The Wrong Lever
Swapnil's car is convenient. You just have to pop into it and after a three hour comfortable ride, you are in Bombay. You could sleep, you could watch a movie or you could play the channel of your choice. Adarsh's witty dialogs add to the frolic and the fight to avoid the bitch seat, which is now a tradition, makes Swapnil's car absolutely unavoidable. So when I decided to sacrifice my seat and hence the funvenience, for a colleague last Friday, it was not an easy decision I must confess. It meant being transported to the highway being sardined in a six seater. The term six seater is quite a misnomer. Ten passengers crammed into space meant for six and with a sweaty beast to my left, it was no mean thing staying alive. 
Perhaps, that fragrant pretty girl to my right, saved the day for me. Once at the highway, I followed my algorithm. Take the first bus to Bombay irrespective of the comforts it promises. So as other people at the bus stop twitched their noses, I put faith in my algorithm. Eighty bucks instead of the usual two hundred for the AC Volvo on weekends was quite cheap but another guy who got in wanted to seal the deal at seventy. I did not find the detested bus uncomfortable. It was an old white bus, which could do a 80kmph, with cushioned seats and window seats just waiting for me. I occupied the one at the rear end. There was no one around me except for this couple just ahead. As wind gushed in, I did not feel the need for an air conditioner. Looking outside the window, I must have been lost in my thoughts when this happened. The hand of the lady sitting right in front of me was crawling up my knees and onto my left lap. In the immediate moments that followed, I do not find or perhaps there do not exist, the right words to describe my shock. With a guy seemingly looking like her husband seated next to her, why would she like to play the bitch? I got my answer in the next few seconds as she tried looking for something in between the seat and the tin. She was looking for the lever to adjust her seat.
Perhaps, that fragrant pretty girl to my right, saved the day for me. Once at the highway, I followed my algorithm. Take the first bus to Bombay irrespective of the comforts it promises. So as other people at the bus stop twitched their noses, I put faith in my algorithm. Eighty bucks instead of the usual two hundred for the AC Volvo on weekends was quite cheap but another guy who got in wanted to seal the deal at seventy. I did not find the detested bus uncomfortable. It was an old white bus, which could do a 80kmph, with cushioned seats and window seats just waiting for me. I occupied the one at the rear end. There was no one around me except for this couple just ahead. As wind gushed in, I did not feel the need for an air conditioner. Looking outside the window, I must have been lost in my thoughts when this happened. The hand of the lady sitting right in front of me was crawling up my knees and onto my left lap. In the immediate moments that followed, I do not find or perhaps there do not exist, the right words to describe my shock. With a guy seemingly looking like her husband seated next to her, why would she like to play the bitch? I got my answer in the next few seconds as she tried looking for something in between the seat and the tin. She was looking for the lever to adjust her seat.
posted by Neel Arurkar | 7:22 PM
|
12 comments
