On the Road.

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If you live in Bangalore you would know that while living in Bangalore it is almost impossible to never find yourselves in one of those BMTC busses that run throughout the city, and though these busses are mostly jam-packed, it like many others places in Bangalore has its own stories to tell.

As you find yourself in one of the back seats never specifically reserved for the men who travel on these busses, you will realise that despite the occasional occurrence of a woman sitting at these last few seats, there is a certain detrimental aura to it, which tells an entirely different tale of how we see these busses.

Gladly these busses are mostly empty during the afternoon hours, while in the evening the seclusion of the two compartments are distinctly visible. Somewhere between the ranks of men coming from all parts of the country the aura of the back seat remains the same. where there is always this one person picking his nose, and another visible scratching his privates which surprisingly offends no one,  perhaps because it is perfectly asunder and accepted that men will be men.

Lower down your eyes and you’ll find that there is more to Bangalore than what meets the eye. At places like majestic, in hidden corners of the ever sophisticated places you shouldn’t be surprised if you come across a prostitute who is priced in accord to the place she/ he stands at, waiting for their customers.

In the evening you would also find people returning from their jobs, grumbling about how hard they work and their sweat covered bodies and hard marked expressions. The latter part who are lucky enough to get the seats are literal royalties, while the rest peek out to grab the throne as soon as one is unoccupied.
Every once in a blue moon you might also find yourself in a bus with a female conductor who would if only for a short period of time be as much of a male as anybody sitting at the back.

While my bus rides are rare and never in any systematized order, I can’t refuse but accept that oddly enough even the school rides weren’t much different, where the coolest of the bunch held authority over these back seats where there would never be a teacher sitting and even if there was one, his authority subdued and often mumbled beneath his mouth.

There is something peculiar to these back seats, especially in busses. Whether it be a school or a public bus, where nobody minds you swearing at the top of your voice, not even the people singing only in unison, praying never to get noticed in the odd crowd.

Effectively creating a mysterious paradox known to no one, of people who hide their identities in veils and their faces, mere facade.

“My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while. […]. I’m two, and both keep their distance — Siamese twins that aren’t attached.
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet”

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