Stepped down from Volvo bus -a diamond in the sparklers of Sweden Technology, at Rajendra Nagar in Indore with intend to catch the direct train to Ratlam. Despite my fullest walking speed, I saw the train drifting away left with nothing but a question that only an inquiry-cum- ticket counter person could answer, “Train to Ratlam?” an impish smile appeared on his fair face, “You just missed the train and next train is after two and half hour, in case you are in hurry catch the bus from Gangwal Bus stand.”
Ahead of his generous advice, I knew all my leftover options hence thanked him and came out from that small railway station. The journey from Indore to Ratlam by bus was going to be terrible as the condition of roads especially at that stretch was nowhere less than a shameful spot at the shining face of second fastest growing economy in the entire world. As soon as I walked out a man in his early 20’s approached in typical Indori tone, “O Bhiyaoo kidhar chodo?” (Hello brother, where can I drop you?) I still couldn’t make up my mind so ignored him and his question just to light up a cigarette from a nearby Pan-shop. With last puff, I had made up my mind to take bus rather than slaying two and half hour doing nothing. At this instance, I approached one auto-wala and asked the fare, “How much for Gangwal bus stand?” He came forward to hold my bag, “Ho Bhiyao chalenge na...Aao baithoo sirf Rs. 60.” (Yeah brother, let’s go...only Rs. 60), I looked at his face for couple of second and it was enough to bring him down for negotiation, “thik hai Rs.50 chalo aao baithoo...boni ka time hai bhiya” (Okay, Rs. 50...now come and sit...it’s the start of day big brother.) I found it reasonable however if I were my college days then it would have been impossible for him to get me convinced to pay Rs.50 for such a small distance.
At bus stand, things seemed familiar but somehow strange at the same time. Perhaps, it was the effect of being a typical IT professional who hates to travel in congested buses, loves to be in sleeper or semi sleeper bus and travelling in non-AC wouldn't be matter of choice but the left over option, in case. Dust and odd smells became the matter of allergy and walking small distances or bargaining over anything but fare nowhere less than big agony as if they are in certain dream or interposed a certain idea. Behind the ticket window, a man in late 40’s was making tickets while in front, next to the ticket counter a man in late 20's seeking passengers and helping them to get the ticket as well as seat. It’s obvious from his behavior that he was the conductor of next bus to Ratlam and trying to get as many passengers as he could. Before me in the queue, there was a girl standing for ticket, she asked for three front seats and then I asked for the same, “one ticket to Ratlam...any of the front rows but window seat.” Ticket giver refused to fulfill my one and only wish to him and handed over a ticket with seat number 22, which was obviously nowhere in the front rows and also not the window one. With dwindling hope, again, I put my request in a manner trying to convince my onsite co-ordinator but soon it’s evident that I had given a wrong try to right person. Soon, the conductor’s role was going to kick start in my story, he jumped in and took me aside, “ary bhiyaoo... mein deta hoon na seat ...kidhar baithana hai apko bas seat bolo” (hey brother, I will give you seat just tell me which one you want). He sounded so convincing that I got into his bus. The moment I stepped in, I reconsidered my decision, but the ticket was in my hand and nowhere I could afford to waste almost two and hours. Bus was 90% full and still people are coming in. Front rows were already full; I looked into his eyes with frown he defended, “Ary bhaiyoo...bola hai to seat donga...ap chinta mat karo.” (Hey brother...as I have already said...don’t worry I will give you seat.) He asked one man with shabby clothes, “ary kaka kathe jaaoga.” (O uncle... where are you going?) He replied, “Nagda jaaoga.” Conductor urged, “Kaka ... Pache jai-ne baitho...at-he Ratlam ni savrai baithega...tha’n picha jai-ne do loga sang baitho” (uncle, go and sit on backside seats, fronts rows are for passengers travelling to Ratlam, you go and sit with other two guys at backside.)
He did not do this just for me but for all who were travelling to Ratlam and conductor especially targeted the people with shabby clothes or better to say innocent villagers. Most were adjusting three on the seats meant just for two. The bus had capacity of 30 passengers but before it set out it had at least 50 passengers onboard and conductor made sure no one would panic. Soon journey sets off, I had my considerably small but heavy bag on my own lap with a water bottle in left hand. There was no room for any kind of stretching for legs and arms, environment filled with the smell of sweat and the smell of sweaty clothes. Most people were labourers and especially women’s who looked slim and tanned, for them I am sure can be proved a better role model for women’s of big hotshot american cities than any other celebtry were victim of malnutrition in reality but fearless and had been carrying better confidence than most urban ones. They all were full with energy for whatever they were travelling to and when it comes to fight with conductor over high fares no one could beat them, they had been determined not to leave single penny in the name of ‘no change available’ from their hard earned or their husband’s hard earned money. Nightmare of bad bumpy roads kept haunting me as bus taking road to Ratlam. Conductor, standing at the gate, raising voice “Nagda....Badnawar.... Ratlam...Nagda...Badnawar....Ratlam”. A man sitting next to me looking sensible and educated had a sense of anger for civic administration – bad road, bad buses, dead slow development, load shedding like a trembling state, although, most have adapted their life accordingly with no complains and bad feelings for anyone except politicians the only bottleneck in the smooth road to development.
“You don’t belong to this piece land.” he asked.
“No, I do belong to this land; it’s just that I am travelling through this route after a long time.” replied disgustedly. “It’s still the same... no change....what politicians are doing here?”
“They are doing the same thing which they have been doing since independence.” We both smiled at his comment.
“I thought, must be after the long Raj of Congress, BJP had done something for this place.”
“They all belong to same breed...its only party names that are different.” It seems the man was very much into politics and disgusted by the same.
“By the way I am Rajveer, an IT professional.” Introduced myself and this was enough to get scan of my mind.
“Oh...Now I understand, why your forehead has got wrinkles and eyes seems pissed off, by the way I am Naresh used to be social activist in my college days but currently no one...doing a computer course with hope of getting good job like you.”
Naresh got down at Nagda, and this time I had to share seat with an old man almost in sweet 60’s. He had nameplate with medal on his chest attached seems he had been awarded for certain kind of bravery or good work and had eyes closed as if doing meditation. And, the conductor, making money like anything. Bus kept swelling up with passengers and so his palm with currency bills. He left me astonished by his managerial skills. His co-ordination with driver, his control over crowd inside bus, his way of collecting money even from those who were stubborn about high fares. One passenger from rear asked him to stop bus somewhere so that he can pour some water into his dry thirsty throat but conductor refused his urge to stop bus and however, offered his own water bottle. He kept checking his cell phone for time and it seems he couldn’t afford to waste 10 minutes on the urge of one passenger.
After 20-25 KMs, the road automatically turned out smooth like butter, I asked conductor, “When this road has been re-constructed?”
“It’s been a year and the good thing is that it’s the same until Ratlam.” I was amazed to hear this. How could a road that was tottering since 5 years be built so smooth within a year?
“It looks politicians are doing some good work, isn’t it?” I replied.
“No bhiyaoo, its public, business organizations, self-working groups and activists who came forward and approached higher authorities and politicians with anger and threats of coming elections. Now public don’t vote based on election campaign but based on work done for social causes. The time has completely changed. Politicians are still same but the public’s outlook has changed.”
I could see that change among the illiterate or less educated people around me; the small conductor who was doing business no less than a big businessperson would do and knew the cost of time. Public seems to have awareness about their rights and progress; they were talking about the recession and India’s sustainability in such bad time, talking about new companies and factories coming in. People, stepping down – stepping up at their respective stops, load on the small engine of small bus kept increasing exactly the same way on our economy but still, the engine carrying it well with little strain. No one looked happy in that crowded atmosphere but as with speed, the time kept squeezing up and all faces were sure about the happiness of reaching their destination sooner than later. Everyone has boarded the bus of Progress and development and they are not happy yet but they are sure about the happiness, which they would have once they reach for what they got on, or waiting.
Eventually, bus hit the Ratlam bus stand and all stepped down, including me. I looked around and it seems nothing has changed but when squint the vision, traces of changes and progress presents everywhere. Terribleness of journey was nowhere; I have realized that it was my chance to look at things from new perspective and promised to have my return journey through same stretch.
