping his face spat on the handkerchief and rubbed his teeth.
Two women, who were sitting in the front seats looked embarrassed and were gazing at each other. I could say very easily that both had spat the beetle juice out of the window of the moving bus and their spittle fell on the faces of the two men. The spittle had gladly made its way to the mouth of the conductor whose mouth was probably open while he was enjoying the fresh morning air, standing on the lowest step of the bus. Little did they know that the fresh morning air was going to paint them red.
There are moments when one shouldn't smile or laugh, but one does that in those very moments. It happened with me too. The sight of those two men evoked laughter in me even though it was disgusting. But I somehow managed to control myself by biting my lower lip. I turned my head to another direction and found that many passengers were smiling and grinning at the sight.
The men were yelling at the women's insensitive deed. The women looked like two mannequins -- completely frozen. A fellow passenger came trying to settle down the matter. Some of them gave the two men water to wash their faces and to calm them down. Few of them criticized the women who did that. After a few minutes, the man went away still swearing at the women and so did the conductor though he had to stay in the bus. As the bus started its journey, one of the passengers in the bus broke into laughter which was followed by a series of laughter; the vision of the two men covered in beetle juice must have surfaced in front of their eyes.
The man riding on the bike was a tall bristly bearded man. His whole bristle-like beard was covered with pearls of beetle juice. Every hair strands of his beard bore a pearl of beetle leaf juice. I looked up at the conductor. Even his face was same. He was grinding his red teeth out of anger. A passenger gave him a handkerchief. He instead of wiping his face spat on the handkerchief and rubbed his teeth.
Two women, who were sitting in the front seats looked embarrassed and were gazing at each other. I could say very easily that both had spat the beetle juice out of the window of the moving bus and their spittle fell on the faces of the two men. The spittle had gladly made its way to the mouth of the conductor whose mouth was probably open while he was enjoying the fresh morning air, standing on the lowest step of the bus. Little did they know that the fresh morning air was going to paint them red.
There are moments when one shouldn't smile or laugh, but one does that in those very moments. It happened with me too. The sight of those two men evoked laughter in me even though it was disgusting. But I somehow managed to control myself by biting my lower lip. I turned my head to another direction and found that many passengers were smiling and grinning at the sight.
The men were yelling at the women's insensitive deed. The women looked like two mannequins -- completely frozen. A fellow passenger came trying to settle down the matter. Some of them gave the two men water to wash their faces and to calm them down. Few of them criticized the women who did that. After a few minutes, the man went away still swearing at the women and so did the conductor though he had to stay in the bus. As the bus started its journey, one of the passengers in the bus broke into laughter which was followed by a series of laughter; the vision of the two men covered in beetle juice must have surfaced in front of their eyes.
