My Journey

My Journey

The Bus


During the 1990’s hiking or trekking was a passion for us. By us I mean a group of old college friends some in shape and most of us out of shape to test our physical endurance by a rather fast paced walk to climb over a small mountain or a forested area.

These at times were quite relaxed and can be defined as more of a strenuous picnic. Undoubtedly, we were never ever in danger except maybe once or twice.

The one trek that I remember most vividly was in the nilgiris bordering Kerala and Karnataka. Yes the same one frequented by the infamous sandalwood smuggler. To be honest we were just in the buffer area covering around maybe 7 kms or less. We did the walk in a leisurely 3 hours and covered the same distance back in less than 15 mins. This is the best record of ground coverage that I have till date.

It started by me visiting my Malu friend popularly called as Not Know Haridas. I had a few days to kill for my summer vacation and having accepted his invitation to visit his native place Kannur in Kerala I was looking forward to scenic days and exploring a new land. I had never visited this state and since it is know for its natural beauty and is considered to be tourist spot, I was quite eager to do so. The year to the best of my knowledge was 1995.

Even as I sat down in the bus I had decided that s one day I shall write down about my experience of this journey, never imagining that I would be blog this 12 years latter. I have no problem in remembering even now the minute details of my experience.

The bus which I located with ease at Kurla proudly proclaimed itself as a luxury bus belonging to north Karnara travels. Not having seen a luxury bus or the likes of Volvo I in my naivety believed that I was going to travel in the finest bus that the world had to offer or at least the best bus in India.

As any 20 year old I was travelling light and was suspicious of having my luggage stolen if I agreed to put it on the luggage rack on the top of the bus. I knew it might be uncomfortable to place it in the floor and it might give me less room, but I was okay with it.

I struggled myself into the bus with my bag which was occupied by around 5 or 7 mallus. I had a window seat in the front row, which I promptly settled myself into without wasting much time. I did not want anybody to steal this from me and settle me either in the aisle or in the back rows. I lowered my bag onto the floor. This gave me somewhat less leg space; however, I decided that I would take off my shoes and settle my feet on to the bag, giving me a slightly raised and comfortable feeling.

In the next 30 mins the bus began filling up. More and more mallus started entering the bus and I could hear heavy thuds on the top of the bus as if enormous pieces of stone were being thrown on top and I felt that if this continued for long the roof would collapse any moment. For a 40 seater the amount of luggage being loaded I felt that this was akin to mass migration from Bombay. This was true in some way as I soon realised, that this was an exodus or rather a holiday to home.

The Keralites have been one of the first to migrate to the oil flooded gulf region, which was ready to engulf any man worth his sweat and labour for growth was intense and there were not enough workers. These were the workers returning for a short period back to their hometown with all sorts of gifts, maybe one of the larger thuds was a imported refrigerator. India had stilled not opened up its market and imported goods were worth their weight in gold.

I got the confirmation that this indeed was a break to visit home from gulf by the person who occupied the seat next to me. In a heavy accent, he said that he was coming back to India after 3 years and so was his friend seated in the front seat. Some of them were even from the same company and in the same flight back. I asked him so why not a flight directly to Kerala, to which he shrugged and said that the way it is plus they get to shop in Bombay.

The bus was nearly full in the next 60 mins and the conductor started making the rounds calling something about luggage and I saw a couple of guys saying some number in the Malu language and money exchanged their hand . I had one bag and dammed if I paid money for my luggage. He came to me and asked me the same thing about luggage. I pointed my finger at the bag which lay on the floor, to which he pointed his finger upwards. I told him no I will not put my bag up on the rack since I did not want it stolen. He shook his head and again pointed his fingers upward. I shook my head again and stood up and was about to give him a piece of my mind when the person next to me said is that he just wants to find out if you have any luggage on the top, if so you have to pay for it.

Having understood this I nodded to the conductor, pointed to myself and then to others and said that I was not part of this group and having had a look at me he should realise it and that he should leave me alone. He understood and walked ahead, in this he forgot to ask my neighbour who had an almost impish grin on his face.

Having done his rounds in the next 10mins, I felt the bus give a small jerk as the driver loaded himself on his seat. He started the engine and turned on the public sound system. What followed were popular film number from Mollywood. I tried to catch the words then simply gave up removed my shoes and lifted my legs on to my bag and pushed my seat back to fell into a relaxed state. The bus journey was close to 26 hours and I wanted to rest myself as much in case I could not get sleep during the night.

The area where the bus was standing was a regular place where all private interstate buses used to pick up their passengers. It cannot be called a regular bus stop or a station since it was a private road with somewhat light vehicular movement and could not been sanctioned by the government to be used by private bus operators. This was a great residential area surrounded by trees and shrubs and places like these were hard to find. The private bus operators having identified that this was a low traffic area had mutually decided to use this as a pick up point. I could see numerous other private carriers around with different name all proclaiming themselves as luxury bus with destination crisscrossing the country. There were in total around 5 other North Kanara buses that I could see all on their way to Kerala.

I quickly calculated the fare that I had paid by the number of of passengers, arrived at the total figure and subtracted the sum by an approximate cost of diesel it would take for such journey plus some minor amount for the driver and the conductor. I could not believe the final figure and amazing 50% net profit. No, wonder these guys can use a public road. I guess some palms were quite greasy from the amount of coconut oil that was being poured on the roads.

There were building a railway line connecting the western region giving straight access from Mumbai to Kerala and I had read that the bus operators union was opposing it tooth and nail. If passengers started patronising the railways then there was some serious money lost.

The convergence of departing passengers always draws in the roadside vendors carrying buckets of ice filled with cold drinks and packet of chips. Shouting at the top of their voice names of what sounded like pep sea and Lime Kha. Coke was not around in India in those times. The third name, which was quite familiar, was thumbs up. Well the cheering was for a soft drink, which as Indians would know as the best soft drink in the world. Even now, some old timers will ask you if you would want a thumps up and happily give you one of the other lime or orange cold drinks, which is readily available.

I did not take any but my neighbour took two thumbs up, stashed them away in a bag and paid the small boy a sum that I would term as highway robbery.

It was getting late 2 hours had passed since I boarded the bus which having played the popular music number refused to start the journey. The travel agent had assured me it would start on time. It was one hour overdue. In a short while of what sounded like checking of all systems and relay of a yes and no and further instruction, a final go ahead was given by the conductor. The bus driver pushed the bus slowly ahead and then decided he had forgotten something sprang out of his seat on to the road running across the street to a small-secluded place. Parked himself in front of the wall and let out a yellow stream of liquid, slowly pushing his head backwards.

The onlookers, including myself who had followed the drivers progress muttered something under their and turned their heads facing the bus. I too said to myself that of all the times he had wasted he could have relived himself somewhat earlier and in a more private place. The thought of a long journey must have relaxed the poor mans bladder.

By the time the muttering had died down the driver had jumped back in his seat and started the bus forward with a jerk which was residual of his earlier hurry to get moving. There were more mutters from my fellow passengers, which to my kind ears sounded like asking god to bless us and let this be a safe journey. I doubted if there was anything ill mentioned to the driver since out life were in his hand and cursing the one who has your life in his hand is something that us ordinary mortals could not dream off.

Since it was evening the traffic was bound to be high. But at last the first leg of the journey had started.