II. Public Transportation

I’ve been riding a big, red, 6 rupee (12 cent) Indian public transportation bus to work and back every day, and it’s just like an American bus, except that it is packed with Indians (who want to know all about me and why I’m on the bus), it has special seats for ladies (probably considered sexist in U.S.), and it doesn’t always go where it says it will go. I make friends easily at the bus stop, because I’m the only white guy who ever rides the bus. The ticket guy doesn’t ask me where I’m going any more, because he knows that the white guy goes to Metro Theater (near work). This gives me a sense of pride at the courageous and adventuresome nature I must have to really sink my teeth into the lifestyle of everyday Indians, and it gives the Indians something / someone to laugh at because the idiot firung (foreigner) is subjecting himself to a jam-packed, toe-stepping, pick-pocketing oven of a bus when he could afford to take a cab.

I get many amused looks, and some of them turn into amusing and often dysfunctional conversations. When someone speaks English the conversation is usually a lot better, and sometimes even results in a shared cab and a new friend. I got on a bus recently with a friend I had made at the bus stop. He was a middle-aged college administrator with several PhD’s of one kind or another, and an actor in Christian public service films. Upon boarding the bus we were informed, in Hindi, that the 103 was not taking its usual route today. Bored of its routine meanderings, this specific bus had decided that it had the autonomy to check out a different part of the city this evening, and would therefore not be taking me home. Of course I didn’t understand a word of the ticket guy’s explanation, but I assume that what I just wrote is something close. Fortunately my newfound friend Pradeep did understand, and promptly helped me off the bus and into a cab that we shared and he paid for. If it weren’t for Pradeep I might still be working my way back from work.