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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