Dear friend,
By now you might have noticed that I’m a very observant person, even though my mother believes otherwise. I prefer to use public transport on a regular basis because I enjoy watching people, observing their lives and feeling that I’m a part of this big, beautiful world. Sometimes I get inspired by what I see and turn it into a write-up, a photograph or a painting. More often than not, I feel hesitant to show it to people. But I’m working on that. So here’s a glimpse, with the hope that you see this as an example of how a writer/artist’s mind works and not as evidence of me being a creep. (Because I swear, I’m not!) Anyway, here you go:
August 4, 2023
August this year, is unbearably, unreasonably and unacceptably hotter than usual.
After the ultra-fast sprint to catch my bus, the jostle of getting into it amidst the sea of fellow college girls and finally accomplishing the feat of the day - finding an empty seat by the window, I can feel my legs burning against the worn-out fabric of my jeans as I settle in.
Sweat trickles down the sides of my neck and between my shoulder blades. The air feels dry and hot against my skin. “This is not how you’re supposed to behave, August!” I mutter under my breath. There’s no one on the seat beside me to hear it.
The bus crawls along slowly, in sync with the sluggish traffic. I’m assuming that in some other countries, at least in the non-tropical ones, autumn would have rolled in by now, bringing with it signs of crispy orange leaves and foggy weather. Here in the ever-humid coastal region of South India, the only fog-like thing to be found is the smoke billowing from the vehicles stuck in traffic.
The bus momentarily halts at the next stop and a storm of college girls swarms its insides. No more empty seats left. No more airflow either.
I try to keep my arm from rubbing against the arm of the girl that just parked herself into the seat beside me, sweating just as profusely as I am. She doesn’t seem as much bothered by the sweat though. She’s more concerned about keeping her social circle updated about her whereabouts. The moment the bus starts off again, she clicks a selfie on her phone, with only half of her face visible, her friends and the bus as the backdrop and goes to work on the picture, adding stickers and a time stamp, to maintain her snap streak for the day.
On the street outside, four women in police uniform walk past, all covering their noses against the stench of the sewage nearby. Two of them have their police caps pressed against their nose and mouth, as protection against the horrid smell.
A few feet from me, on the inside of the bus, a woman standing against the railing, has so many piercings on her ears, that gold trinkets seem to cover every other millimetre of her lobes, leaving barely any skin visible through all that jewellery. Had my eyesight been any worse, I’d have assumed that she had painted her ears with gold paint.
The school kid I saw the other day catches my eye and we share a smile for a second or two. Two girls from my college have their phones pressed to their ears, covered with phone cases that appear too girly to my taste - a lavender case with gold patterns and a hot pink case covered in small white hearts. Their calls began the moment they got on board and 21 minutes later, the two young women are still speaking to a couple of "special someones" in soft whispers, barely audible or available to the rest of the world.
On the street, a guy with one arm in a cast and sling stands staring at a woman 10 feet away from him, her fair arms and neck covered in cellulite shown strikingly against her lavender tank top. I guess lavender is a trendy colour these days.
Inside the bus, the school kid just pulled a lollipop from her pocket, unwrapped it and started licking it in the stylish way that only teens think is cool. (It’s actually not.) Fortunately for her, she looks adorable, instead of arrogant. I bet people didn't find it adorable when I used to do the same thing years ago.
Along Nelson Manickam Road, the traffic sputters, stops, sputters again, springs forward, dies and crawls along slowly like a car engine brought to life after months of hibernation. The girl beside me gets up from her seat as her stop is near. The pendant on her necklace appears to me like a skeletal T. Rex roaring with its jaw open, like the ones in Jurassic Park and Night At The Museum movies.
Outside, the sky is all golden and gets turned into snaps by the girl sitting in front of me. She is the proud owner of the pink phone case. Having ended her call a while ago, she has settled to browsing through the various social platforms on her phone, tapping on the green and pink circles of Instagram stories, swiping through snaps, sending new snaps of traffic lights and yellow-orange-blue skies, seenzoning group messages on WhatsApp, skipping 3 songs in a row on Spotify and so on.
Next to her, now that the lollipop is halfway licked away, the high schooler props open a textbook on her lap, Unit 1 ready to be devoured during the ride home.
The bus is 3 stops away from mine when a woman carrying a little girl gets on board. The child is wearing the most glittery blue bangles I've ever seen. Her oiled, neatly parted and combed hair is held tightly with the help of a hair clip shaped like a bright pink flower. I look away before the mother catches me watching and thinks I’m a creep.
The lollipop is gone by now, candy and stick alike. I hope the kid didn't swallow or throw the stick out the window. The roads are dirty enough already.
My chapped bottom lip stings against my tongue when I try to lick away the dryness. The crowded MTC bus is not the best place to pull out my chapstick and coat my dry lips with its balm, so I don’t.
Two more stops to go, until mine arrives and I have to walk home.
Suddenly, a thick drop of water falls against my arm. I look up to find the sky still bright and open. Yet the windows of the car nearby are getting drummed on by rainwater. The tar road below gets peppered a dark grey.
One more stop left till I have to get down and the bus stumbles along. Fifty metres down the road, there are no more raindrops. Yet the roofs of the auto-rickshaws and cars driving by, are proofs of a mild shower that has already evaporated into mist.
The stop before mine rolls in and half the crowd empties itself. Airflow returns and the rest of the passengers let out a collective, inaudible sigh.
The guy that just sat down beside me brushes his arm against mine one too many times for me to tick it off as accidental. I glare at him for a second but he’s too busy scrolling on his phone.
Low traffic and a less heavy bus lead the driver to step on the gas for 10 whole seconds before the next red signal slaps him on the face. But the depot is close, along with his tea break, so he keeps his cool and rolls the bus into my stop.
More than an hour since I settled into the seat, I rise up from it, get off the bus and make my way home.
- A. 🌻
Feel free to tell me about your experiences during public commutes in the comment section below. I’m always a sucker for good stories!
Abundance of minor details.. This is the right time.. quit your job and pursue your career as a Detective🕵🏻
This level of observation is why i never take my phone out during bus rides lol. Observing someone going through an empty whatsapp inbox must be hella boring.. XD