Desperation Trepidation Confusion
Desperation Trepidation Confusion
Follow us:WhatsappFacebookTwitterTelegram.cls-1{fill:#4d4d4d;}.cls-2{fill:#fff;}Google NewsAll of you who've had the good fortune of boarding and subsequently completing a successful journey aboard Delhi's Desparation Trepidation Confusion (DTC) buses would identify with my plight.

As I boarded one such monstrosity on a humid July evening, I was met with an acute dilemma.

Seated with aplomb on the 'ladies' seat was a well-fed, well-built Punjabi Bagh Da Munda (read - geriatric-man-turned-local-hunk) who occupied roughly 75 per cent of the berth space.

Now, I am generally not the sorts who ask for a 'ladies' seat unless offered by someone who has a basic sense of courtesy. And expecting our Punjabi Bagh hunk to be chivalric was tantamount to expecting finding an empty bus.

Also, since the other seats were duly taken, I had no option but to jostle for butt-space on the same seat as him.

After much perspiration, deliberation and irritation, the engine roared to life and thus began my eventful journey.

For the first few minutes, I tried to squeeze myself into the 25 per cent seat-space and feel comfortable (I ended up feeling miserable).

Ten minutes into the journey...

Scene: Me fanning vigorously. Hunkie smiling. Struggling to find the politically correct word for 'scoundrel', I said, "Would you mind shifting to your left? There is no space here."

I should have called him a 'scoundrel' upfront because he smiled again (exhibiting his pan-stained, yellowed teeth) and said in the most irritatingly sweet voice, "Madam, you may shift this side. There is a lot of space." Arghhh...

Since I refrain from mouthing obscenities in public, I showed my anger with an frown and a groan. The Hunk continued to stare and smile. I continued to lose patience.

Meanwhile, the bus came to a grinding halt and in came the one - the fairy-godmother (FGM), dressed in a bright orange and green suit, sindoor firmly in place, faux leather purse tucked under a bulging right arm and a 'get-outta-my-way' expression writ large on her face.

Her eyes had a searching look. The search must have culminated at my seat as she approached with a winning smile, pummeling and shoving notwithstanding.

I could read her expression and was thanking my stars for her timely arrival. She came comfortably within reach of the seat rod and exclaimed in a voice that defied her seemingly homely looks, "Bhaiyya, get up from the ladies seat."

The rest of the conversation is given below . I have translated it for the benefit of non-Hindi speakers, also because the system admin would censor me if I publish the profanities.

"Bhaiyya, get up from the ladies seat."

Hunk: Why?

FGM: It's a ladies seat.

Hunk (dirty smile again): Then sit here if you find place.

FGM: *Abuse*, Shall I sit on your head? Get up

Hunk (now losing it): I have a broken leg.

FGM: In that case, why did you come out of home? Should have sat at home.

Suppressed giggle in background

FGM (In a Rani-of-Jhansi mode): Now, will you get up or shall I whack your other foot also?

Hunk (in an obviously taken-aback tone): No need to yell, I am getting up

FGM (with a triumphant expression to me: We should beat the hell out of such donkeys (toned-down version).

Me: :) hmm...

FGM sits. Hunk smatters inaudible abuses. Me smiles.

Thank God for small mercies (and huge Fairy Godmothers), I reached my destination, one piece. About the AuthorDivisha Gupta ...Read Morefirst published:July 24, 2006, 16:01 ISTlast updated:July 24, 2006, 16:01 IST
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All of you who've had the good fortune of boarding and subsequently completing a successful journey aboard Delhi's Desparation Trepidation Confusion (DTC) buses would identify with my plight.

As I boarded one such monstrosity on a humid July evening, I was met with an acute dilemma.

Seated with aplomb on the 'ladies' seat was a well-fed, well-built Punjabi Bagh Da Munda (read - geriatric-man-turned-local-hunk) who occupied roughly 75 per cent of the berth space.

Now, I am generally not the sorts who ask for a 'ladies' seat unless offered by someone who has a basic sense of courtesy. And expecting our Punjabi Bagh hunk to be chivalric was tantamount to expecting finding an empty bus.

Also, since the other seats were duly taken, I had no option but to jostle for butt-space on the same seat as him.

After much perspiration, deliberation and irritation, the engine roared to life and thus began my eventful journey.

For the first few minutes, I tried to squeeze myself into the 25 per cent seat-space and feel comfortable (I ended up feeling miserable).

Ten minutes into the journey...

Scene: Me fanning vigorously. Hunkie smiling. Struggling to find the politically correct word for 'scoundrel', I said, "Would you mind shifting to your left? There is no space here."

I should have called him a 'scoundrel' upfront because he smiled again (exhibiting his pan-stained, yellowed teeth) and said in the most irritatingly sweet voice, "Madam, you may shift this side. There is a lot of space." Arghhh...

Since I refrain from mouthing obscenities in public, I showed my anger with an frown and a groan. The Hunk continued to stare and smile. I continued to lose patience.

Meanwhile, the bus came to a grinding halt and in came the one - the fairy-godmother (FGM), dressed in a bright orange and green suit, sindoor firmly in place, faux leather purse tucked under a bulging right arm and a 'get-outta-my-way' expression writ large on her face.

Her eyes had a searching look. The search must have culminated at my seat as she approached with a winning smile, pummeling and shoving notwithstanding.

I could read her expression and was thanking my stars for her timely arrival. She came comfortably within reach of the seat rod and exclaimed in a voice that defied her seemingly homely looks, "Bhaiyya, get up from the ladies seat."

The rest of the conversation is given below . I have translated it for the benefit of non-Hindi speakers, also because the system admin would censor me if I publish the profanities.

"Bhaiyya, get up from the ladies seat."

Hunk: Why?

FGM: It's a ladies seat.

Hunk (dirty smile again): Then sit here if you find place.

FGM: *Abuse*, Shall I sit on your head? Get up

Hunk (now losing it): I have a broken leg.

FGM: In that case, why did you come out of home? Should have sat at home.

Suppressed giggle in background

FGM (In a Rani-of-Jhansi mode): Now, will you get up or shall I whack your other foot also?

Hunk (in an obviously taken-aback tone): No need to yell, I am getting up

FGM (with a triumphant expression to me: We should beat the hell out of such donkeys (toned-down version).

Me: :) hmm...

FGM sits. Hunk smatters inaudible abuses. Me smiles.

Thank God for small mercies (and huge Fairy Godmothers), I reached my destination, one piece.

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