Catching a Bus - Calcutta Style . Review on Kolkata

The Situation

“Look Shobra, there is no way known that we will be able to find a taxi in this weather,” mumbled my uncle, refusing to make eye contact with my aunt.

“Well what do you propose we do?” replied my aunt accusingly.

“I think,” murmured my uncle, staring resolutely at a mound of cow dung on the sidewalk, “I think the only thing to do is to catch a bus home.”

“A bus!” shrieked my aunt in dismay. “Are you insane?”

My uncle shuffled his feet and twiddled his thumbs in the form of a reply.

“I suppose that is our only option” sighed my aunt in resignation.

My sister and I exchanged looks of delight. Catching a bus in Calcutta had been an experience denied to us by our conservative grandmother who, getting rather imaginative in her old age, claimed that the buses in Calcutta contained nothing but notorious figures from the underworld and sexually deprived male high school/college students.

We set off towards a bus stop, (at least I’m assuming that’s what it was, judging by the hoards of people standing there staring expectantly down the road), when my aunt informed us that it was a very tricky business boarding a bus in Calcutta, even more so when there was bad weather and that she was sorry, but she would have to throw us into the deep end. We nodded understandingly and joined the masses that were gazing down the road.

The Preparation

“Now,” murmured my aunt as if she were dealing out strictly classified information, “the bus will probably be packed and it won’t want to stop, so if we want to get on, we must chase the bus down and jump on.” Glancing at our stupefied expressions, she added kindly “Never mind dears, I’m sure it will slow down at least.” My uncle smiled reassuringly. “Oh look, there’s the bus now,” he said, pointing to a bus which was elaborately decorated with chains of marigold, flashing fairy lights with the dashboard decorated with incense sticks, flowers and various offerings which surrounded a statuette of Ma Durga.

The bus, upon seeing the vast numbers of people awaiting her arrival, tried in vain to increase her speed. My sister, looking thoroughly alarmed, whispered something about waiting for another bus. “Nonsense!” interjected my aunt before me uncle could reply, “God only knows when the next will deign to arrive!”

I watched my aunt’s face transform with self-determination. Her mouth set itself into a thin grim line and her severely over plucked eyebrows drew together. She grabbed the end of her sari and tucked it in at her ample waist and a look of steely fortitude glazed over her eyes. I stood transfixed by this sudden metamorphosis that had occurred to her, however the clanking of gears drew my attention back to the matter at hand.

The Moment of Truth

The bus was absolutely packed with people. There was not enough room in there for an anorexic stick insect, let alone the thirty or so passengers who wished to board her. As the bus drew closer, a hush of expectation came over the crowd…and we were off!!!!

Every man, woman and child was sprinting for all they were worth. Now you see, I love sport and I have naturally long legs, so I assumed my position at the head of the pack, and with the extra adrenalin pumping through my veins, I chased down the bus in no time. I grabbed the hand railing and vaulted the considerable distance from the road to the first step of the bus (approx 65cm) in one easy stride. Thrilled with the success of my run I looked back exuberantly over the rest of the hoard, expecting them to be a good 3-4 meters behind me. I could not have been more wrong. The sight that met my eyes left astonished and bewildered. I had always been told the Aussie Rules Football was the sport that most required all the components of fitness, (ie. strength, agility, speed, cardiovascular fitness etc), however as I watched the middle aged folk scurry, swerve, push and dodge past their competition in the hope of gaining ultimate victory (boarding the bus), it occurred to me that whoever made the assumption about Aussie Rules Football had clearly never attempted to board a bus Calcutta style. These, rather ordinary looking commuters, were in actual fact elite athletes! The other observation I was able to make was that the only reason India did not do particularly well in track and field events was not due to the lack of talent in the nation, but rather the Olympic selectors were probably looking for young, fit people, when they really need look no further then their local bus stop.

The Survival of the Fittest

Miraculously my sister, aunt and uncle had all managed to board the bus. I could not speak to them (I was firmly wedged between a very skinny man with sweat stained armpits, and a woman who reeked of coconut oil), but I could tell by their body language how they were feeling. My sister looked thoroughly amused by this new predicament she found herself in, my uncle stood in the center of the aisle with a polite look of disinterest while my aunt was busily attempting to glare young men out of their seats.

The ride was a bumpy one, as we bounced over potholes and swerved to avoid pedestrians, other vehicles and meandering cows. With each jolt, my sister and I tumbled in various directions like two tall ungainly dominoes. I shot looks of pure envy at the men who were able to maintain their balance in the center of the aisle without looking the slightest bit troubled by the inertia of the bus. Their impeccable balance led me to assume they were in actual fact Hawaiian Surfboard champions cleverly disguised as middle aged, bespectacled, pot bellied Bengalis with freshly trimmed moustaches. Clumps of woman towards the back of the bus were swapping sandesh recipes and diet tips with equal enthusiasm. A small group of men were discussing exactly when and where the Indian Government had gone wrong. They all spoke at the same time, addressing everyone and being listened to by no one.

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