WHAT WOULD HAVE LIFE BEEN WITHOUT THE KSRTC!
I am not a KSRTC (Kerala State Road Transport Corporation) employee, neither am I a trade union member, nor the leader of the opposition. But as someone whose life is gearless without the government road transport, I can’t help saying that the ordinary Malayalee’s life revolves around the ‘KSRTC’- after the coconut and the rubber trees.
John Dryden, the famous neo- classical English poet, dramatist and critic would perhaps have reframed his critical comment on Geoffrey Chaucer’s “The Canterbury Tales” had he travelled in one of the KSRTC buses. In “God’s own country” he wouldn’t have to seek far for “God’s plenty”. From inter state Volvo buses to long distance express buses to super fast buses to fast passenger buses to city services and local buses, Ananthapuri, Venad and Malabar buses and the latest low floor buses, the KSRTC comes in all shapes, sizes and colours. And so do the people to whom these buses are an inevitable part of life.
Lovingly called the “aana vandi” (of elephantine size) literally symbolising the KSRTC logo of two elephants holding up the sarnath lion capital with their trunks and metaphorically because these buses take up three- fourths of our road space, the KSRTC speaks manifolds about the Malayalee, from the lowest to the highest rungs of society and their changing attitudes.
The short distance local, city, Ananthapuri and Venad buses are where one has all the excitement. Student concession in these buses makes travelling a financial relief, so the peak hours of jam packed buses are in the mornings and the evenings. However daily wage workers and other employees also depend on these buses due to which students hardly get a seat and are crushed to the railings of the seats most of the time. But who cares! If reality shows are gradually running out of business they can well think of canvassing the versatility of talent unfolding in these buses.
Young college and school boys keep fiddling with their cell phones- the latest in the market- showing off the latest ring tones and reading aloud the popular “Tintumon jokes” with an eye out for the girls. One also gets to hear the latest hits sung in the loudest of pitches and the hoarsest of voices and the “Star Singers” are usually in their best outfits, pretending to be emerging rheumatic..er..romantic heroes. This may be why they enjoy standing on the footboard and clinging on to the hinges- because the door is usually missing- and pretend to look brave when the bus topples to a side along the bends and curves looking like one time Bollywood heroes trying to impress their heroines hoping their lives would take a Bollywoodic turn. And at times the heroines are flapping their eyelids in sympathy but most of the time are trying to place themselves safely away from men who pass comments or eve tease taking good advantage of the “no space for a pin” buses.
Middle aged and old women board the bus with all their domestic weapons, ranging from the grindstone to the coconut scraper to vegetables- the drumsticks are usually making music against someone’s legs- , fish, and even hens about to roost, grumble and mutter if somebody accidentally steps on their feet. The bus conductor usually bears the brunt; he is scolded and sometimes even beaten up if the bus stops an inch back or forth from the bull’s eye. And when it rains, these buses put water theme parks out of business. Though all the shutters are down before one can say Tom, Dick or Harry, there is no escaping the rain pellets. The driver shows his expertise in playing Blind man’s Buff because the windscreen is covered in mist and visibility is poor. In spite of all these travelling in these buses gives you a sense of being in touch with reality in this supersonically fast moving world, because people seem to be making new friends everyday and socialise in no time at all.
Coming to the fast passengers and the super fast buses, life takes an elite and civilised turn, if talking on your cell phones, text messaging and listening to MP3 and FM music headphones on, is what one considers the ethics of being civilised. And unlike the local buses where people don’t care if they are sitting or standing, in these buses people sit glued to their seats- hardly talking to anyone- hoping no one with kids, arthritis and fractures board the bus. And even if their prayers aren’t heard, most of the time pretending to ignore them or suddenly developing a vision problem for fear of having to get up- curse the “reserved” caption above their seats- and bear the impact of the jerks and the shoves, manual and mechanic. Ironically, blind passengers for whom the Government has graciously reserved 1% of the total seats are “not seen” by the ones who can see, until they are poked in the ribs- not with conscience- with the walking stick. And when old men get in, they are expected to produce certificates to prove their age, for the bottom to shift a little with the last remaining vestige of humanity.
One is permanently in an amusement park with the driver pulling off hair pin bends and huge curves with élan, and the creatures inside tossed in different directions, and the sudden brakes propelling people forward. I remember one passenger standing at the back who was thrown right up to the driver’s seat- greeted him- and bounced back. The authorities need to consider making helmets and heavy padding mandatory for all passengers- they can also come in handy for playing cricket when stuck in the traffic. In spite of all the jostle and the commotion people can be seen drifting off to sleep with their heads gyrating on their necks with the movement of the bus and toppling on the shoulders of the co- passengers who may also be fast asleep or immersed in deep philosophical thoughts. Some try to push the heads away by nudging in the ribs or clearing their throats or making a sudden, swift movement with the arms or sitting up straight and in the process try and wake them up, but to no avail. They seem to have inherited Kumbhakarna’s genes with the exception that they are usually awake a minute before they need to get off at their stop, however some true heirs often end up landing two- three stops ahead.
There used to be a time when women used to hesitate sharing a seat with men, but times have changed, with liberalisation and feminism and the demand for 33% reservation, the taboo on sitting with the “annya purushan” (stranger) seems to have lifted and men and women travel in mutual understanding. And lovers too have been given privacy, but with the eyeballs of the co- passenger actively moving to the corners once in a while and the ears up and alert like a rabbit’s. Middle aged men are usually talking the “I am perfect, but the Government is doing nothing” politics over the phone and complaining about the gutter filled and unclean roads and spitting out of the window to emphasise the point. Mercifully, the shutters are usually down or people would be getting facials done every once in a while.
Pick pockets and hawkers are common at the bus stations and while the former usually wait to get into overcrowded buses, the latter shuttle from bus to bus at the stations trying hard to make both ends meet. Hawkers sell a variety of wares and one gets the feeling the “Chinese Mela” has come alive along with memories of childhood. From ‘injimutayee’ (ginger sweet), “kapalandi mutayee’ (groundnut sweet). ‘naranga mutayee’(lemon sweet) to ‘Balarama’, ‘Poompata’, PSC question booklets, Astrology books, safety pins, hair clips, name it and the hawkers have it.
Dawn to dusk, the ordinary Malayalee’s life shuttles from one KSRTC to another KSRTC. There are people who have been travelling for years in the buses and for them this must be a second home. Though the “personal vehicle” revolution in the last decade may have taken away a little glory off the KSRTC but it will be a long long time before the Malayalee bids goodbye to it.
Long live the KSRTC!!!
Rashmi S.Pillai English Optional
