There were fields, lots of them; fields yellow with mustard flowers very reminiscent of the movies, fields burning in neat squares of orange flames. Also trees, roadside markets, men sitting on charpoys, men sleeping at bus stops, funny film posters, and a ridiculous number of shops selling ‘English Wine and Beer’. As opposed to ‘desi’ I suppose because, of course, English is synonymous with foreign. (That’s turning out to be quite the theme of my month, by the way.) I didn’t see any water bodies, which saddened me because I love water bodies.
For some time, a woman with two kids came and sat down next to me. With both kids. One in her lap and the other squashed between us. I tried to think kind thoughts about the goodness of children and so on but it was quite uncomfortable to sit like that, four people on two seats, and I was relieved when they moved to other seats.
There was another woman with a tiny baby just across the aisle and there was much crying and feeding activity going on. The man next to her looked so indifferent to both of them that I was quite surprised when she tapped his arm at their stop and he left with them. Daddy, I guess.
Jalandhar is a major stop on the route and most people got off there. I almost got off too because I asked someone if we had reached Amritsar already and this person said yes. Anyway, the bus driver, a gruff old Sardarji, looked at me as if I was daft when I went up to the front. Understandably. Then he growled ‘Amritsar is two hours away’. Then he went on to ask me if someone was picking me up at the bus station since I was reaching at 10.30 pm, insisted that it was not safe for me to take a cab from there, insisted that I call the hotel and get them to send a taxi and paced about until I had sorted this out. Through all this, he maintained customary gruffness of expression and voice.
Not to generalise and all that, but yeah, Sardarji completely lived up to the famed Punjabi reputation for friendliness despite the gruff exterior.
The incident also reminded me of a conversation I had with someone about the kindness of strangers. She’s a reluctant traveler and was quizzing me about how I manage ‘all alone’. I casually said I’ve always been lucky enough to find nice strangers whenever I needed help. ‘But isn’t that a bit risky,’ she asked, ‘to trust strangers.’ And of course it is, now that I think about it.
The truth is I’m always getting into situations while traveling. (See here and here and I haven’t even gone into how I landed up in Jo’burg with way less money than I had planned to carry…I forgot one pouch at home. So that was just plain careless but we’ll let it go. Okay? Okay. ) But so far, I’ve always been lucky in unexpected ways. Random acts of kindness, the mercy of strangers, that sort of thing.
I don’t have any logical reason or rules for this really. Except that sometimes, one has to take help from any quarters. And as we move around more and more, strangers are often our only bet. (Vaguely related is this 2008 study that the world is, in general, trusting strangers more and more as evinced by the rise of social media.)
Also, the greatest betrayals sometimes come from the closest people so you can never be too safe in any case.
Note: I’m not recommending that anyone run out and hitchhike across India or befriend random people on the streets and so on.
Tags: Punjab, road trips
Oh such fun! I love hearing about your jaunts, Anu, except they’re so much more than just traipses across geography.
Amritsar is 2 hours away…thats so funny…
@OJ: Thanks sweetheart! I only feel fully in possession of a brain in moving vehicles. Which, I have to say, is a huge disadvantage since large parts of my life are spent in front of a computer and very, very still.
@Johanna: Yeah, it was! Especially because I had earnestly carried my bag up front even though I knew we were supposed to reach at 10.30 and not 8.30. Don’t know what I imagined…that we’d somehow driven way faster than usual?