At the risk of sounding like a total and utter noob (I’ll know I have when wisecrackboy leaves a “Noob. ” comment, which he’ll now feel compelled to do), I’m going to tell you about my latest revelations about bussing it.
Consider it a sequel to my little pre-bussing-it post.
So there I was, taking the 100 at 5.30-ishpm, getting back home after some blah-de-blah interview at the cinnamon.
The bus was being a bastard, as most if not all Sri Lankan buses are, swerving obnoxiously in and out of lanes, driving fast and precariously close to other moving objects and then suddenly braking just about an inch from consecutive buses at the halts.
The driver had frilly floor rugs around him, he was sitting on one, there was one under his seat, and one on the dashboard.
A special liking for frilly rugs perhaps.
Plastic and silver rings on his fingers, and a gaudy golden watch on his wrist.
He kept looking into his comically huge rear-view mirror and scowling at the people in the back, his Hitler-esque moustache twitching, before suddenly tugging at the comically huge lever at his side.
The fuel and speed dials looked funny within a lumpy-shaped frame with no glass covering, behind the steering wheel.
One of my favourite black-and-white-era hindi songs, except in jinkijikka-sinhala-version, blared from the radio that had “Merry Christmas” painted on it.
An array of hindu gods in various poses stood in a regal row above the radio.
The bus was getting crowded.
I was seated next to this woman who’d managed to completely pass out against the window amidst all the noise and crowdedness.
A woman’s stomach was almost right in my face on the right, and some guy’s hand was inadvertently almost right in my face on the left.
Maybe the woman’s pregnant, I thought, as her bundi completely obstructed my view of the road ahead. Should I get up and give her the seat then?
But what if it’s just… glandular… and she gets offended and thinks I’m calling her fat?
Some teenager’s crotch is almost in the face of the sleeping woman. He reaches into his pocket to take out the bus money, hoping the woman doesn’t wake up and get the wrong idea.
Toffee wrappers and crumpled paper strewn across the floor.
Cash notes folded into neat little squares collected by the conductor.
A hobo wearing an Audioslave t-shirt.
Man yelling into bluetooth looks like he’s talking to himself.
Soon, butts as far as the eye can see because everyone’s standing around in front of me in awkward positions.
A bunch of people, probably from completely different backgrounds, classes and worlds.
Rubber slippers and stilettos.
Dirty worn faces and Maybelline make-up.
All forced to play Twister in this cramped up little sardine can.
An old lady grabs the side bars while the bus speeds off mercilessly as she gets into the bus.
She climbs in and stands on the side, catches my eye and smiles one of those wrinkly smiles that only sweet old ladies can give.
It’s like she gets the joke too.
What’s going to happen when the sleeping woman wakes up to find someone’s crotch in her face?
Where did that hobo get that awesome band tshirt from?
Is that bluetooth guy just pretending to be talking into his bluetooth thing cuz he’s bored?
So many randomass questions, with a myriad of giggle-worthy answers, in something as mundane as taking a bus from point A to point B.
So yes. I love it to bits.
I know, I’m easily amused.