On the Bus in Bangalore

There's nothing that quite compares to the experience of riding a city bus. And that too in India. Sure, there are the crowds, the filth, the dilapidated buses, and a host of other unpleasant things that come with the world of commuter buses. But tucked deep under the grime is a mysterious robustness, a delightful vibrance--all the trappings of an unforgettable experience.

During college days, riding the bus was a matter of necessity, not choice. After all, blowing my meager allowance on an autorickshaw just didn't make any sense in those days. Specially, when you could go WT and save up for a nice Chinese dinner or a movie. The Bus was not just a people transporter, it was a revenue generator too! When it comes to comparing bus services, Chandigarh's CTC was not in the same league as Delhi's DTC buses. Those green and yellow monsters of rusted steel offered a brand new adventure each and every time. Always packed to the brim (overflowing, really), it was amazing that we were able to breathe even in the middle of the summer months.

To relive the experience of my younger days, I decided to give KSRTC (that's Karnataka State Road Transportation Corporation for you) buses a try. Ms. D calmly declared that I'd gone nuts. Why take the bus when you can catch a taxi, or an auto, or simply drive in your OWN car! And for added effect, she threw in something about being a cheapskate. Her logic was without a chink but when was the last time I did something that was logical? But stop nodding that head of yours in agreement, will ya?

Without the foggiest idea on how I was going to get to work, I walked to the nearest bus stop. The first thing that struck me was that it was clean and well kept. Or shall we say, cleaner than some of the bus stops I've seen in my time. Finding out which bus to take proved to be easy because almost all the buses were headed to the Shivaji Nagar depot. That's the hub for all city buses, sort of like the ISBT, only smaller. Some kind soul counseled me in his broken Hindi that I should get down at the Shivaji Nagar depot and ask at the Enquiry window.

There are two things that you need to know about Bangalore buses: First, other than the bus number, the "from" and "to" sign will always be in Kananda. It almost seemed like some sort of a conspiracy to frustrate the non-natives. Second, never--and I do mean never--board the bus from the front because that entrance is reserved for ladies. I got away with dirty looks but you may not be as lucky.

Anyway, I didn't need to be told that the first 6 or so rows were for ladies only. They were painted a bright red to set them apart from the other seats. There were some signs in Kannada and it is my firm but unsubstantiated belief that they carried some stern warnings for the male of the species. I quietly made my way to the back of the bus. Before I could dwell on the embarrassing incident, the bus lurched forward. My reflexes were quick and impressive: Like a seasoned rider I lunged for the overhead bar to stall the imminent fall. Just like a cyclist who hasn't been on a bike for years, it was all coming back to me now.

At the second stop, a sea of humanity flooded the insides of the bus. Within seconds, the scent of sticky sweat, mingled with the aroma of jasmine flowers overpowered my senses. This was unmistakably the India I'd known. I was an unambiguous part of the great human sandwich. Strangely, it didn't seem repulsive or unbearable. I was one with the crowd.

Suddenly, there was a gentle tap on my shoulder. A woman, smartly clad in a starched khaki saree was standing behind me, asking me for my bus fare. Now, that was a first. I don't think I've ever seen a woman conductor on a DTC bus. I bought my ticket and pocketed the change.

At the Shivaji Nagar depot I found the information window. The aging clerk patiently explained where I'll find the bus that'll take me to Shanti Nagar. The terminal had clear signs (thankfully, in English and Kannada this time) so I had no trouble. I found a window seat and soaked in the scenery as the bus snaked through the busy streets of central Bangalore. I wasn't sure where to get down but the elderly gentleman sitting next to me promised to tell me when we got closer. After a few minutes I glanced at my "scout" and noticed that he was fast asleep. Just as I was thinking about finding a new guide, the man roused from his slumber to tell me that my stop was next. What devotion to duty! India has changed but the core is still intact. And that's what matters.

I scrambled to the exit and alighted from the bus. My first bus journey in Bangalore was complete--mundane for most, but magical for me. As I walked toward Divyasree Chambers, I was already making plans for the forty rupees I'd saved by not taking an auto. Some things never change.

***