Soul Search in 24A

An early morning bus trip across Chennai is as much you can observe and see the city in its true colors. Its innocence is prime at this hour, its vastness very visible and its simplicity quite subtle. The bus trip in the wee hours of the morning, for some reason, fills me with a sense of peace.

The bus from Bangalore ends at Koyambedu Bus Stand (CMBT) at around 5 or 5.30 in the morning. Today, I take the 24A route that normally I don't. There are about 20 passengers, and I settle down grumpily in one of the seats, starting at them all without the slightest of self-consciousness. That's us for you. Unlike the London underground, we stare at each other here openly. We don't generally smile at strangers, but still there is a sense of amicability among the public. There are about 38 eyes watching me right now subconsciously, but I don't squirm because am staring at their subconscious too. It's like a bond, the need to mutually agree and acknowledge each other's presence. A touch of care if you need, balls if you don't.

I peep out of my cocoon, and collect my ticket giving an exact fare. For a trip right across the city, it is only Rs. 5. Chennai is not expensive being a metro, I like that.

The bus eases past Arumbakkam and Annanagar. I see about four passengers talking among themselves, and from their tone, it is obvious they are excited. I have a feeling they are the perfect "simpletons from south". To qualify that, they carry reliance CDMA mobiles. The guy holds the mobile in one hand like it is sacred, and types the keys with his other hand, it resembles pecking more than pressing. The moment he tells someone on the other end that they have reached safe and that the buildings are tall, I know my premonition was true. I wonder what place they could be getting down at. There is a pair at the back holding hands and conversing so hush-hush, you would think a baby is somehow being made by talking.

Amaindhakarai came and went. The tip-top guy next to me is a complete professional, what with inserted shirt, a neat black belt and a tag around his neck. The poor soul goes to office at 5.30 in the morning! He looks more like the sales guy than the bank professional. He has a biscuit packet in hand for breakfast, gives a ten-rupee note for ticket. The conductor promptly shakes his bag to show he has lots of coins, says "I don't have change", pockets the note and moves on. It irks me. But what bolts me is the guy gets down at Chetpet without bothering to collect his change of Rs. 7.50. Either he forgot, callously, or the conductor, conveniently.

"Passport Office!", shouts the conductor and the four "simpletons" get out rushing, almost falling over each other. Then I understand - Dubai beckons!! I hope they aren't the clients of those malicious Dubai agents who strand you off the Kerala shore, and it takes you three full days to realize you are still in India, and worse, that you have been cheated. By then, it is too late; All you have is your passport, which you didn't need in the first place to go to Kerala. I think they should add a warning in the passport application to be wary of such agents. Anyway, they get down and eagerly ask directions to the passport office and the conductor patiently guides them - with a twinkle in his eyes and sympathy in his face, that says he knows all about Kerala.

The next stop is Gemini and half the bus downloads. Gemini is like the nerve center of your spinal cord. The nerves run all across to and from here and you could catch a bus even to Timbuktoo. I am sure if they decide to lay a road between Mexico and New Hampshire, it will still run through Gemini. The inconspicuous couple-like pair at the back of the bus gets down, and immediately wonder which way to elope. Well, they have got the perfect start, for there are a thousand ways. The sudden void left behind in Gemini is obvious as the bus rackets down along Royapettah. Usually, there are a bunch of old or sick who get down at the Royapettah General Hospital. Today, there is only one. He takes eternity to get down from the bus and is heavy enough to shake the whole assembly out. After the bus offloads him with a lot of pity and silent good-wishes, it is now going to enter Triplicane.

What strikes me all along this half-hour trip is the life of the city. I wonder what makes the city come alive at such early hours in the morning. Tea shops open as early as 3.30 or 4 AM. People start taking to the roads at around 4.30 five-ish. And the city does not cease until after midnight. Yet, it is peaceful, it is calm and it is beautiful in its own way. Amidst all the noise, and the wave of people, the soul of the city silently carries on through the ages, and the best time to experience its love is this early morning. This bus trip fills me with indifference to the world and tranquility within myself. It makes me realize we are all each but a tiny speck, and even if taken together, our net worries can't be greater than the net happiness. I guess that's why our ecosystem survives.

I feel the same surge of familiarity and homecoming. The last soul to get down from the bus walks along the south-eastern coastal line that you guys see only in a map, crosses the temple and wakes up with its people. It merges into its body as the sun rises above the Marina, and writes a blog.