ALL IN A DAYS RIDE 
by Annie Cyriac

It’s been a tiring day. I hope against hope to get a seat on the bus as I head back home. It was impossible to get on to the last two buses that were packed and ready to spill out. Somehow my travelling companion and I are pushed into the third bus by the milling crowd. 
Gasping for breath, I find a gap and position myself. My bag is planted onto somebody’s lap. The bus conductor stands rooted in the middle of the bus leaning onto a passenger as he issues tickets and collects money that we passengers magnanimously pass to and fro. 
An old lady who has managed to get in with her basket and cloth bags asks for a ticket to “Karadikuzhi” which translates as “bear hole”. Hearing the strange name, my companion who has a penchant for giggling, cannot contain herself. Trying to keep a straight face, I try to reason that there are many places in Kerala that begin with names of animals. Pashupara (cow rock), Aanamudi(elephant hair), Erumapetti (Buffalo box), Kaalachanda(Ox market), Pampady(Snake shook) and even Maanvettom(Deer light) I cite. “Maanvettom??! ‘’ shouts my friend above the din. A few faces turn around to gawk at her. The annoyed bus conductor retorts that she is on the wrong bus. Other passengers intervene and the misunderstanding is soon cleared. Meanwhile more passengers get in and nobody seems to get down. The fragile old lady to “bear hole” gets squished in between. My companion deftly pulls her and helps her find a seat. Soon she is perched on the edge of a seat between three sturdy guys. 
In Kerala, there are seats in buses reserved for ladies but often they are occupied by men who pretend to be asleep. The women would rather be mashed to pulp than beg these men to vacate the seats. Eve teasing in a subtle form goes on as the men edge in and out of the bus rubbing themselves on the hapless ladies.
At the next stop, more passengers get in and a few get down. There is a scuff as some vie for the lone seat. There’s a delay while people push in and out. Other buses hoot past. By now the driver is in frenzy. He has to reach his destination in time, no matter what. The speed increases and the passengers are frantic. It is a roller coaster ride minus the thrill and excitement. To the driver, it’s a race against time. To us, it’s a matter of life and death as we dangle for dear life like monkeys on a crossbar.

  What follows is pure pandemonium. Scooters, cars, bikes and auto rickshaws go pell-mell as they move out of the narrow road to give way to our bus that honks incessantly while whizzing past.  The bus tilts and swivels at curves and inside, there arises a collective gasp while I say a silent prayer. As my bus stop draws nearer, I pull out my bag from under a heap that has by now formed on the unlucky lap. The conductor bellows the name of the next place and it’s a signal for us to push nearer to the door awaiting our turn to alight. We try to squish through the wall of human bodies getting our toes trampled on the way. The bus screeches to a halt. Within seconds, I find myself in a daze, pushed down the foot-board and onto the road. My hair is in disarray, and a slipper has come off. My toe twitches in pain, my arms ache and my legs wobble. But I thank my lucky stars that I have made it through another bus ride. 
The next morning, over a cup of coffee, as I skim the newspaper a cold chill runs down my spine and my blood curdles as I see lurid pictures of a bus accident. But this is not a novelty in Kerala. For bus goers like me and so many others, each day is a gamble. And when we reach home safe, it’s a narrow escape
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