Mumbai: A bus with a fantastic view

Commuters are impatiently waiting to board a massive red carrier, which stands tall in the middle of the evening crowd at Dhobi Talao. I am not sure it is the one I need to take, and I only have a few minutes, maybe seconds, to figure it out. Since I cannot read the figures written in Marathi on its front, I rush to the side. “One-three-eight,” I read loudly. “This is the one.”

The driver shouts; he is about to leave. A bit nervous, I take a last breath, look at the imposing redbrick CST station in the background and step in pushed by late passengers.

As the double-decker bus dives into downtown traffic, I grasp the handle to avoid falling and climb up the stairs. A sudden braking, a long honking, an immediate acceleration, and I reach the second row of the top deck. The evening breeze caresses my face. I am there, overseeing Mumbai and its people.

I find myself fascinated by the driver’s skills to avoid the passers-by, run the red lights and urge the cars to clear the way.

“They are used to it,” says my neighbour, who understood my discomfort. “I take this bus everyday, and nothing has ever happened.”

Drivers better know what they are doing, I told myself, as the driver slams the brakes to avoid two cabs this time.  Ramy R. Lobo keeps on: “When you sit on top, you avoid the crowd and can relax after a long day.”

So I take his advice and decide to focus on the view. The motions eventually have a rocking-effect on me. The sweat has dried on my forehead. And when the bus reaches the Western Railway Headquarters, I am offered a view of the Arabian Sea.

I am in awe, as the sun sets on the bay and the couples walk along Marine Drive. It’s like the frenetic pace of the city has stopped for a minute, giving me some time to breathe. I am one with the city. “Sir, where are you going?” says the conductor, interrupting my reverie. “Last stop,” I say without looking at him. I take 12 rupees out of my wallet and give him the due.

The bus engages into the upmarket neighbourhood of Cuffe Parade. Men in suits and women in colourful clothes rush here and there, hail a cab, or get into their cars. It’s the end of the day — time to go home, take care of the children and do some more work.

But I think: All these people don’t look at their city anymore. Although I cannot blame them for that considering the rhythm of life they have, I wonder if one could still enjoy a simple bus ride nowadays. Because let me assure you, from the top deck of this bus, I could see why Mumbai is called the city of dreams.