100% Attendance (Getting to School Part 2)
When I graduated to senior school, class 6, I could no longer walk to school: the senior wing was in Vasant Vihar. The first arrangement for travelling to and from school was a car pool. The four of us, Anupa Didi, Ankita Didi, Anjali Didi and I would be taken to and brought back from school, by Mathew uncle, Gopal uncle or Pappa, on a weekly basis.
When the fathers found this arrangement difficult to be carried forward with, I joined the Chunmun bus service. In the morning the pickup stop would be the footpath in sector 12, reached by crossing the main road. In the afternoon, I was dropped off at Shiv Corner, a small store at the back of sector 9.
Sometimes, engrossed in conversation with my friends, I would realize too late about my stop. By the time I would dodge the uniformed girls and their bulging bags to reach the front of the bus, I would have just missed the stop. No amount of supplication to the driver would make him stop the bus. I would then get off at the 9/12 main road crossing, opposite the morning stop.
In class 9, I was adjudged fit to travel by public transport; I ditched Chunmun and boarded the DTC. 620 and 604 were the routes that took me from the sector 12 side of the Sangam Bus Stop to the Vasant Vihar naala, from where I walked to school. Sometimes, I would be joined by Anjali Didi in the morning. The bus fare was 2 rupees, one way. It was a struggle every morning to locate in the house, exactly two rupees' worth of coins to tender to the bus conductor. If ever you had to hand him a 5 rupee coin, then you bid goodbye to two and a half journeys' worth of money, for ever.
The service of these buses in the morning was quite erratic. Once, after waiting for a long time, the bus arrived and instead of halting at the bus stop, it went a few meters further and waited there. Owing to the immense trust in the DTC's service with regard to customer care, the waiting people, consisting of a mother with two schoolchildren and myself, ran towards the bus. The mother, with the longest legs among the four of us, reached first. She climbed onto the footboard and started calling out to her children to hurry. I beat them to it and climbed onto the lowest step.
My left leg had barely left the road when the bus started and swerved to trace the curve in the road. I was pushed down to sit down on my haunches on the lowest step, to gain my balance and prevent myself from falling off the bus. The mother, now hysterical, began yelling at the driver to stop. I could hear the two children crying and shouting 'mumma', 'mumma' behind me. After a few moments, when I thought I could manage it, I stood up, climbed the high steps and plonked myself onto a seat of the nearly empty bus. The ticket could wait, I had to catch my breath first. The bus stopped a few feet further and let the mother step off the bus. Quickly reviewing what had just happened, I surmised, "that's the most dangerous thing I've ever done!" And I felt elated at that.
The service of these buses in the morning was quite erratic. Once, after waiting for a long time, the bus arrived and instead of halting at the bus stop, it went a few meters further and waited there. Owing to the immense trust in the DTC's service with regard to customer care, the waiting people, consisting of a mother with two schoolchildren and myself, ran towards the bus. The mother, with the longest legs among the four of us, reached first. She climbed onto the footboard and started calling out to her children to hurry. I beat them to it and climbed onto the lowest step.
My left leg had barely left the road when the bus started and swerved to trace the curve in the road. I was pushed down to sit down on my haunches on the lowest step, to gain my balance and prevent myself from falling off the bus. The mother, now hysterical, began yelling at the driver to stop. I could hear the two children crying and shouting 'mumma', 'mumma' behind me. After a few moments, when I thought I could manage it, I stood up, climbed the high steps and plonked myself onto a seat of the nearly empty bus. The ticket could wait, I had to catch my breath first. The bus stopped a few feet further and let the mother step off the bus. Quickly reviewing what had just happened, I surmised, "that's the most dangerous thing I've ever done!" And I felt elated at that.
I really enjoyed going to school. I would be sad on weekends for not being able to go to school. I preferred school to holidays, and tried to get myself to school even when sick. But this was difficult as I used to fall ill frequently and severely during my early childhood. As I grew older, the 100% attendance award at the end of the school year became my aim. Up until class eight, I would miss the mark by a few days. In class 9 I had come halfway through the year without having to take a single leave of absence from school.
Pappa was out on an official tour to Canada. As on every day, I walked to the bus stop alone. By the time I reached the China on Wheels, I realized that I had forgotten to take the money for the ticket. If I went back home, I would get late for school. Hoping that Anjali Didi would carry an extra two rupees, I walked myself to the bus stop. Then I assured myself that even if not extra, she'll be carrying money for the return journey; I'll use that to get to school; and borrow four rupees from someone else to get us both home. I reached the bus stop and waited for her.
A bus came and went by. She didn't turn up. When I had almost given up hope of her showing up that day, I saw a white skirt and blouse moving towards me from a distance. I was relieved. The moment she was at hearing distance, I asked her for the bus fare. She said, sadly, but with a smile, that two rupees was all the money she had. I was devastated. running back home and getting the money was now the only option. I feared Amma would have left for school. That would mean I don't get the money; and worse still, that I'd be locked out of home for hours. Without losing time, I quickly crossed the road and began running homeward, my heavy bag reprimanding my back.
And there was Amma, briskly walking down the street, towards me. I must have thanked God at that moment: I had never before been happier to see her. I rushed up and told her that I needed money for the bus. It was about 7.20 at the time. School started at 7.25, which was also when the gates would be closed. I rushed Amma through her search of the bag. I was ready to run back to the bus stop as soon as she handed me that tinkling object she was extracting from her bag. But when she produced it, I realized they were not coins but keys. Our house keys. I looked at her and she responded, I don't have any coins, besides you're late anyway; they won't let you enter; better you take leave and go home. I tried pleading. She said that she didn't have time for it, as she didn't want to be late. I walked back home dejected, threw myself onto my bed and cried myself to sleep.
A bus came and went by. She didn't turn up. When I had almost given up hope of her showing up that day, I saw a white skirt and blouse moving towards me from a distance. I was relieved. The moment she was at hearing distance, I asked her for the bus fare. She said, sadly, but with a smile, that two rupees was all the money she had. I was devastated. running back home and getting the money was now the only option. I feared Amma would have left for school. That would mean I don't get the money; and worse still, that I'd be locked out of home for hours. Without losing time, I quickly crossed the road and began running homeward, my heavy bag reprimanding my back.
And there was Amma, briskly walking down the street, towards me. I must have thanked God at that moment: I had never before been happier to see her. I rushed up and told her that I needed money for the bus. It was about 7.20 at the time. School started at 7.25, which was also when the gates would be closed. I rushed Amma through her search of the bag. I was ready to run back to the bus stop as soon as she handed me that tinkling object she was extracting from her bag. But when she produced it, I realized they were not coins but keys. Our house keys. I looked at her and she responded, I don't have any coins, besides you're late anyway; they won't let you enter; better you take leave and go home. I tried pleading. She said that she didn't have time for it, as she didn't want to be late. I walked back home dejected, threw myself onto my bed and cried myself to sleep.
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