All road journeys end with a story

Some time back, the public transport system in Delhi was in pretty bad shape. There was no metro rail network that we see today in its vast expanse. Government-owned city buses were far and few and too inadequate to meet the rising demand of the national capital’s ever growing population.

Buses, being the city’s lifeline, carried the bulk of the passenger load. From early morning til midnight one could witness chaos on the roads and inside the buses. Every vehicle was packed like sardines, mainly during the office rush hours. There were no air-conditioned buses for a long time — they appeared on the scene quite late.

People sweated profusely throughout the journey. All kinds of odours filled the nostrils and the air — whatever was left of it to breathe. Some people would manage to find a standing

Since the standing passengers had to hold on to the metal bars fixed on the ceiling for support, it was an awesome, sometimes nauseating, experience for those whose nose hit somebody’s arm pit in the gruelling heat of the day.

Such packed buses invariably served as good hunting ground for pickpockets, who in most cases were adept at vanishing without being caught. One must appreciate the fact that while the most sturdy and agile person would find it difficult to get in or out of such a bus, these anti-social elements would easily sneak in.

Translating into reality the maxim ‘survival of the fittest’, only the strong always had an edge over others. Needless to say that such a public transport system was doing little service for the old and infirm and the sophisticated.

There were others also in the disadvantaged class that are worth mentioning. On one occasion, when an overcrowded bus halted at a bus stop, a middle-aged frail woman, among others, rushed towards the rear door. She tried but failed to get on the footboard, which was already occupied by youngsters. A kind-hearted bus conductor blew the whistle to ensure that it did not move until the woman had boarded.

As soon as she got on the footboard, the conductor blew the whistle again and the bus started moving. Just then the woman shrieked, “Mera Lalla reh gaya” (My child has been left behind). Taking pity on her, the conductor stopped the bus once again and waited for her little one to join his mother.

Lalla, the 15-year-old ‘child’ came on gasping for air. He was a big boy of about 120 kilos. There was no way he could be accommodated on the bus, so the conductor, his eyes wide open in awe, asked the woman, “Oh my gosh, is this your ‘little one’?”

“Yes, he is my child,” she replied a bit curtly. Apparently, she was offended. “In that case, you also get down please,” the conductor told her.

The woman stepped down. Holding her son’s wrist she started walking away, perhaps to try her luck on another bus. She wore a sullen look with an understandable pain over the discomfiture she might be experiencing frequently.

I asked her about her son’s problem, and she was forthright in saying that her school-going “Lalla” (child), was addicted to junk food and afflicted with a modern day curse — obesity.

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.