Feature

Kings of the Road

Sameirah Nasrin Ahsan

THEY growl, they roar, they give off fumes of carbon-mono-oxide. They rule the roads of Dhaka. Yes, they are none other than the rickety public buses (Minibuses) that speed up and down the winding roads of the capital of Bangladesh. These public buses are miniature Dhaka cities moving on wheels. Trust me when I say so…

There is almost always a sense of great havoc at every bus stop, if there was any proper one anyway, because the public bus system refuses to oblige by any given schedule or route after all, when you are royalty, rules are not for you. It is no longer shocking if a bus makes an unscheduled stop at any random roadside, blatantly ignoring the indignant honking of the surprised drivers behind. Instead it huffs out a sadistic puff of black exhaust fume on them and its waiting passengers. Like fans rushing a celebrity with homicidal adoration, we step all over ourselves to get to the bus first. It is one sweaty battle. Passengers move lije a single organism with a bizarre orientation of hands, heads and feet. This provides a perfect opportunity for eager pickpockets who slither in between bodies and stealthily claim their rewards from their victims' back-pockets. The unpredictable weather of Dhaka city doesn't help much either. Some days, the sun glares down upon the passengers their sweat covered faces appearing to melt like yellow wax before such intense heat; on other days, rain plays its evil part in bringing misery to these passengers with the clouds pounding down upon their helpless forms. At the end of the struggle, whatever little hope of looking presentable at the workplace or school completely vanishes.

The bus swallows as many passengers as it can fit, regardless of limited seats. While the not-so-lucky ones might find themselves sitting on the top of the bus with sacks of grain and flour and cages carrying screeching chicken for company. Many daredevils, (most probably inspired by Spiderman, the movie) have the courage to hang from the sides of the moving bus by holding on to its insecure bars. Thus the King of the Road, listing precariously from the excess weight and imbalance begins its long journey, with more than half of its passengers standing or hanging.

The real picture though is not as comical as it sounds. The inside of the bus is a perfect venue for hawkers, peddlers. While the bus-conductor, hanging from the open door of the supposedly 'gate-lock' bus chants “Ai, Gabtoli, Gabtoli!”, “Tongi, Joidebpur!” and such, the peddlers display their wares and call out “Make your teeth shine with blank toothpowder! Free samples!” To match this rhythm, every two minutes the bus would blare out its deafening hydraulic horns, announcing its superior presence to the other vehicles on the road. Many a times beggars parade the bus asking for money to marry off a daughter or fix a malfunctioning kidney. These tales never grow old.

Sweat, stale breath and prolonged periods of bad maintenance inside the bus give birth to a damp, nauseating stench that triggers excessive flow of bile to the oesophagus. Despite these unhealthy conditions, the public bus is famous for being a mobile eatery. Passengers munch on salted cucumbers, carrots and “chanachur” wiping their hands on the dirty seat covers in the process. Many also enjoy home-made rice and curry on the bus. This feast is immediately followed by grotesque sounds of noses blowing and coughing. People spit from the running buses, disregarding the other vehicles and pedestrians on the road. To the horror of the outside world, a head pops out of an open window of the bus, spraying half-digested rice on an unfortunate car's windshield.

The passenger also makes sure that this revolting thick yellow vomit clings to the bus's colourful exterior before he finally settles inside to grab some rest before destination is reached. The passenger acts completely nonchalant of how his grotesque little act has affected the outside world. It wouldn't be wrong to say that vomiting has become the trademark for users of the public bus system.

The bus is also an ideal place for perverts. Women who have traveled in these buses have faced situations where an objectionable comment is whispered into their ears or more shockingly, a pinch on the body. The most disgusting of these harassments is the feel of foul, moist breath on the neck. Those of these women born with bold hearts do not hesitate to initiate boxing matches, which of course starts out with horrible name-calling and threats and ends with the resounding slaps and punches on the miscreant from the angered woman and the surrounding passengers. This takes care of the lack of television drama within the bus.

The King of the Road huffs and puffs along the roads of Dhaka with its miniature community functioning within in full swing. Despite the odds, the public bus remains the only affordable means of transport for the general people of Dhaka. Once one learns to accept the aforementioned difficulties, it actually starts to feel like home. And there comes a point in time when you become one with the bus, which is a minuscule picture of Dhaka itself. Despite all the complaints blackouts, strikes, crazy politicians, littering, traffic jams and all that, happiness still blooms in Dhaka, hope is born, lives go on just like that, despite all odds, the public bus rounds a corner, and another corner and another corner…

(Student of North South University)