I stood in the searing sun like a toasted brown bread right from the oven and if I had stood there for another five more minutes I would have turned into a giant piece of charcoal. By the time I could get into a cab for Gurgaon, my throat was dry. The cab driver nodded more and made strange gestures instead of speaking; in other words, he seemed to have some speech-mental problem.
Before getting into the cab, I had asked him if he would go to Gurgaon but he indicated a 'no' by shaking his head. Then, when a blue shirt guy asked if he would go to Shankar Chowk he nodded his muddled head, while he refused the guy who mentioned IFFCO Chowk, which is one stop after Shanker chowk. Overhearing the passenger uttering Shankar Chowk, I tried to get into his cab. Before I could get inside, he started, and I was on the verge of being dragged like a piece of trash bag. As I shouted at him, he slowed down.
He drove the cab recklessly, and the passengers in it fell on their sides with every turn he took and I looked through the glasspane to see the place. Construction of roads and buildings were going on, while the tarred road ripped through the greenery. The cab went via Kapashera, which was a known route for me as I had travelled across that place the day before in a friend's car.
The muddle-headed cab driver dropped me in front of Trident Hotel saying he would not go further and swept by through a lane. I patrolled up and down from Trident except the place where I needed to go. Finally with the help of the traffic police I found my way and reached my destination.
After my interview, I ran like a bull in all wrong directions to find a transport to Dwarka. Wherever I saw people assembling, I headed towards them but after reaching there I got to know that they were waiting for some other bus routes. The traffic police helped me cross the road three times and then he solved my problem by directing me to a particular crowd. I stood with some 40-50 people waiting to catch a cab or a bus.
Then came an over-crowded bus from where I donno but on it was written Dwarka. If I say I got into it, it would be wrong. I stood on the steps and enjoyed the breeze till I reached Dwarka. My legs ached but that was a better place than sitting amidst a crowd where there was not a bit of fresh air.
The bus conductor wore a green T shirt, his fair complexion seemed to be a canvas for the bright green coloured T shirt. I felt something on my shoulder and turned slightly as there was no space at all to move. It felt soft, I strained my neck and I saw the young conductor's bums. He was sitting on my shoulder and supported himself against the long pole that stands upright to hold the roof of the bus in place. It was okay in a over-crowded bus to search for space but to my surprise seating himself comfortably on my shoulder he was collecting fare from other passengers.
I gave him a good piece of my mind, but nobody told him anything. A guy in the bus felt uncomfortable and gave me some space to stand comfortable. His destination was Dwarka too after a small conversation with him came to know that he was from UP.
Story books tell us about how men cared about women but this is Haryana where in real life common women gets no respect. No wonder human beings need training specially when one places a foot in Delhi/Gurgaon. Minimum courtesy is lacking among the common people in the streets.
Before getting into the cab, I had asked him if he would go to Gurgaon but he indicated a 'no' by shaking his head. Then, when a blue shirt guy asked if he would go to Shankar Chowk he nodded his muddled head, while he refused the guy who mentioned IFFCO Chowk, which is one stop after Shanker chowk. Overhearing the passenger uttering Shankar Chowk, I tried to get into his cab. Before I could get inside, he started, and I was on the verge of being dragged like a piece of trash bag. As I shouted at him, he slowed down.
He drove the cab recklessly, and the passengers in it fell on their sides with every turn he took and I looked through the glasspane to see the place. Construction of roads and buildings were going on, while the tarred road ripped through the greenery. The cab went via Kapashera, which was a known route for me as I had travelled across that place the day before in a friend's car.
The muddle-headed cab driver dropped me in front of Trident Hotel saying he would not go further and swept by through a lane. I patrolled up and down from Trident except the place where I needed to go. Finally with the help of the traffic police I found my way and reached my destination.
After my interview, I ran like a bull in all wrong directions to find a transport to Dwarka. Wherever I saw people assembling, I headed towards them but after reaching there I got to know that they were waiting for some other bus routes. The traffic police helped me cross the road three times and then he solved my problem by directing me to a particular crowd. I stood with some 40-50 people waiting to catch a cab or a bus.
Then came an over-crowded bus from where I donno but on it was written Dwarka. If I say I got into it, it would be wrong. I stood on the steps and enjoyed the breeze till I reached Dwarka. My legs ached but that was a better place than sitting amidst a crowd where there was not a bit of fresh air.
The bus conductor wore a green T shirt, his fair complexion seemed to be a canvas for the bright green coloured T shirt. I felt something on my shoulder and turned slightly as there was no space at all to move. It felt soft, I strained my neck and I saw the young conductor's bums. He was sitting on my shoulder and supported himself against the long pole that stands upright to hold the roof of the bus in place. It was okay in a over-crowded bus to search for space but to my surprise seating himself comfortably on my shoulder he was collecting fare from other passengers.
I gave him a good piece of my mind, but nobody told him anything. A guy in the bus felt uncomfortable and gave me some space to stand comfortable. His destination was Dwarka too after a small conversation with him came to know that he was from UP.
Story books tell us about how men cared about women but this is Haryana where in real life common women gets no respect. No wonder human beings need training specially when one places a foot in Delhi/Gurgaon. Minimum courtesy is lacking among the common people in the streets.
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