A bus as a power leveller

Surender Dudi

RESIDING out of Haryana, the mere sight of a Haryana Roadways bus is  enough to bring a smile, taking me back to the time gone by. As a school-going teenager, the roadways was the only mode of transportation from my home in the village to the school in town. The bus never stopped at the stop. The driver would merely lift his foot off the accelerator and lean backward against his seat, raising both his hands and relaxing. Commuters would then run and jump onto the footboard. Needless to say, it was a test of one’s athletic and gymnastic skills. After the feat, one was greeted by Haryanvi raginis at full blast. 

Most were daily passengers and knew each other well; the bus was like a big family on the move. During these short journeys, conversation veered around the weather, politics, supporting price of crops or some disease that had inflicted the cattle. Guidance on a wide spectrum of issues ranging from property matters to interest rate on money lending to matrimonial alliance was freely offered, over the background noise of rattling windows. 

The news of death, birth or weddings in the village also found a place in these conversations.  The bus was an ideal place to promulgate information or plans that were relevant to the village, which required some kind of acknowledgment by fellow village residents. As students, we would eagerly wait for prasad offered by fellow commuters every Tuesday.

The driver, our man in command, would manoeuvre the bus with ease, even while driving at full throttle on bumpy roads. Apart from his good driving skills, his apt rustic Haryanvi dialogues were the icing on the cake. 

One day, about a dozen policemen standing in the middle of the road signalled the bus to stop. The driver, with some annoyance, came to a screeching halt. An IPS officer in crisp uniform entered the bus. He was the only one who boarded it; the other policemen saluted him and instructed the driver to drop the ‘sahib’ at the police headquarters on the way to town. Being a police officer, that too an IG, his presence brought about restraint and a degree of sobriety, which translated into a deafening silence in the bus. As we entered the town, he requested the driver to stop at the police headquarters, which he did. The officer said dhanyavaad before stepping off the bus. The driver retorted: “Dhanyavaad apne dhorre raakh le, err tawla saa nechay padd le” (Keep your thanks to yourself and alight quickly.) This spontaneous remark brought whoops of joy among the restless passengers, who felt the bus was the greatest power leveller in their prosaic life.