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Spice of Life | 50 years later, a bus journey back in time
Living spaces in India’s hinterland, the crowds and the traffic have become overwhelming. Its individuals have grown and done well for themselves. The India of the ’70s is merrily chugging along, 50 years later it seems as if time stands still, writes Priyan R Naik
Travelling 200km from Delhi to the Shekhawati region of Rajasthan was bound to be different from travel 50 years ago. A remote destination, even by today’s standards, it would take almost five hours to reach. Travelling by day was preferable to a night bus, which could be pretty painful, the buses usually packed with passengers and no available seat. Holding on to a hand rail while standing never made for a pleasant experience and it was during these times that we wished some rich industrialist would adopt us and spare us this harrowing journey.
Regular bus services touched Bahadurgarh, Rohtak and Bhiwani before reaching Loharu on the periphery of our destination, the bus ride reasonably pleasant as we crossed hamlets, routinely passing huge fields being ploughed with bullocks. Unfortunately, the bus operators had this habit of staying put at a bus stop, not starting off until the conductor in his judgment felt the bus was sufficiently packed. The driver would often ‘trick-start’ the engine to fool the public into believing the bus would leave any moment, while the conductor let out loud full-throated calls “Loharu, Loharu, Loharu…. ” both rhythmic and musical. Their doubtful utility notwithstanding, we felt this urge to imitate these loud sonorous calls, which we most often did.
Half a century later, full of expectations and anticipation we set off again, this time in a chartered bus following a slightly different route via Dharuheda, Rewari, Narnaul and Singhana, supposedly easier to navigate. Passing through crowded local towns, despite being equipped with Google Maps, we could hardly interpret the route amid haphazard traffic signage. The Rewari to Narnaul portion was possibly the worst keeping us on tenterhooks till we hit a roundabout, leading to a flyover, the left side of which brought us back on track. The roads we traversed had the same unending streaks of yore punctuated with gaping holes and patches and pesky trucks overtaking from the wrong side. Farms were full of crops as before, only the bullocks replaced with gleaming tractors. The torturous traffic as we passed through way side towns had to take its toll, what took five hours then, took seven hours to cover the same distance!
Little had changed, albeit the towns looked crowded, several shops visible, all cheek by jowl, one across the road from the other. Individuals had become older, a small cold drink shop that we frequented then, had grown thrice its original size. “Kapoorji” was the owner and his 12-year-old son used to run about then, serving us glassfuls of ‘shikanji’ (lemonade). This son was now 62 years old, pudgy and balding, his smile the same as before. We couldn’t resist asking him whether we could pull his cheeks as we did back then for old times’ sake. When asked why his sons were not helping him with the shop, he told us one was in Germany and the other in the United States.
What of modernity or the 21st century? Living spaces in India’s hinterland, the crowds, the traffic have become overwhelming. Its individuals have grown and done well for themselves. The India of the ’70s is merrily chugging along, 50 years later it seems as if time stands still.
The writer is a Bengaluru-based columnist and can be reached at priyannaik211@gmail.com or on Twitter @priyannaik
