Image showing a bus in Delhi.
Credit: iStock Photo
The Delhi government made bus travel free for ladies quite sometime ago. One fine wintry day, I too decided to venture into a Delhi Transport Corporation bus, ages after my college days. I was surprised to find a uniformed policewoman in the bus who looked just right for her role: ward off any miscreants. I was going to Delhi Haat, a popular site for its ambience and the typical atmosphere of a rural village fair. I got down and was pleasantly surprised to find a washroom right next to the bus stop.
It was a nice and bright day. I bought a ticket and leisurely strolled past the stalls, soaking in the pleasant sun and admiring the award-winning artisans’ unique and striking work. As if to signal the onset of winter, the stalls had stocked woollens: shawls, stoles, jackets, ponchos, shrugs, mufflers, caps, capes, and the ever-so-beautiful Kashmiri phirans.
It is rumoured that many designers begin their day with a visit to Delhi Haat to draw inspiration from the medley of excellent handloom and handicrafts. I bought a few curios and leather jutties before heading to the food court to quieten my rumbling stomach. My search for a sumptuous meal of authentic, village-style sarson ka saag and makki ki roti was suitably fulfilled.
The makki ki roti was wafer thin and perfectly round. The saag was topped with white butter, and the thali came complete with a lump of gur (jaggery), some green and red chutney, pickles, and crisp juliennes of radish, which were rather sweet. I topped off the meal with a dessert of kulfi.
I was not prepared for what lay ahead on my ride back home. It was an hour and a half ride and quite an ordeal. I did not get a seat and was jostled and pushed. As we covered the distance, the bus seemed to get more crowded. There was no place even for my feet, which were stepped on several times. I was in the middle of the bus, one stop away from mine. I realised that it was going to be a struggle to reach the exit.
I shrieked at the top of my voice that I needed space to move forward. Despite the heavy lunch, I struggled to push ahead, and I was able to disembark after a considerable effort. I was relieved to be standing on firm ground. As a parting shot, a lady from the bus shouted an advice, “Next time have your breakfast before boarding a DTC bus.”
I figured it wasn’t the food, but my skills of pushing and shoving had rusted away with time.