Having been used to reaching the office one to one and a half hours before office hours began, I always had to catch the right bus in time. Mornings became hectic. The distance was only around ten to eleven kilometers, but the travel time? This could vary drastically. Many factors could disturb my already unsmooth transit and make me fret and fume. Delays always caused tension in me. One of the important reasons for starting early. It could be rain, a traffic jam that could happen at any intersection at any time with all those two-wheelers and autos zigzagging in front, on the sides, around all the bigger vehicles. Perhaps it was a new conductor or a perpetually slow one. Certain conductors were known for their slow collection of fares. The very sight of them would cause blood pressure to go up. If lucky, occasionally, at the transit point, some staff member luxuriously commuting on a two-wheeler would take pity and give a welcome lift. Sometimes, I have even thumbed down some unknown guy in a vehicle to request a lift.

En route, there were certain places where there would be guaranteed waterlogging during the rainy seasons. It is beyond my comprehension why traffic slows down immediately after a rain. In these places particularly, the traffic gets bogged down and may take half an hour to cross. Sitting or standing in the bus, the passengers would be clicking their tongues in desperation. The driver would open the top button of his shirt and relax, displaying amazing patience. He has the benefit of an uncrowded and unsweaty atmosphere in his driving seat, and it is his job. For the passengers, they are returning home after a day’s work. The same discussions will take place in all the buses all the time, blaming the government, the corporation, transport, weather, and anyone or anything they could think of, and life would move on without change.

I was scared of these rainy seasons. Was there any road where there would be no waterlogging? Getting out of the bus and walking either home or to the office, one has to encounter such bodies of dirty water—not one but many. If you are strong and gifted, you can jump successfully without treading on the water. If the body of water is larger, like a mini tank, then nonchalantly wade through it with at least a little more than ankle-deep water. But how will one know the depth of what is underneath? Only after stepping into this small ocean will you know the dangers. Being used to the chappal culture, my chappal many times would not cope with the assault of water and slush on it and give way. Imagine the predicament. Even if you were to wear shoes, what difference could it mean? Water is bound to enter your shoes. And if you are on the way to the workplace, there’s no way you can even wash your legs. So, work the entire day with a squeamy foot and a revolting mind. These chappals were bad guys. As you walk, pieces of mud and slush would be slapped onto the back of your pants, at least up to knee level. And without your knowledge, you will have a unique design on your pants.

To avoid such waterlogged places, I might take a roundabout route but invariably get stuck in some other offending waterlogged area. Then I decided I would swim through the shortest route. How does it matter?

Continued in 117. Taken for a Ride - Part 3