The crowd was chatting along status-lines, giggling, laughing, sipping tea from the neighbouring tea stalls, gossiping, but the bus still did not turn up. Some even returned home. Right then, a child, Kumaravel cried, “The bus is coming” and they all sharpened their ears. At that moment, Ravindran, the eighth standard student quickly claimed the nearby neem tree to confirm that the bus was indeed coming. The crowd stamped like a monsoon cloud, ready for the journey.
Ammasi Nagappan and lower-end road Nagappan were heard talking. Both these are jovial men. “If we keep faith in this bus to visit a dead man, then somehow, we would be able to attend his cremeation” joked Ammasi to which the other, Nagappan related, “How did you quicken the pace so much! If we rely on this to attend a marriage then one would probably attend the birth of the child” The whole crowd broke into a laughter. It was that kind of a bus.
It was at those times that this doggerel composed by “Andawan Sir” became very popular:
“Conductor is seated at the back; the driver at the front;
But the worthless CRC keeps going back”
The moment this bus started going through my village is etched in my memory. It was probably in 1983. Even the date must have been chiselled in the front door of the “Kappakara Uncle”. I was in my second standard. Prior to this, there was lot of talk going on, some said it was only a matter of days, some said it was from the first of the next month. However, a lot many ‘first of the next month’ had smoothly rolled along and people have almost forgotten it. Then it suddenly appeared!
That day, we had just sat down in the class after the 11 ‘O’ clock interval. Suddenly, a crowd assembled, which whistled and clapped amidst some chaos. “Ponnusami Sir’, with a bamboo stick was doing the rounds just then. So, we did not venture out. Even a few who dared, quickly went back to their seats on seeing the bamboo, realising the consequences of any such misadventure! Still the children looked through the window at it, with their mirthful faces. Even the Sir’s face had a glimmer of smile. We did not fail to notice that.
Could it not come during the afternoon interval? Or perhaps on a holiday? We could have touched it, got in to blow the horn, jumped on the seat just as we do on a bagful of cotton. It was indeed a big occasion for us. Only Guna – Vaidyanathan’s son – who was on leave on that day, had claimed on top of the bus, through the ladder behind and danced. We all felt very envious of that fellow!
The moment Ponnusami Sir took out the stick and should, “Hey! Call that fellow!”, Guna took to his heels. Only then were we satisfied!
Elders of the village talked of how it was a new dawn for the village and how quickly the village would get developed. Not just children like us, even the elders and haughty students were proud of their accomplishment. This was evident if one listened to the talk at the tea shop, river-side, paddy-crashing site and the gracing fields.
“In those days we carried the ill on our backs and walked down in knee-deep water to the doctor. It was a great task to save them!” they recalled with a sense of satisfaction.
Even my father used to narrate how he walked, up and down, to the ‘Mission School’ in Nagappattinam at a distance of 14 Kms. More than this, when ‘Velankanniyar’ described how he ran from the village to Javanallur (at a distance of 16 Kms) to buy a pencil, I wondered how these events could have been possible.
Over the past 15 years, however, the sense of pride and laughter, gave way to other emotions. What hell! “Our legs break down waiting for this fat bus!” is the usual refrain of the relatives who come visiting. “Let the bus go to hell! Look at the luggage we carry and the suffering we endure!” is how the fisherwomen and vegetable merchants curse it.
Some have started going by the earlier practice of walking to Velankanni than take the bus. Some went by their own vehicle. It never came in time and when it came, it stopped midway! With all its misdemeanours, for the most of the villagers, the bus became an indispensable part of their lives.
Rival politicians have thundered on stage about how they would dig a grave in the deep burrows of the road for those who swindled public money! But the road had remained as it was with deep troughs and burrows, a testimony to the dirty politics of a half-century. Still worse was the plight of the bus. I had fallen down four and five times. One enterprising fellow had changed the write-up of the church propagandists, “Curse is death’s reward” to “Bridge is death’s reward.” This was a reference to the condition of the bridge at Chetticherry. While crossing the bridge by the bus, one has to literally keep one’s breath in his hands. There is also the hair-pin turn near Seeraatchi” and the driver negotiating this turn would drive the passengers to dizzy heights.
There was the incident when we all of 30 people would have kicked the bucket. Somehow, driver Sekhar, with great skill stopped it all of a sudden right in front of the pond, in the dead of that Amavasai darkness. We all thanked him with folded hands. This incident remains in memory as if it had happened only yesterday.
As soon as the bus stopped, the driver went near the pond at Thiruvasal and brushed his teeth by using the neem stick. The Conductor removed himself to a secluded part and returned by setting right his zip. He splintered idlies into pices and gulped them hurriedly start the journey.
When the bus was about to start with a groan, Raghu came running and said, “Mama has started. He asked the bus to be stopped for a moment.” Thus bus which has already started came to a sudden halt. Singaram is a big name in the hamlet. It happens like this all the time. The newly-joined driver would always murmur, “There is no fixed stopping! It is a hell here.” Only the habituated could work in this ‘route’. The bus will be stopped at all places both to get in and get out; otherwise, stones will rain in and scuffles break out.
Naughty men have played with slogans in this too. There is the slogan in Tamil, “Pukai Pidikatheergal”(meaning Don’t Smoke), which has been changed by removing the first two letters to, “Kai Pidikatheergal”(meaning Don’t clutch others hand, usually that of women). On the glass panel over the last seat was written, “Manju”.
The bus somehow started its journey. After a few unscheduled stop-over, it reached Neethamangalam. After that it took a person near the Single House, as usual. At the next stop, a person came running from afar with a roar and it could not move again. The person clutched his dhoti on the one hand and held on to his Slippers on the other. The sight of this man brought a peel of laughter from the travellers.
We do we reach our station if we are to stop for all? Someone raised his voice, “Move forward. He can come in the next bus.” Another one supported. Heeding to these voices of support, the driver moved forward. The moment it moved, others joined the fray. One of them shouted at the driver, “How dare you start? Don’t you see a passenger come running? Those who want to go in time can go by their own car!” Hearing this conflicting voices, the Conductor blurted, “Driver Anna! Hold the front tug of the bullock under tight leash! We can go home leisurely!” The crowd again broke into laughter.
There were many others who came in support of the man who came running with Slippers. This happens all the time. Men get into their shirts only hearing the blare of the bus at a distance. People eating at the roadside restaurants would get in without washing their hand only to clean it with their dhotis. These incidents would also bring light-hearted laughter from the passengers.
A elderly man once inhaled snuff powder and the smell of it traversed to one sitting behind him. This man started coughing. Someone wanted to know, “Why is it that the man using the snuff remains quite, while the other one is sneezing?” Someone else reasoned, “As they say, when the butterfly flutters in Asia, it snows heavily in Siberia!”
All this was an entertaining experience for those who travelled in the bus. However, the Conductor murmured, “What a thankless task it has been. Had I known it, I wouldn’t have taken up this job.” To this remark, an elderly man cautioned, “Nowadays, all the jobs have become like that.”
The person wearing an yellow shirt started, “But this man is very unlucky. He has done his M.Phil but joined the Cholan Roadways Corporation. Nowadays, a person doesn’t get the job he deserves!”
My cousin who had come from the city once described his experience after undertaking a ride on the bus, “These jostling passengers rub their unshaven face on others. The gut-runching stink too! The foul smell because of arrack consumption emanate from their mouth! They don’t even stand properly, with their legs spread over a distance to attain balance. Some stand so erect like military men on ‘attention’ and lean over others. When they don’t get a hold onto the iron-hanger for support, they latch on to whatever they could lay their hands upon, including other’s throat!” I mused at this description and laughed to myself.
The person with the slippers in his hands stood in front of the bus and brought it to a halt. Some reached their spot in their by-cycles. It seems the bus had hit a bullock owned by the man while it was going to Nagapattinam and the animal had been incapacitated.
“The bus would move only if we are adequately compensated” they shouted in one voice. “Let the driver come down and see for himself. Soon the driver came down. The driver in a tone of remorse reasoned with them. “It is not for the first time that I am driving in this route. Please recall what had happened. If only you had properly tied down the animal, this would not have happened. You had tied it down with a half-turn rope and the animal pulled itself out and dashed across, that too from the wrong side. I could not have done anything to save it. I swear it on my mother, it was not my mistake.”
“Nothing doing! The Vertinerary doctor has already declared that the animal cannot stand. Better fix a rate so that I could go ahead with the treatment. Otherwise, the bus cannot move from the place for years.”
“Do you people threaten us? If this animal falls on the way, what can we do? You have come here to talk about morality?” the Conductor shouted.
The villagers responded by shouting back, “Talk properly. Otherwise, you will loose whatever respect we have for you.”
Thus, the dispute got worse. It almost came to a situation when it looked as if violence would ensue. We three intervened and calmed the situation. Even then, someone pulled the collar of the Conductor and tried to manhandle him.
“Why do you threaten the Conductor. He had come on this route only yesterday.” Intervened the driver.’
After a little period of silence, the talk again meandered to the question of compensation. They bargained. In the process, almost a couple of hours had been lost. The office-goers and the school children, who needed to reach home in time, got down to go to Karuvalankadu to catch another bus. Others took a lift from the passing vehicles to reach the highway. The bus was nearly empty.
At last, the villagers settled for a compensation of 400 rupees. It seemed the bus had lost some pace and it looked forlorn, lacerated and dishonoured. It started emitting a strange noise.
The agitation inside the heart of the driver showed on his face. He rubbed the sweat on his face with a towel and repeatedly heaved a sigh. Even the face of the otherwise jovial conductor wore a deserted look.
“What kind of a bus is it? At this pace, when do we reach our place?” A young man with a swinging moustache wondered. To this another man who had a red towel on his shoulder retorted, “This is a gift given by our political leaders to march into the 21st Century. It will go only at this pace. Why do you hurry?”
At the turn of the Pathiniamman Koil, the bus again came to a stop. Even the driver got exasperated this time. “My life goes out in managing this Push-Cart.” he said dejectedly. At the same time, he politely asked us to come down to give a push.
The bus did not start even after pushing it for some distance. Kumeran joked, “If we push it for some more distance, we will all reach Nagapattinam safely.”
At last, the driver took out a lengthy wooden stick from the back of his seat, opened the top of the engine and hammered it through the engine. The bus started.
“All the drivers on this route are unfortunate creatures. There are seventy two stopping and seventy thousand curves!” Thus saying an aged man finished and another picked up the conversation.
“What you say is correct. Where is the straight forward person allowed to do his work nowadays? Only last year, the military man was hounded and manhandled. He used to bring the bus in time. If it was a ‘military trip’ one could keep waiting,. Now the man has gone to Madras to work there.”
I too supported what he had said. Driver Govindarajan was a tough person. He bought the bus in time at all places, quite unlike the ‘late Paramasivam’. He wouldn’t tolerate those hanging on the foot-board or the ‘Idi Amins’, who hang around the women’s section of the bus. He was at times quite humorous too! Once people were trying to take their seats for the return journey as soon as it stopped at the stand. There was a fight between two for a seat. Then the military man started, “Look! You want a seat ah? Come! Take my seat. This is the only seat available. I will get down. It would be Regal seat”, taking a dig at his tottering seat made with Palmyra strings. The entire bus broke into laughter.
It was once again a scare at the bus stand. The bus had just come and stopped and as usual passengers have rushed in to ‘reserve’ their seats by placing some object on the seats through windows. One of the seats had been reserved with a Lungi. “What Anna, a seat with a Lungi? I taunted him, when he started. “It is usual for people to reserve their seats with towels, handkerchiefs, utensils, bags and books. Probably, he doesn’t seem to have any. That is why he had taken out his Lungi. We have to look out for a person only with underwear to know who he is!” Again the bus laughed at his line of reasoning.
On the eve of Pongal, the bus was flooded with items special for the occasion. His satire was at its best when he advised, “Take only raw plantains. By the time you reach home, it will become a fruit! When you take Sugarcane sticks, don’t cut them into small pieces. At least you can keep yourself secure by hitting at others!”
Only last year, on the New Year eve, people took photos with him and celebrated. One day, it seemed the bus had splashed dirty water on a person wearing a spotless white dress. The driver was manhandled and he in turn had hit at others with his belt.
But one thing should be said to its credit. It had saved the lives of two or three who had consumed insecticide or the Arali Seed. On two occasions, women have given birth in this bus before they could reach the hospital. “There is no need for a Caesarean operation, only travel by this bus would do!” women have started joking about it.
After it reached the terminus, the Conductor shouted, “The bus is coming on the reverse gear. Get in only after the others have got down!”. The crowd paying no heed to his words, shoved and pushed to get in. In the process the Conductor fell down and lay below the front wheel. Taking no notice of him, the passengers, like on other occasions, tried to ‘reserve’ their seats by placing all kinds objects they had with them.
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