Getting in and getting out of the bus is always tricky. With so many hanging from the footboard, you would accidentally step onto someone’s foot. There were occasions when the guy so rudely attacked on his foot had not recoiled in pain but, wishing to share that pain, stamped harder on my foot. I would just get out. Once, there was a lady who happened to be on the footboard. Maybe I had stepped on her foot. She gave me a thudding slap on my back with her hand. Without any sense of shame from being beaten soundly by a lady, I just got out and moved on with pain and without any ill feelings.

Pickpockets. Mention was made earlier about them. Once, as I was trying to move forward to alight, I saw a guy holding a book on Small Scale Industries, brand new and attractive. As I looked at it, this guy tried to deftly remove my watch. Unfortunately for him, the watch had a chain and not a strap. I pulled my hand and escaped.

When I was in my 20s, I had lost a purse once. No, it was not a pickpocket. Those days there weren’t many. It must have fallen from my side pockets. I never used the hip pocket to stash away this prized possession called a purse. My entire money had gone. Luckily, I had already bought the ticket. So, no unpleasant action of being thrown out of the bus for ticketless travel. I decided then and there I would never carry a purse. Anyway, it was not that I always carried a huge stash of cash. The cash would be distributed among the shirt and pant pockets.

After I started carrying a bag, I would keep some money inside and a few notes in the open side-holders or pockets, or I don’t know what to call them. The cost of tickets being not much, I would carry some new one-rupee notes there just to pay for the ticket. As I was about to get down from the bus, two other passengers seemed to be in a hurry to get down. They just surrounded me, and I felt some pressure on the shoulder. They got down before the bus came to a halt. When I got down and put my hands into the bag’s side division, there was no money. These two guys, pickpockets for sure, saw the new notes and might have licked their lips at a huge collection. Unfortunately, they got Rs. 2—one new rupee note each. Risk vs. Reward—not good at all.

After my elder son had taken up a job, he strictly told me I should go only by auto; otherwise, he would sell his car. Did I need another invitation? But in the mornings, some of my colleagues and their friends organized a van drop, and I happily joined that group. I would chant some mantras mentally or simply relax and doze. In the evening, with all pomp and show, I would return home in an auto.

Continued in 118. Not a Himalayan Blunder - Part 1