Nirvana in a blue-line bus

“If we follow our dreams…
And if we cannot find them, we may always find something worth more than a dream.”

“A hope for better things may be the thought that God perhaps has a bigger plan for me at the end of the tunnel.”
Andye

Nirvana in a blue-line bus

The bus ride from Maharani Bagh to Noida is an experience worth sharing. I know of two buses that reaches me to my office from underneath the Foot bridge of Maharani Bagh. They are Bus number 492 and the other one has Dholakuan written on its number plate on top. It is strange that I never care to remember the number of the second bus. This one goes across a toll bridge and saves a lot of time. But alas, it is so crowded and stuffed to the brim that commuters are often seen hanging out of the doors. I often end up waiting for the other bus, even knowing that it makes only a slight difference.

Bus 492 is more in number and so does its stops too. It moves across the old Yamuna Bridge and it takes a longer route. But what is so amazing is that I never seem to get a seat even on a rainy day and I end up standing most often than not, getting pushed, abused and jostled from back and sides. My thoughts and musings are even worse because I have nobody to talk to and I must bear the agony of sweat, odor and unnecessary aggressors, the quintessential conductors -They, who shouts and jostles the most, they who urges and pushes the passengers to get in and out!

What is so frustrating and comic is their infinite greed to take in as many passengers as they can. The one in front says to get behind; the one behind says to get in front! I prefer somewhere in the middle, for then I can ignore their ridiculous commands.

The sweltering heat of Delhi gives me little comfort and it all turns into a surreal experience. One, that I must keep tucked up in some part of my memory. It will be something worth remembering, when at the end of it all, to celebrate life for nothing and anything. I see my traveling companions for what they are and what they live for.

I guess they all live for tomorrow, with hopes and dreams to get out of the madding crowd, to own a car and a good income. Some of them surely work for their family and some of them for better life. Each of them think, reminisce and ponder as they travel, each of them stumble and fight to keep their hands and feet on moving ground. Each faces tell a story, a story of struggle and the qualities of being born an ordinary Indian. I know I am just a face in the crowd but I know I that I am a part all that they represent.