Night bus from hell; part ii

Are we 'on the bus' or off?

Here we sit, up in our 'special seats,' the night quickly falling. We come to an unexpected traffic snarl due to some sort of parade going past, lots of saffron-clad women. We never learn what that was about, just that we have to turn this hulking mass of vehicle around and backtrack several miles.

As said, we are sitting right up in the front, our feet sometimes touching the large protruding windshield. If we look, all of India seems to be out on the road this night in their taxi, or motorcycle (perhaps with a sari-clad passenger sitting side saddle behind the driver), or bicycle, or tuk-tuk (with several passengers hanging onto windows and the back door, standing on the bumper), or a rickshaw slowly peddling along. Occasionally the bus screeches to a stop, just inches from an intransigent cow, or pedestrian, or vehicle. Easy to imagine we are riding the Jagannath, as devotees of Krishna throw themselves under our crushing path. The true wonder, however, is that in all our days and rides in Asia, with all of the close calls, we will witness not even a single fender bender. But we didn't have this hindsight yet, and our eyes and tummies lurch with each sudden stop.

Gradually it grows as dark as eternity, and the road becomes less crowded. And narrower. And often ridden with vast potholes impossible to steer around. To lighten the mood, our intrepid driver - I forget his name, I'll call him Shiva, or the 'destroyer' in Hindu mythology - he turns on some blaring Bollywood music. It's particularly loud as we are seated near the speakers up front. As the music plays, there is a plastic icon - Vishnu perhaps? - near the ceiling above the windshield, which emanates strobing colored lights to the sound of the music. A mallah, or garland of plastic red and black flowers is draped over and attached to the sides of the bus. Shiva particularly likes one or two of the songs and plays them over and over (hard to tell much difference - the screeching voices, tabla, sitar, and 'violins on meth' tend to produce a similar tonal effect, regardless of the lyrics; of course not knowing any Hindi doesn't help.) In addition, there is a skip or something in one of his favorites - or it mysteriously keeps restarting on its own. He asks me if I like the music - at least his body language seems to ask that - and I mime back 'it's fine [smile smile], whatever you prefer' - just keep your eyes on the road o demigod of destruction, please! Then I say - what am I thinking? - if you have any Beatles, or Dylan, maybe some Motown, that would be great. Having heard my request, he turns up the volume. We cover our ears.

So far, so good. What am I talking about, you may ask, 'bus from hell?' All this is child's play... Right you are - uncomfortable seats notwithstanding - but wait.

On the open road, Shiva drives erratically, slowing down or speeding up with no apparent reason, or sometimes even coming to a complete stop. Though vehicles generally drive on the left (India having been a British colony) our driver usually barrels down the middle of the road, only moving left when there is an on-coming vehicle. Or a median. Spencer said it was like playing chicken: we'd come upon a slightly slower bus or truck, Shiva would move fully to the right hand lane and floor it. This being a heavy Tata bus it didn't have much oomph, so we would begin the long process of passing. Ahead of us, we would see one, two, or four approaching lights. One or two was not especially worrying, but the four light combo meant that our mirror image was approaching us. And though my eyes rarely shut during this long night, these were some of the moments when they did. We would just barely pass the slower vehicle, and quickly swerve back in front of it, just in the nick of time - as our mirror image would do the same. Chicken, sure, but everybody wins, right?

There I sit, and cross myself, offer up a prayer to St. Christopher, patron saint of safe travel; then cross myself in the Hindu manner - sort of hold your right index and middle fingers in a sort of relaxed scissors position and brush against your forehead then chest and mumble, 'hare raam.' Then take a deep breath, notice the miracle of just being here, hurtling through space and time, on our way to Nepal, my sons surrounding me. Fleeting moments of ecstasy between images of face-plant-skid collision-accident-scene-forensic-investigations-black-and-white-and-red-all-over. One final prayer: s'cuse me, while I kiss the sky!

Stay tuned for the rest of the 'night bus from hell...'