0812 hrs .The bus was late . It always was , in winter . The day was foggy too . Dense and impenetrable . When I descended the steps , to wait for the school bus , I knew it would be delayed . It was stuck at the railway crossing . I could hear the train whistle , a prolonged honking , almost pleading unseen trespassers , to clear the path . Cold , damp air slapped my cheeks the moment I descended . I hate taking the lift . What if there is a power failure ? Plus today is my computer test . I might as well look up my notes .
Three boys came chasing each other up , on the colony road . Scuffing of school shoes , Joyous shouts and mindless panting . Can’t they sit quietly and revise ? No, even on this important day , they have to make a fool of themselves ,sniggering at others who are absorbed in their books (me ) , and peer through the window of a newly arrived Toyota MUV, parked on the sidewalk .
0815 hrs Pramod was assiduously washing cars . Armed with a rag ,he would dip it in a dirty bucket , then swish the wet rag all over . As it is , the fog was supplying plentiful moisture on the wind shields . All he had to do was join the dots . Some of the moisture from the rag flew off towards the boys .
“hey ! watch it !” Screamed one of them . Pramod paused . In that split second , several things happened simultaneously .
The bus lurched from around the corner . I got up from the stone bench , and turned to put the book into my bag . The boys rushed to fetch theirs with shouts of glee . And a small white desire suddenly came round the corner , bumping into the bus . The slow , rumbling bus gave a jolt forward and stopped . Pramod gave a shout , and the kids watched in horror , as the car swerved from behind the bus , with its dented hood , smoking and clattering , rode the sidewalk , almost missing the boys , and Toyota , sent Pramod’s bucket flying and bumped into the front of the bus .
Then it lurched to a drunken stop , across . Blocking the road . Smoke and shouts everywhere . A girl in the bus was hysterically screaming , non stop . The boys , stood on the footstep , puzzled . They were pulled in by the conductor , impatient to shout some profanities . I boarded in the same breath , and sat next to Sameera, the screaming girl . She saw me , hugged me tight and buried her face in my blazer . I patted her head. At least it shut her up .
The bus conductor , Pramod , and the owner of the Toyota were shouting at the driver who got out wobbly , opened his door , which was festooned with Pramod’s dripping rags , and in a grotesque slow motion slumped to the ground . I recognised him immediately , as the neighbouring uncle , who drops his wife to a faraway school , every morning. Then returns , readies himself and drives to work himself . That day , he had decided to have one too many pegs . Early in the morning . Confirmed alcoholic dependance syndrome , my father would say .
He slumped to the ground , groaning and dazed , jerked and vomited . Vomit running down his jacket front . People started helping him up . Pramod and others held his arms , some others held his leg , they managed to sway him to the side walk .
Our bus driver kept waving his fist , and swearing angrily , honking by turns . Preetam ma’am , at her usual seat behind the the driver, was craning her neck outside the window , so were some other inquisitive kids . Girls , including Sameera, found this opportunity , a Godsend reprieve, to revise through tricky portions of Python and Java. My mom was leaning out of her balcony , and shouting instructions .I ,instinctively , ducked . Preetam ma’am turned back , and asked me , “you know this man ?”
“No , ma’am !” I lied . Quickly returning back to the book . The driver managed to manoeuvre the huge rumbling bus , out of the chaotic mess . As we swerved past , I saw Pramod wiping the driver’s vomit smeared jacket front with one of his rags .Ewwww! I don’t think I will be ever able to get rid of that image .
