Chapter 2

Guys thanks for ur costly comments and extraordinary support. Here's da 2nd chapter and I wish that dis time too U will make a difference....Post comments after reading and plz provide ur valuable suggestions after reading.....

@2

I came alive too early that morning from the routine time and then geared up to meet-up-with Somesh.
I started looking for Bus Number 763 at Anand Vihar, erroneously entitled. Might be the Namer blanked out to prefix the 2 No’s, No Anand No Vihar. Anand has lost in the hoo-hah inkwell of speedy horde and motors, and Vihar got buried to serve as Fossil years after and above that now stalls pine-tall Concrete-Hubs, looked as nonmoving behemoth man-eaters, clothed with giant magnetic posters, depicting mostly creamy-white female models.
A roadside bookseller with artfully placed salacious magazine covers on the top of every stack, three I counted at once, was catching the eyes of demon-ridden public including me (public who calls for clean-living), silently but effectively.
‘Far-Famed and hypnotic the figure, more this moneygrubber corporate world bids not on her but on the conciseness of her apparels to hang her as a mass attracting wallpaper on the sidewalls or on iron-bars or in magazines to grab maximum out of her showy-unwrinkled-body. For Million Bucks, both parties are correct and term it ‘Women’s Era or Girls Going’. Crap! We will never step-down our mentality to use her anyhow, if not physically, mentally, socially or politically then in present scenario with money-power and that too with her commercial consent,’ figured I before a garish voice caught my stance.
‘Wow, watch that model, what a peach! Looking too hot,’ junked a schoolchild almost 12 in years, weighing much less then his hefty-schoolbag, leaning on his friend’s tender shoulder and throwing his snoopy eyes over the enticing cover. He was bawdily loud and clear enough to pierce my deaf ears.
‘Yeah, as hot as mine bed-tea,’ dropped his friend, looking at the cover and sharing his off-color-stuff, hot enough to melt-down their budding mental flip-flops, and they moved away from me with their rational microprocessors off. This situation was too worst than my just as a tainted-ripened-fruit, full of afloat bacteria.
‘I improvise the saying; every thing is fair in love, war, and money. That’s not the fault of these developing kids but totally ours, serving lewd-recipes on the name of apparency or openness. Shit! And I’m too part and parcel of this darkening lust,’ buzzed I, inside my inactive brainpower.
‘But this is the sucking bitter-truth, smartly overlooked and I’m low-powered Guy incompetent to rise and walk against this breeze,’ I tried to settled myself as everyone is blowing with the wind.
Anyways after 15 minutes toil, arrived 763, tightly packed as my 80 Gb hard disk with songs, movies and softwares with not even a single mb space. But as I tried to make space in HDD, compressing songs and movies, the similar way Conductor was making an inch space for the passengers.
‘Move ahead from here, move, move,’ shouted Conductor from the heavily-guarded bus-door, spitting red tobacco. ‘Please Madam, Move ahead. Chotu move from here, pass that bag to the sitters. Sir, stand clear,’ shouted He, incessantly rapid as a running lawnmower.
‘Where to move, not even an inch to move hand,’ protested One in a heavy tone.
‘These passengers will sit on my head,’ screamed Conductor, signaling the scattered passengers to make an array. ‘Move ahead.’ These buses run on bickers, not on diesel and so passengers impulsively take part in these bickers to run the buses.
But no one heeded his tight words and so he stirred inside, adjusting his tummy finely, smelling as bad as rotten egg, and clutching orderly-maintained queue of currency notes, folded along length between his fore and middle finger. A sudden burst of push and pull occurred as Conductor acted to compress and adjust the almost compressed crowd as LPG, creating an uncontrollable chaos. The bus slowly started moving and I got hanged on the heavily-guarded bus-door, so closed to sudden death but who cares until a casualty.
‘Don’t hang on the door, bhaisahab else I have to bear a penalty of Rs400. Move up of the doors,’ said Conductor, adjusting and compressing the crowd and at the same time not missing a single crammed statue to lift his fare from same as franc-tireur(sharpshooter) hardly misses his target. ‘Clearly stand off the doors and take out the fare everyone behind.’
‘Stand off, Idiot. Packed the bus so much, not even an inch to move,’ said a hanger in building temper. ‘Fare, Can’t you see us hanging, bloody idiot?’ It’s quite gratifying to observe the physics laws with bare eyes as a science student but there it was painful to watch the foolproof of “To every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction.”
‘Madam, Move this side. Sir, you come here,’ insisted Conductor, bundling accordingly. ‘chotu, your fare?’
‘How many times I have to give?’ Chotu yelled. ‘Bloody cretin,’ said Chotu lastly, not loud enough to trigger Conductor’s dead-tongue.
‘What are you doing, bhaiya?’ complained a teen girl in a slow voice, gawking him in disdain. ‘Wild man, purposely jolting,’ she murmured, wincing roughly and firming up her scarf over her shoulders, exquisitely. Girls are facing this pathos as endurable but up to when?
‘Don’t jostle. Don’t you have manners! Bloody nutcase,’ griped another teen girl in boo, grimacing. If the girls be saber-toothed then surely both would stab them into his ill-throat and lynched him, lancing his every grimy vocal chord but alas, the girls were having genetic fine-tooth as pomegranate seeds in a tough brownish-red rind. Moreover they had the Mama’s saying with them, “Never argue with an idiot. The differentiating difference disappears in a flash.”
‘Madam, can’t you judge that bus is too jam-packed. I’m not getting any fun in jouncing around,’ answered Conductor in a thunk, insolently and swerved back. ‘Say ticket, yes you,’ addicted of using the trite “yours fare? Or say ticket?”
The schooled-girls brainstormed and concluded ‘it’s better to needle the lips rather than to give wanted chance to his scissoring-rotten-tongue,' as civilized-Indian girl usually does. And so we are hoofing on their heads, high-and-mighty.
‘How more will you compact us? It’s enough,’ a muscle-boy dissented in protest, trying to break his discomposure.
‘Do hastily, Man. Gear-up the bus, I’m getting late,’ urged an employed uncle in an unruffled way. Niggles and bickers are common in these buses as frog’s croak during rainy season, how hard one can try to control them but they won’t stop doing that.
‘Every one is in hurry, so don’t I lift the passengers? And if you have too hurry, why don’t you travel in a bike, car or in Metro?’ taunted the Conductor, frowningly and changed to a foul-mouthed monster, might be the best he could think of.
‘Be in your pocket, Conductor. If I file a report against you to overload the bus against rules, you will get stumped-out. You don’t know my hand’s-length.’ threatened that employed uncle with clenched-fist to punch the loose-tongued Conductor straight away in his bulgy lips. Fire can cremate the dark, giving warmth and light but if misplayed, can incinerate everything, from life to assets and so do the words.
‘Hand’s-length, you are threatening me, bloody moron. Do whatever you want to but remember you can’t uproot even a single hair of mine. I watch millions as you per day. And yes, hark this, rules and promises are made to be broken, understand,’ exploded churl Conductor, obnoxiously and his face got blushed in rage for an affray.
And a melee of invectives got started between them, ranging from moron to the sleazy heights of ear-piercing mother and sister. They didn’t think even of the senior citizens, young females, kids, students and the culture we are proud of.
‘God, where are we leading this India? This ineffable reality is shockingly tooth-teetered sour from what we call “India shining or India on the move”,’ thought I with thoughtless heart and loveless mind. Anyhow I got succeeded to throne myself in that battle-bus as ‘Struggle is only of Chair here. One who holds the Chair enjoys the divine powers.’
I was watching all this with eyes open and mouth shut as others. Suddenly, my orbiting eyes stuck on a disregarded line “Lady’s Seat” and I looked for “Gent’s seat”, vainly.
“What an irony it is, irrespective of homo sapiens tag we have to put these lines to show the true-to-life difference between girls and boys and still don’t follow the lines. In this land of outstanding girls, they are still standing out,” said I to myself before conductor’s voice caught my uninterested interest.
‘Early morning comes to churn my mind these blue-collar dorks,’ said Conductor in furor, turning up his left cuff while showing his unsatisfied wrath. Both feral-men continued till the tike Uncle strutted down at his destination and got died-off. Inhumanely both wildcats didn’t have even a single wrinkle of shame on their faces.
These pity bus-confined grudges can be commonly picked up in these life-taking, speedy, and rule-violating over crammed buses but no one dare to point out finger to the process until and unless the bus cause an accident or a female get molested in the bus. All suffering from sick-tired mentality, until things going on endurable till then let them go (until and unless they create a newspaper-headline mishap), neither we have lost a kin nor our own get molested so why we point out? ‘And what a pity that this worm too run-through my nerves, swimmingly,’ grieved I, overlooking own mental stiffness.
A sudden outburst awaked me up from the views-nap. Amazingly, three well-dressed rough and tough guys jumped hastily out of the moving bus and turned their tail in a zigzag way.
‘Cursed harebrained, love to chew traffic rules as their chewing-gum. Half-a-minute earlier bus had stopped on a red-light but then who would notice their superman-skill with long and drawn out eyes. What if anyone got injured?’ a senior citizen reacted spontaneously in predictable banality.
‘Rampages, riots, and jams for a day or what? Bus will be settled down to ashes and pebbles-shower will open the unopened braincases. Moreover news-channels and papers will get fleshy flashed headline and the fresh-hot-pudding for a week to dish up as arguable topic “Demise on Wheels”,’ sniped another senior citizen, grinning and mocking on the prevailing unresolved condition.
‘Peebles-rain later on, firstly check-out your pockets. They were the dodgy cutpurses who jumped out when bus started accelerating,’ shot Conductor, mockingly.
Everyone attacked their pockets in a split second and felt a well-deep relief-sigh on witnessing the Money-Goddess resting calm and quiet in their purses.
‘Oh God, they have slaughtered my pocket,’ shouted the same Uncle who called them superman, shockingly. For a moment he was dumb struck with mouth ajar, palms trembling while searching for wallet, desperately and anatomy about to shatter as a bridge by unbreakable foot-steps of a troop.
‘God will curse them; worms will lie on their respiring bodies and their every single body part will get cut into bits as my pocket,’ cursed he, pathetically with juiceless eyes which were about to burst into tears and he steered towards Conductor.
‘Can’t you tell us that earlier? Seems you are too mingled with them,’ grumbled Uncle, fitfully in nervous strain.
‘Hold your tongue, old devil. Sharpen your specs number and then noticed these lines “Beware of pickpockets and strangers”. Don’t know from where come these aged owls,’ said Conductor in insolence, spitting red-tobacco outside and sitting calm as dead.
‘Don’t you know how to talk with senior citizens, Son?’ asked Uncle, in slow trembled voice. His dewlap got tightens as a stretched rubber band, diminished eyeballs turned red as got submerged in lime, wrinkles appeared on the face as algae in a pond, vocal waves got distorted as a radio signal and forefront skin got flashed with dark parallel lines as mensal line had sprang from his palms to the forefront. He was starkly mortified by the conductor’s dead-tongue.
‘I know much better how to deal with olds as you?’ frowned Conductor, breaking all humanely bonds and respects.
Uncle kept quiet, almost threw himself in the towel, pointlessly gazing at him and at the relaxed dead public with senile eyes. Deaf-and-dumb public explodes only for their beloveds, and unfortunately, Uncle was not anyone’s near-and-dear one. This was the worst he was alive to watch. My momentarily agitated emotions for conductor too cooled-off instantly as I thought ‘Singly I can’t shake the rock,’ and recalled Mama’s pedagogy, ‘Don’t meddle in the affair of dragon because, to it, you are crunchy, and taste good with ketchup.’ Uncle remained stone-calm as might be he had care-money to come out of this problem but a view-war was going on somewhere in his mental nook, which could be vividly depicted on his face as deep darkening wrinkles of discomfiture asking ‘How long will you keep your lips stitched against moral impairment?’