the bus stop

The bus stop was unmarked but everyone knew where to wait. It brought together a diversity of people awaiting their ride on the signature yellow bus. The sight of this fleet brought excitement in every kid's heart, especially when we were out in the city. It marked the sign of home. At that time the only other buses you saw in the city were the public transport, BHEL buses, Central University buses. And ours was yellow! It became a sign of security, no matter what, you could get home, away from the hustle bustle of the city of Hyderabad or Secunderabad.

And this is where we waited for the bus to go to school, to the city. Every weekday morning between 7:30-7:45am, the serene surroundings would suddenly burst into chaos. Children in school uniforms & their bags walking drearily to head to school, with their mothers chasing after them of the forgotten lunch box. Some would be finishing up their breakfast at the bus stop. And the occasional few who came ready would sit and watch the line of the yellow bus fleet bringing in the employees living in the city to the office area. What excitement it brewed. And when we would spot ours coming, at least one kid would burst out in excitement. Mothers and toddlers would be hanging around, chit-chatting about the weather, the day, or what not. The last minute game of tag would ensue with mothers begging them to stop so the uniform wouldn't get messed. And as the bus came closer that excitement faded and reality settled that it would be another day in school. sigh... the rides would be quiet. Our driver would usually be Janakiram uncle, a strict driver who would scold anyone who would stand up on the ride. He was tall, had a serious face that scared any kid of any age. And he took us safely down old-Bombay highway to school.

Some of us (like me) would get on the bus with great difficulty, some be kicking and screaming. The younger siblings who would watch us go, who were too young to go to school would be so eager to go, just to get a ride on the yellow bus!

On weekends the bus stop would be different. No school, no stress. The bus stop would be filled with parents with young ones, foreigners from Africa, UK, and other places, all with the goal of heading to the city for fun, shopping, or meeting their family. When the bus arrived, all the kids would congregate at the back of the bus, singing, teasing the automobiles behind, laughing, talking stories would ensue. But mothers say that our usual mantra would be the chanting of "yellow bus! yellow bus!" We chanted from the very bottom of our hearts and at the loudest volume! Maybe it made the bus fly through traffic, but it truly enchanted us!

Alas, about ten years ago the buses were sold off to other private entities and now the buses are white. All of us, although grown up, saw it as a great loss, a great sorrow. Last time I was in Hyderabad, my heart still fluttered when I saw that yellow bus go down the street but alas it no longer would take us home, a place of safety, serenity, peace. But the bus stop is still there. I hear it's a marked spot now, but nothing much else has changed! And of course, it no longer hears the cries, the screams, the excitement of young children going to school but boasts foreign scientists who might have been there before but also some heading out to the city of Hyderabad for the very first time! It fills with a different kind of excitement still. But the yellow bus is gone.