my life in buses

I like bus rides more than trains

something about holding onto a

rod for balance in the middle of

an unknown crowd from myriad

walks of life - strange faces and

pungent amalgam of sweat and

deodorants - something about it

all is very comforting to me.

on evenings when I get a seat after

standing for while its like the ultimate

reward - as if all the frustration and

angst ebb from my soul in shades of

Black.

the hawkers board at some bus stops

- furnishing their amla or ajwain packets;

peanut chikki, chanachur and toffees; few

of them even sell

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childrens' books or clothes.

sometimes eunuchs or old people beg

for alms, and bless you in the name of

God; one day even a kid with a stereo

played songs and hummed along for

a while to get loose change.

when the bus runs slow passengers

flick their fingers on the roof and yell

mostly verbal fights break out with the

conductors and resolve in moments.

be it summer, monsoon, or winter

your day might not have gone well

you can still lose yourself in the

microcosm of this public vehicle

as it huffs smoke, rolls its wheels

and goes on, just like life.