Roadways Bus and Chiranjivi…

Ride on a Roadways Bus is a kind of joy ride in its own sense. Not many of you may have experienced this joy because of your being from cities. City buses don’t offer such a joy. Only people from UP, Uttaranchal, and other non-metropolis cities know what Roadways buses are like and how it feels to be inside them. The name by which these buses are called in different non-metropolis states may vary, but the condition of all buses is the same.

I had numerous rides on these buses, the uniqueness of which I couldn’t feel until I came in Delhi and started boarding DTC and Blueline buses.

My vast experience of travelling in Roadways buses made me conclude that most of the people inside these buses are like these buses only— old, dry, depressed, and broken. No laughter, no happy face, and no music. Only one thing present in abundance: eerie silence pregnant with the sound produced by the broken parts of the bus. Whenever the bus passes a bad road, the music that gets created is of a kind that even Beethoven would not be able to create if he were alive.

Inside the bus, coming across a creature with a smile on his face is a rarity. I think all this has to do with the environment that gets created. These buses are so dull that even people sitting inside them become dull.

I remember one such ride because it was different from others. To meet my Aunty, I was travelling in a Roadways Bus from Kotdwara, my hometown, to Dehradun. I was in 12th standard then.

Our bus had crossed Rishikesh, and Dehradun was only one hour away. Thanks God, our journey so far had been without much jhatkas. The driver, with his white beard and no hair (showing his vast experience), seemed to know how to perfectly drive a Roadways bus. But it is impossible to be perfect always.

Even Bhagwan Ram erroneously judged the character of Sita and asked her to go through the fire test to prove her spotless character.

On the plain road with a screeching sound, the bus came to a sudden halt. All body parts of the bus shivered for a moment, producing shivers on the people sitting inside. Some had been sleeping and some in their day dreams before this monstrous halt. No need to tell, how the reflex actions work whenever something sudden of that kind happens in such a state.

After that halt, I gave a short look to everyone in the bus. I could see people with different expressions. Some surprised while others shocked. One Uncle sitting in a nearby seat was holding his nose. That sudden jerk and his being in half sleep gave the ill fate a chance to hit him against the front seat. The result: a swelling nose and now a fully awake Uncle. One Aunty became so red with anger that she started to abuse the driver, and later the bus conductor, who tried to become the driver's advocate. She might have been dreaming of her daughter in law pressing her legs, which has become a rarity in today’s life. Her becoming a red pepper was obvious. Not every day such beautiful dreams come. There were other people too in the bus with somewhat similar startling gestures.

Surprising as it may seem, the same people had been showering praise on the driver for his driving skills till this unexpected halt. People remain happy with you till the time you are making them happy. One act against their liking, and they get changed. Take an example of our Indian cricket team. Tendulkar, Dhoni, and others whose faces were being shined by people are now being blackened after the World cup debacle. Your goodness and all qualities are forgotten soon.

I was just looking at people's changed gestures when the bus’s gate opened, and my attention got diverted.

No living creature got in first. Instead, guided by a manly hand, a king size suitcase climbed the ladders of the gate. It was followed by another suitcase of a comparatively bigger size again guided by a manly hand, but more robust. I was eagerly waiting for this man who possessed these wonderful piece of hands to get in. His hands intrigued me to look him in whole flesh. There was one more suitcase (far smaller than the previous ones); this time guided by soft and beautiful hands. Of course, they were of a girl. Needless to say, those hands intrigued me too.

The first person to get in was a middle-aged man seemingly on the wrong side of forty. Then entered a sparkling beautiful girl wearing a blue suit and with a rare, beautiful smile. All uncles who were sleeping or trying to sleep seemed fully awake now. “Oh! God, how can you make some species so powerful,” I felt.

Now, it was the turn of this man with robust hands. He climbed in a dignified manner with a class of his own. Black spectacles, a well shaped moustache, and a good physique: enough ingredients in a man to make a girl go gaga. Removing my attention from his three things, I looked him in his entirety. What am I seeing! That was Chirajivi, a famous south actor, who worked in a few bollywood movies, but couldn’t create any magic. Moustache doesn’t work in bollywood, and Chirajivi in no way would have them removed because then he would become a flop in south. In south, people love moustache. An actor without a moustache, a round belly, and a lungi is not worth to be called an actor, or for that matter a man. That’s the reason the three khans (Shahrukh, Salman, and Amir— Gods of bollywood) never tried their luck in south films. They knew they would have to come back rolling. For them, to be successful, the only resort would have been to grow a moustache, grow a belly and that too a round one, and wear a lungi. Salman and Amir could have at least thought of growing a moustache, but it would have been difficult for Shahrukh. God gave him everything but not enough facial hair to grow a powerful moustache. But not in any case, anyone of them would have risked that. After all, bollywood is bigger than sollywood (south film industry).

Oops! It seems I have gone astray. From where did this discussion about south film industry come?

Let’s continue with the old kahani…

No seats were vacant in the bus except the long seat (usually for the staff members) facing the driver’s seat. Free from any air of arrogance, all sat comfortably in that seat. I wondered how come such a famous actor travelling in a Roadways bus. Even middle class people nowadays prefer deluxe buses even though they apply a lot of permutation and combination before buying a deluxe bus ticket.

Just to confirm whether he was a real Chiranjivi, I looked outside the bus. At quite a distance, a flashy car with a punctured tyre was resting under the canopy of trees. “Only Chiranjivi can have such a car,” the thought came to my mind. This car may have betrayed them while on their way to Dehradun. Seeing no other way, or maybe just to feel some adventure, they would have decided to get in a Roadways bus. Surprising for Chiranjivi, nobody seemed to recognize him, but despite that everybody looked at him; otherwise, people would already be in queue for an autograph. People looked towards him maybe because of his robust hands or maybe because of spectacles or maybe because of the beautiful girl sitting beside him (probability lies more here).

Chiranjivi was looking at every person’s face inside the bus trying to gauge who recognized him and who didn’t. When his eyes finally met mine, my smile gave him a hint that I recognized him.

“Oh! At least someone knows me in this land of Khans,” he must have thought.

During the time they spent in reaching Dehradun, those three people kept on smiling, laughing, and enjoying. The Roadways bus that usually makes people sleepy and dry couldn’t change them. It was a different experience for them, and they seemed to be enjoying it thoroughly. It seemed they liked sitting with common people, without receiving any special attention; it seemed they detested always being in limelight; it seemed they didn’t like being approached for an autograph; and it seemed they came to Dehradun to see life in the same manner as common people see it.

I felt for a moment: How dreadful even the idea is of always being recognized by people? There have been moments when I have liked to sit alone in seclusion, and I have always enjoyed that. What if somebody had come and disturbed me during those moments? I wouldn't have liked that at all. "

These people must be facing a lot of difficulty in being themselves," I thought. They may be wanting peace, but people will not let them experience piece. And people cannot be blamed for that. They love stars and want their autographs. Only their love (though not perfect) has made Chiranjivi's and Shahrukh's.

'Even their being so famous doesn't give them enough luxury to be what they want to be and to do what they want to do.'

Finally, the bus station came and Chirajivi got down with his party giving me a smiling look. Maybe he was thanking me for recognizing him and at the same time not recognizing. I don't know, but I felt so.

Assumptions can be wrong, but always good enough to create stories :-)

Disclaimer: The guy I met in the bus looked exactly like Chiranjivi. I even overheard them talk in some south language. Though I am fully confident he was Chiranjivi, there may be a mistake in my recognizing him. Some points that support my claim are:

Flashy car (of a kind that you generally don't see common people driving)
Sparklingly beautiful girl (whose chances are very high of being spotted with a star like Chiranjivi ;))
A middle aged man (who seemed like Chiranjivi's business manager)