Well, that is what Wikipedia has to say about it.
To me, the city is all about hype, color, traffic, movement, flow, people, pollution. And Bollywood.
Anyway, back to the bus. The time I speak of is about four years ago, when my family had just left Muscat and we were back on apni zameen, our own homeland.
And I was, for the first in my life, all alone at a bus stop, waiting for a ride back home.
No, actually I was with a couple of friends. How else was I to understand the fancy numbers in Hindi that were no more meaningful to me than an assortment of lines and curves? These numbers told you which route the bus would follow. Until you are a headstrong adventurist, you do NOT want to get on a wrong bus.
I remember standing there and watching as the bus continued to slunk sulkily in the traffic. My thoughts went something like, God, this thing could put a snail to shame.
Finally, it was at the bus stop.
So what you had to do was continue to stay in the line and then get in the bus as your turn came.
Wait.
Line? Turn?
Whoa, let’s not forget this is Mumbai we are talking about. Here, there ARE NO LINES!
Each time, I remember how everyone would just clutter around the narrow opening of the bus, trying to clamber in as quickly as if there was a prize for the one who did this the fastest. So now I find myself in a flock of citizen- sheep, pulling and pushing as everyone tries to scramble in at once.
It is a miracle how I can even get in here, I would think each time, as the bus would begin to pull away.
An example of flow, that. Be it at a bus stop, or a railway station, you just stand in the crowd and flow with it. For all around you would be such a huge ocean of people, ki cheenti ke chalne ki bhi jagaah na ho. That not even an ant can pass through, my grandma would say. (She, by the way, has been an active Mumbaikar for about 50 (and counting) years now).
On my very first bus ride, I was awed. Later all sorts of adjectives—not very positive, I’m afraid—could be used to describe how I felt.
On that trip though, I must have looked like a bright bubbly girl of seven, thinking quietly to myself, Whoa, look at all these people!!! For there were all sorts of people around you, brushing against you. You spent three quarters of your journey standing, mostly sandwiched uncomfortably. That is the condition of Mumbai buses everyday early in the morning and then again late in the evening, when the populace is on its way to work, or returns from work. It’s remarkable just how the number swells. So, in the mornings, the bus is flooded with the mild scent of beauty soap and cologne. Come dusk, it is salty with the smell of sweat and exhaustion.
Well, the rickety mobile lumbered ahead. I stood where I was, dutifully, not so sure now that I was enjoying it. Just then, pushing his way through the mess of men, women and children, came the burly old conductor.
I know how this goes, I thought to myself. I just tell him where I need to go, give him the money and the guy punches me a ticket.
Right?
Wrong.
There are a thousand things that could go wrong, as I discovered on that fateful day.
“Airport Stop” I said.
“Huh?”
“Airport Stop.” I said a little more louder.
“Das Rupiyaa” he muttered gruffly.
Ten Rupees. Right. I had to give him the money and get the ticket.
So I wriggled a little until I had space enough to take off the bag hanging on my shoulder and hunt for the das rupiya.
It happened just then.
The bus suddenly braked to a halt.
Inertia played its part, and the next thing I know, I am thrown forward mercilessly.
It was like being in a free fall. I didn’t know when I would stop falling. I remember feeling the silk of someone’s saree, the coarseness of someone’s jeans, as I fell through all those people, unable to brake, unable to stop.
Honestly, I cannot think of another time I must have felt that hot around the neck. I knew I had gone red as a beet.
The bus, meanwhile, continued forward.
I hauled myself up, flustered but unhurt. I could feel eyes looking at me.
“Uh, I’m okay” I wanted to say but I’m glad I didn’t. Because then I would have looked like a complete moron. On a busy day in a crowded Mumbai bus, people have neither the time nor the inclination to care.
That was the good news (though I dare say, I did catch a few giggles).
The better news was that I had learnt “my goddamn lesson,” as I told my amused mother at dinner that day, “Always, always hold on the handrails of a bus when you stand.”
*
Analyzing this form a social perspective, it is evident that there are several factors at play, influencing the way people behave and interact. Consider, for one, the question of inequality. In a city with a teeming population and relatively scarce resources, there is a wide economic disparity and uneven resource allocation. This leads to inevitable inter- societal competition for limited reserves. Middle and lower middle class Mumbaikars, for example, are heavily dependent on buses and rickshaws as their primary mode of transport, since these are highly cost effective. But the available transport facilities cannot satiate the ever-increasing demand of the booming population. This leads to a rat-race where everyone tries to utilize the existing capital to the maximum. But in case of the bus, an innumerable number of users are pitted against a limited number of seats, causing unavoidable friction. According to latest statistics, Mumbai public transport carries about 5.5 million people per day.
Mumbaikars today have become rather indifferent to the pitiable quality of local buses, their low frequency and poor maintenance. They are habituated to the unending traffic jams; to the indescribably large crowd packed inside. They are unconcerned about how painful and exhausting it can be to travel back and forth in a suffocating human mess.
What matters to them most is that the bus can carry them over long distances for only das rupiyaa. Ten Rupees.
At first, I found it really difficult to digest the hustle- bustle of the metropolitan city. But the interactions I had largely helped define perceptions of my own looking- glass self. This concept was very well explained by Sociology Professor Geoff Harkness as: “Our identity is based on what we think of ourselves and what we think of what others think of ourselves.” This socio- psychological concept of how one perceives oneself has largely to do with his/her level of integration with a society. In my case, Mumbai initially made me conclude that I was naïve and inexperienced; that I was an alien trying hard to fit in an entirely different culture (which ironically, was my own).
Propounding on the concept of identity definition, it is fascinating to note that one’s identity continuously keeps changing, with respect to society, people etc. “ Not the whole of our identity,” said Professor Harkness, “but certainly, a part of it.” In other words, there is always an element of our identity that chameleons other people’s attitudes and behaviors. Every new experience adds to our knowledge base, influencing our identity inconspicuously.
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