My Diary On the Roads of Hyderabad

There are so many experiences to be shared, so many sights to be taken in, so many thoughts to be reflected upon as I look up occasionally from Gone With the Wind.

Travelling in the local buses I see different kinds of people. People of all shapes and sizes trying to squeeze in first through that tiny door of the bus, people who have had compounds and mixtures of experiences earlier in the day, people who have different backgrounds and upbringings- and sitting (or standing) in one place I am the witness to this huge multitude of human matter and their actions.

On the road I see a woman in a burqa and her jeans flashing at the hem. Somehow this makes me smile. No doubt! She has all the right in the world to wear whatever she wants in or out but the contrast among the two still prods at my funny bone. A certain person sits in a very pensive mood, looking particularly wistful and funnily enough he's sitting in front of building named "Marital Palace" (now could he have been the groom?)

A two year old kid was sitting behind his dad on a scooter and- Aw! His cheeks were wobbling like jelly 'cos of the wind and you can imagine how cute he must have looked when the bundle of curly hair danced around his tiny head and Oh! The open mouthed, innocently lost look on his face!

Then there are always those people who start eyeing around for a place to sit. Watching every nuance of passengers, hoping someone would make a move to get up for them to swoop down on the seats like kites.

These are the most aggressive and competitive people. They will plan their strategy to get into the bus first, they'll map the bus and scan all prospective seats, overhear conversations to know who's getting down next, plan their arguments for balance of change with the conductor (sounds somewhat familiar, eh?)

Two women once offered me a seat. Somehow after a lot of nudging and shifting they made room for me in a seat meant for two. Just as I was about to sit I saw a somewhat heavily built woman looking travel-fatigued and offered her the seat. As she moved towards the seat the other two women silently undid all their shifting and looked up at me as though I had lost my mind. And the two of us were left standing.

And then the argument over the "Ladies' seats". Why should a woman be restricted just to those seats when other seats are empty too?

When you take it all in it is such a queer and funny way how people's brains work and how they choose to react- glance reprovingly, fight voraciously, grab seats triumphantly, punching the air in their minds as they sit and then- glow happily!

If ever you travel by the local buses here, you never know- you might catch me somewhere in there watching your actions and probably smiling.

But for now, sitting in a World War II house, listening to the rain outside over the din of the cooler behind me thinking of the history of this place in sepia tones.

Singing out!