Anatomy of a bus ride

T. Nagar has become crazy this Diwali season (perhaps always is during Diwali). The coming of the mega clothing stores (Saravana, SKC, Pothys, RMKV) has concentrated all the shopping within one square kilometer – so you can imagine the rush, the craziness and the commerce that goes on.
Sunday was the last weekend before Diwali – traditionally the busiest day for shopping for the entire year. Auto rickshaws are prohibited on the main shopping route in T. Nagar, and yet, the traffic was standstill or, if you're lucky, moving inch-by-inch.
My MIL has a friend, who operates an orphanage and old age home (these two institutions seem to go well together, as seen in many NGOs), has an annual concert and we were going to attend that. We, meaning, me, MIL, Maha, Vijay, and Govind (who had never set foot inside a bus, not even in the U.S., I might add).
After my idea of calling a call taxi was rejected (with good reason, apparently, no call taxi will ply to T. Nagar anyways), came a bus filled with people. Never mind the day of the week, Diwali means crowds, we gathered, but we wanted to wait for a bus with at least a square inch of footroom for each person.
Another bus arrived soon after, which might have been better. It didn't have the promised square inch, we learned, after we somehow got on. It was one of those buses where the front of the bus is reserved for ladies, and the back of the bus, for men. Earlier, there used to be buses where these two sections were separated by a grill, and was nicknamed “nai” bus (Dog bus) by my sis – it was quite amusing, especially when the ladies section would sometimes have a few free seats, while the men’s section would be bursting at its seams!
We all got in, or were shoved in, and the bus started before Vijay and Govind could get on. There was a mini-crisis in my mind, as I contemplated having everyone get off, but they both got on fine. Next came the task of getting Govind to a comfortable position (not possible, I learned). My MIL tried to get him to hold one of the poles in the bus, or even sit on one of the seats, but so terrified was he, that he just hugged my MIL’s knees, paralyzing her motion as well.
After getting the tickets (premium price, I must mention, as the bus was ‘Deluxe.’) we thought the bus would move. But it was stuck In traffic. We saw people walking by us – what’s more, we saw them walking back, after competing their chore as well, while we were stuck in the same place. T.Nagar is accessible by a subway (from our home), and the bus was stuck forever even before we reached the subway, which was known for its traffic snarls anyways.
My MIL had another bright idea – to get off before the subway (even though there was no bus stop), and cross the railway line (somehow, I’m sure it must have involved something illegal, not quite sure, as the lines are quite blurred). I was vehemently against this idea, and as we debated back and forth, the bus lurched forward, and braked immediately, of course, pushing us all a few feet in front. I looked down to see Govind was still holding on to his grandmom’s sari, and had now buried his face within her sari’s pleats.
After what seemed like an eternity, we got off at another unscheduled (but encouraged by the conductor) stop. The program itself went well, and we got a mix of some good songs, although the volume was really high. Our sitting right next to the speakers didn’t help, of course.
The way back was uneventful, as we hired an auto to get home. Of course, auto rates in Chennai are always negotiated, and the meter lies purely as a decorative piece.
I realized that I would have enjoyed this bus ride, had I been on vacation. It would have been something to tick off on my “local things I did when I went home.” Being local when you live locally is not all that attractive, I realized.