NEPHART.COM

Back in those days

riding a bus

felt like a privilege

especially

if you managed to find

a window seat

It did not matter

how crowded the bus was

how torn the seat cover looked

how many kinds of sweat

shared the same air

or how impossible it felt

to breathe

People stood

glued to one another

all facing the same direction

hoping

someone would get off

and leave behind

a seat by the window

that

was luxury

There were seats

reserved for women

and the elderly

but more often than not

they were occupied

by young men

who refused to move

even when

two or three passengers

called them out

They sat

like buffaloes

cooling themselves

in a muddy pond

under a blazing sun

chewing grass

unbothered

while the world

waited around them

There were hardly

any bus stop signs

if you stood

by the roadside

and raised your hand

and the driver

or the conductor

caught sight of you

the bus would stop

right in front of you

as though

you had halted traffic itself

or you were waving down

a relative

on their way home

If you failed

to find a seat

you stood

from one end of the bus

to the other

a bus packed so tightly

it felt less like transport

and more like

someone trying

to fit an entire village

into one vehicle

You learned

how to move

without stepping

on someone else’s feet

how to squeeze sideways

through impossible spaces

if your clothes

had been freshly ironed

by the time

you reached your destination

they carried

a masterpiece

of wrinkles

your hair

had discovered

its own fashion

and you thanked yourself

for surviving the journey

without fainting

The driver drove

as though

every bus

was in a race

the next bus

must never arrive first

must never collect

more passengers

road rage

was simply

part of the route

getting off the bus

felt like

winning a battle

there were

no buttons

no pleasant chime

you banged

the metal roof

with your hand

or shouted

until your voice

reached the driver

drop me here

sometimes

the brakes arrived

three stops later

sometimes

you travelled

half the city

before being set free

sometimes

you climbed down

in a place

that took another hour

to figure out

where you actually were

Drivers

had favourite stops

and stops

they seemed to dislike

some they ignored

so faithfully

you would think

an old heartbreak

still lived there

Public transport

was never predictable

drivers rarely wanted

to stop

for students

because student fares

meant discounts

people even forged

student identity cards

to save a few coins

and there were jokes

people told back then

about heavier passengers

occupying two seats

looking back

they were not kind jokes

but they belonged

to another time

Overcrowding

was against the rules

every now and then

traffic officers

would fine the bus

The driver’s mood

would sour

the swearing

grew louder

the racing

grew faster

the buses

grew even fuller

as everyone tried

to make up

for what had been lost

that was life

for them

and for us

today

buses have

bells to press

marked stops

cleaner seats

and calmer journeys

yet every now and then

I still miss

those impossible rides

where every trip

felt like an adventure

and surviving the journey

was a story

worth bringing home