A Beautiful Journey in the Bus!

A Beautiful Journey in the Bus!

       

It’s evening time. The cold romantic breeze is blowing. The wind is so intense that trees are rustling plastic bags and dust on the ground are flying. It makes my clothes fly.

I wait for the bus it comes after some time. The bus seems like well-decorated bride full of embroidery and stylish designs in the clothes. A bus appears is as there is a ribbon on, stickers, Pashto poetry and black sheet which makes its appearance ideal for a bride to sit in it. The poetry is like I am whole heartily everyday searching for you. Your style of displaying your hairs oh, innocent-hearted is piercing me with eyes. The bus from outside seems full of a bunch of people who are sitting on the last roof on the bus. There one leg is hanged up and other is down on the ground hanging as performing infidel’s elephant god ceremony. The bus from outside seems like Jungle full of monkey’s antics.

As I step into the bus, I can see on the door furious pictures of Pashto movies hero Mr. Jhangir Khan and Mr. Arbaaz Khan. There is written movie name on it: ‘Malangi ba Manay’. In English, it means you have to accept, acknowledge Malangi (goon) thoroughly. I can see people standing to grab something for sustenance and other already booked their berths. I after standing for a while like bugs bunny with no carrot waiting for my turn to come it comes I sit because one skinny jack, reach his destination. The interesting thing is one by one people in white decent customary clothes and business shirts with tie and folder in hand get into the bus. The ladies in a white veil and stylish black Arabian style cloaks sit on front seats.

There is music on in the bus. The sad Indian and Pashto emotional and exciting songs make people entertain. The driver sing songs to himself as he is the B-grade singer of hit songs no not lower class cart driver. His voice is soft he tries his best to sing with melody. It is crooning slightly with an epiphany. With every beat of a song, he moves his legs, body slightly like Arabian belly dancers. He likewise slowly strikes hands together moves the body when some song touches to his heart. I mutter he could have been singer if had worked on his voice, practiced singing would have been a super hit singer for sure.

In dark brown clothes, one brown skin guy comes to the bus. He stands on one corner of the bus and starts his story.

He says oh, I am very poor. I don’t have money. I have not eaten a meal for few days. I need money. He displays the book in hand by saying this is Islamic book buy this on ten rupees and give me money. There no one gives him money because it’s kind their business and mostly is not the true story but an empathic one is always. He leaves.

After a while, there comes little boy. He comes with a cover of an ID card. He tries his best to convince someone to buy the cover. He goes through every corner of Bus. He leaves being sad, disappointed expression on the face.

All of sudden some pan cakes beard guys start shouting. They say turn off these songs its Ramadan and you are playing songs. The discussion starts at the bus.

One aged guy says there are ladies and they are playing songs its sheer immodesty. Well, young guys pay no heed to it. And taxi drivers just ignore it. Seniors shout a lot but it is all in vain. They make angry, violent faces but all ignore it.

One guy leaves the seat and crystal ball like my aunty son Mr. Farooq sits close to me on the seat. He is all over sweating. He is taking big breaths. He is angry he tells me you got the seat but I waited long. I try to calm him. He loves going outside and ride a bike and loves to be in a colorful environment of fun, people playing cards, drinking cigarette and having bawdy jokes.

A guy who collects money from people screams on every bus he sees. He exchanges whole day gossips about movies they have seen and the girl he met her yesterday and had late night parties at home, drinking and listening to songs. He kicks every bus he sees as it is his beloved one to do anything erotic.

I peek into the window the pictures are swinger so fast like a tire swinging shape. I see there are guys in a blue shirt and blue tie with bags wear on walking. There are people buying foods. There is a guy giving money to another guy who is on a motorcycle. There are people with handkerchief wiping off sweating. There are people watching a cricket match on TV in store smiling and screaming loud.

Suddenly, there was a power black out and people started shouting: May God woe betide this Power Company, called WAPDA. They continue May God their kids get killed oh, they are so cruel. After some time, I reach Board bus stop my destination. I then sit in Auto Rickshaw and reach Hayatabad. I take a deep breath of relief and thank God the Scooby journey of resilience is ended.           

Written by: Asfandyar Ahmad

ahmadasfandyar at yahoo.com