Coming Down the Road: The Bus

If you were born from the late 1960s onward, there is a very good chance that you were read Richard Scarry’s classic children’s book, Cars and Trucks and Things that Go. For young children excited about moving vehicles and animals it is wonderfully creative, and as a friend said about the author, “this guy just understands kids”. In this world, mice drive tow trucks, a pig named Pete mans the pickle truck, a bunny rabbit waves from an alligator car, and little goldbug makes an appearance on every page. This is the chaos of Busy Town—with dozens of stories and creatures making their way from someplace to somewhere. Sound familiar?

As you might expect, Kaia loves this book. He can sit with it for 10-15 minutes, even longer if we read it with him, just pointing out and laughing at all of the crazy vehicles. So, it was a logical next step when we were driving in a taxi one day and he was a bit fussy while sitting on my lap, that I pose the question to him, “what’s coming down the road in Busy Town?” The game had begun and I had a whole new way of looking at the Indian street.

While the things that you see while driving around the city may not match a baboon in a shoe delivery car shaped like a worn leather shoe, there are some things that come rather close. One of these is when young men attempt to get on an already full—and moving—city bus. In fact, I don’t think that Richard Scarry has any vehicle in his creative mind that matches the Madras city bus around rush hour. These hulking green and white vehicles strike me as more tank than transport, but for 2 rupees to anywhere in the city, their price cannot be beat. Like their cousins in crime, the auto rickshaw, the city bus is a top-shelf polluter that belches out a plume of black with every tap of the accelerator pedal. If you are unlucky enough to be driving just behind a bus in an auto rickshaw when this happens, you can almost hear the tiny fibers in your respiratory passages being singed and tarred. I cannot imagine what the lungs of the poor traffic police look like. Fortunately some in the city have taken to wearing respirators, but it is all too common to see them hanging around their necks rather than on their faces. It reminds me of being a teenager on my motor scooter and driving around with my helmet on the side hook and not on my head. Back then it was a weak attempt towards being cool. I hope that the same is not the case for these men.

Like in many places, the most humorous thing you can find on a bus is the sign stating the ‘capacity’. One can only imagine the process that went into the crafting of this policy and the good private laugh the crafters must have had in considering its implementation and enforcement. As anyone who has ridden an Indian bus knows, whether it be for 500 feet or 500 miles, if there is a space big enough for a human head, it can and will be filled. What is remarkable is to see what this approach to transportation does to the vehicle itself when pushed to the limit. During rush hour, it is common to see a bus lumbering down the street with a left side—the entry/exit side—some 3 to 4 feet lower than the right side, nearly scraping the asphalt. This is largely due to the amazing number of people who are hanging off of the side of the bus, often holding on with a few fingers and no place to anchor their feet, all while the bus cruises along at a 25 to 30 MPH clip.

Aside from the explanation that Indian men (I’ve never seen a woman and cannot imagine that it is even possible while wearing typical female attire) can channel Spiderman during times of distress, it is remarkable to watch how they run and catch the bus. There is a bit of track and field in the passing of a baton during the relay that goes into the start and eventual leap, but mostly it is sheer determination, because the bus driver makes no attempt to slow down (as if he could even see them) and there are other obstacles to content with while running after the bus. Of course, not all of the participants in the “bus leap” are awarded with a lift down the street and there are always those who are literally left in the dust. It is really a sight to see.

Up until a few days ago, I had thought that these riders did not pay the 2 rupee fare and risked their life and limb because it was a free ride. However, now I know that I was wrong and they are indeed expected to pay, and the ticket taker will eventually collect from them. How do they get to them on a crazy bus? That I still don’t know, but somehow, like many things in this country, it just happens.

So, as it was one of his first (and still favorite, if not multi-functional) words, Kaia is fond of pointing out the busses on our trips down the Busy Town of Madras. I wonder what is going on in his head has he watches these young men dash to jump on the bus. If his gaping mouth and puzzled look are any indicators, he is as fascinated as me. They should really make an Indian equivalent of Cars and Trucks and Things that Go. Now that would be a classic.

Why I Love this Time: When he gets really excited, how he will run around in circles until he gets so dizzy that he falls in a heap of laughter on the ground.