The day I drove a BEST bus
I live around 20 minutes from the nearest train station. To be honest 20 minutes is an estimation on the higher side. If I take an high speed auto rickshaw I reach the station in 10 minutes. If I walk, it takes about 45 minutes. These figures are averages I've drawn up based on my experiences. If however, I take the infamous 206, aka the local bus, the time to reach the station would be roughly 30 minutes.
So here's my problem. I am just a bit slower than the 206. If I were Ussain Bolt, I'd probably overtake the bus. That's unnaturally slow for a bus that operates on an engine and has four wheels. I've often found myself seething as the 206 crawls through traffic and trudges through by lanes. The problem here, cannot be the BEST because, 206's counterparts like the 240 and 203 zoom ahead and assert their dominance over arrogant auto rickshaws and reckless bikers. The 206 on the other hand submits to the authority of its peers. The 206 obliges everyone. It would even halt to let a crow finish devouring a dead rat before it disturbed the crow's meal.
Most of you would say that the 206 is a benevolent bus with a giant red heart. Most of you would defend this bus because, well it sounds like a rectangle (ball) of mush. I disagree with you, because once we remove the rose tinted spectacles, and look through a realist's glasses, it is clear that buses do not have feelings! So then, does BEST hire its most magnanimous drivers to man the 206? Is that what causes this specific red bus to be the snail among its peers? The tortoise in this race against time?
Turns out Providence was willing to give me my answers in the most unexpected way.
On the 17th of February, while returning from work, I boarded the 206 from the stop at Platform 8! For those of you who don't understand the dynamics of platform numbers, let's put it simply, there was a long crawl ahead, and I'd probably take 45 minutes to reach home.
However, just as the bus was about to start after halting for a good 7 minutes outside Moksh Plaza, the bus let out a thunderous grunt and went dead. The engine had stopped. I rushed to the front and noticed that the driver had collapsed in his seat. The conductor helped me drag him out of his seat and a few passengers sprinkled water on his face. The man remained motionless. I felt his pulse and felt the slight thud against my fingers. He was alive, but unconscious. The stalled bus had brought traffic to a standstill. Vehicles couldn't maneuver around us.
We asked the conductor to take over the wheel, he looked horrified at the prospect and shook his head. Passengers began to leave the bus. Somewhere in a distance, we heard the wail of an ambulance. An ambulance was fighting it's way through traffic. The 206 was the gigantic obstacle in the path of the ambulance. I rushed to the front of the bus and jumped into the driver's seat.
I twisted the key in the ignition and the bus boomed to life. I was accustomed to driving big vehicles but the bus was a different kind of mean machine. I immediately noticed that I had to put all my force and strength to accelerate and despite putting all my 75 kilogram's worth of muscle and fat, the bus moved forward clumsily. It jerked forward and I had barely got the hang of the accelerator and clutch when a rickshaw just cut across the bus out of nowhere, I jammed the brakes and the ignition went off. The ambulance was right behind the bus now and my palms were sweaty with panic. I started the bus again and veered it towards the left thus making way for the ambulance. But the battle wasn't over yet, a herd of pedestrians jaywalked and half ran across the street. I pressed the brakes and with an agonising screech, it came to a halt.
The bus was reluctantly relenting to my control. Whenever I'd start the bus it would just jerk and move forward very slowly. People, dangerously and dare devilishly squeezed in between narrow gaps. If I would so much as press the accelerator, I could crush the pedestrians to death. The pedestrians somehow believed that I wouldn't do such a thing. They trusted my driving skills perhaps or they probably were convinced that I had no sadistic interests.
I leaned forward and was at the edge of the driver's seat. The side mirrors were beyond my line of vision. I'd never know if someone was trying to overtake from the left. I grew nervous, my heroic act could land be behind bars instead of gaining me accolades.
After a painstaking couple of minutes we were near Borivali station. I decided I’d drive straight to the depot. It was necessary to give medical assistance to our fallen driver.
I steered the wheel with great strength and pressed the accelerator as the signal went green. My enthusiasm was short lived as pedestrians stormed the streets. A train may have just arrived at the station and travelers were pouring out into the streets like a dam faucet had just been opened. I halted the bus and maneuvered carefully as they ran, zigzagged and sometimes even waved their hand to me almost commanding me to stop as if it were their right of way.
I started the bus and we began to move ahead, noisily and clumsily. Rickshaws were parked everywhere and I knew I'd have to make my way around them. But I didn't know the dynamics of the bus! Would it fit through that gap? Would it make that turn? I didn't know shit! I wasn't a seasoned bus driver!
After what seemed like a long relentless struggle, I managed to bring the bus to the depot and the conductor ran out to get help. As I sat slumped in the driver's seat, I began to think that the driver had a intensely high pressure job.
I promised myself that day that I'd never hold the driver at fault when the bus was delayed. Driving through the crowded streets of Mumbai is a challenge in itself. But to drive a partially working piece of scrap just takes the challenge to a different level. What should be placed in a museum as an antique, is plying the streets of Mumbai delaying its travelers and giving blood pressure to its drivers.
So here's my problem. I am just a bit slower than the 206. If I were Ussain Bolt, I'd probably overtake the bus. That's unnaturally slow for a bus that operates on an engine and has four wheels. I've often found myself seething as the 206 crawls through traffic and trudges through by lanes. The problem here, cannot be the BEST because, 206's counterparts like the 240 and 203 zoom ahead and assert their dominance over arrogant auto rickshaws and reckless bikers. The 206 on the other hand submits to the authority of its peers. The 206 obliges everyone. It would even halt to let a crow finish devouring a dead rat before it disturbed the crow's meal.
Most of you would say that the 206 is a benevolent bus with a giant red heart. Most of you would defend this bus because, well it sounds like a rectangle (ball) of mush. I disagree with you, because once we remove the rose tinted spectacles, and look through a realist's glasses, it is clear that buses do not have feelings! So then, does BEST hire its most magnanimous drivers to man the 206? Is that what causes this specific red bus to be the snail among its peers? The tortoise in this race against time?
Turns out Providence was willing to give me my answers in the most unexpected way.
On the 17th of February, while returning from work, I boarded the 206 from the stop at Platform 8! For those of you who don't understand the dynamics of platform numbers, let's put it simply, there was a long crawl ahead, and I'd probably take 45 minutes to reach home.
However, just as the bus was about to start after halting for a good 7 minutes outside Moksh Plaza, the bus let out a thunderous grunt and went dead. The engine had stopped. I rushed to the front and noticed that the driver had collapsed in his seat. The conductor helped me drag him out of his seat and a few passengers sprinkled water on his face. The man remained motionless. I felt his pulse and felt the slight thud against my fingers. He was alive, but unconscious. The stalled bus had brought traffic to a standstill. Vehicles couldn't maneuver around us.
We asked the conductor to take over the wheel, he looked horrified at the prospect and shook his head. Passengers began to leave the bus. Somewhere in a distance, we heard the wail of an ambulance. An ambulance was fighting it's way through traffic. The 206 was the gigantic obstacle in the path of the ambulance. I rushed to the front of the bus and jumped into the driver's seat.
I twisted the key in the ignition and the bus boomed to life. I was accustomed to driving big vehicles but the bus was a different kind of mean machine. I immediately noticed that I had to put all my force and strength to accelerate and despite putting all my 75 kilogram's worth of muscle and fat, the bus moved forward clumsily. It jerked forward and I had barely got the hang of the accelerator and clutch when a rickshaw just cut across the bus out of nowhere, I jammed the brakes and the ignition went off. The ambulance was right behind the bus now and my palms were sweaty with panic. I started the bus again and veered it towards the left thus making way for the ambulance. But the battle wasn't over yet, a herd of pedestrians jaywalked and half ran across the street. I pressed the brakes and with an agonising screech, it came to a halt.
The bus was reluctantly relenting to my control. Whenever I'd start the bus it would just jerk and move forward very slowly. People, dangerously and dare devilishly squeezed in between narrow gaps. If I would so much as press the accelerator, I could crush the pedestrians to death. The pedestrians somehow believed that I wouldn't do such a thing. They trusted my driving skills perhaps or they probably were convinced that I had no sadistic interests.
I leaned forward and was at the edge of the driver's seat. The side mirrors were beyond my line of vision. I'd never know if someone was trying to overtake from the left. I grew nervous, my heroic act could land be behind bars instead of gaining me accolades.
After a painstaking couple of minutes we were near Borivali station. I decided I’d drive straight to the depot. It was necessary to give medical assistance to our fallen driver.
I steered the wheel with great strength and pressed the accelerator as the signal went green. My enthusiasm was short lived as pedestrians stormed the streets. A train may have just arrived at the station and travelers were pouring out into the streets like a dam faucet had just been opened. I halted the bus and maneuvered carefully as they ran, zigzagged and sometimes even waved their hand to me almost commanding me to stop as if it were their right of way.
I started the bus and we began to move ahead, noisily and clumsily. Rickshaws were parked everywhere and I knew I'd have to make my way around them. But I didn't know the dynamics of the bus! Would it fit through that gap? Would it make that turn? I didn't know shit! I wasn't a seasoned bus driver!
After what seemed like a long relentless struggle, I managed to bring the bus to the depot and the conductor ran out to get help. As I sat slumped in the driver's seat, I began to think that the driver had a intensely high pressure job.
I promised myself that day that I'd never hold the driver at fault when the bus was delayed. Driving through the crowded streets of Mumbai is a challenge in itself. But to drive a partially working piece of scrap just takes the challenge to a different level. What should be placed in a museum as an antique, is plying the streets of Mumbai delaying its travelers and giving blood pressure to its drivers.
Wow
ReplyDeleteProbably written while imagining this in one of the commute
ReplyDelete