 MIN RATNA BAJRACHARYA |
I don't travel by public vehicles by choice. I would love to have a scooty and go vroom-vroom but instead, I endure traveling to and fro in a microbus every day. What I hate most of all is travelling in said microbus on a hot summer's day. Scrap hate. I LOATHE!!!
In an ideal world, a micro would comfortably seat 15 passengers. Air conditioning would be blasting and all of us would have a smile plastered on our faces. But nooooo! Only in Nepal, at least 25 people are crammed into that tiny space and that doesn't even include those who are standing. People act like they are in such a rush (Whatever happened to Nepali timing?) that they HAVE to get on that vehicle. I let those who badly need to reach their destinations on time *note sarcasm* get in first and settle for the seat that's closest to the door.
My journey starts from Balkhu where I normally board a bus, in spite of the multiple stops it takes to stuff passengers. Besides, I always get the window seat and I love 'people watching'. That's the only thing I can do to refrain myself from jumping up and dancing (NOT) to 'Rato Ghagara' the bus driver plays oh so loud! Other days, it is tear-jerking 'Chulesima' which I find myself shamelessly singing along to. My bus rides are usually pleasant except for the occasional bumps and jerks. It's the micros that I have issues with. The Hattiban route, to be precise. From Sadobato to Hattiban, it takes approximately 10 minutes but oh boy, does it feel like an hour. Along the way, it stops one too many times. "Hattiban ma jhari ta haalcha," berates the 'khalaasi' bhai to my complaints. He is in tattered clothes yet sports slick RaybUn aviators. His bad DIY bleached hair is tied in the tiniest ponytail and the nape of his neck needs a good scrubbing.
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Since I'm sitting near the door, someone's underarm is right in front of my nose and that person has obviously never heard of a deodorant. I try to be polite so I don't cover my nose. The door is closed. It's so hot yet the windows aren't open because "uufffff. Kathmandu ko dhulo!" I hold in my breath until I succumb to my need to breathe. The first whiff of air I take has to be that of that person's underarm intermingled with a fart. Imagine what mutton curry left standing under the stifling sun for 3 days would smell like. Mix that with the most awful body odour you have ever come across. My tummy does somersaults and back hand springs. Nausea starts to kick in. My head feels light and before I throw up, the khalaasi bhai saves my day. "Hattiban Chowk jharne cha?" Mustering all the energy I can, I mutter, "Cha!"
It's not over yet. I hand him the fare. The 'khalaasi' bhai shouts that I gave him a rupee less. Just yesterday, the trip cost me 15 Rs and today, the fares have gone up. I shout back that I do not have 1 rupee on me. "Herda kheri dhanni bau ko chori. Goji ma ek rupee pani na hunne?" Touché! I meekly shake my head and dash across the road, with passengers staring and pointing at me.
Oh, the worse has yet to come. Summer has just begun.
