This is a series documenting my many commutes. Here is the first part. Reading that is not going to make this any less painful. Even I would recommend watching paint dry as a better entertainment option. But since you have decided to waste your time here, you might as well get some context and do it in a sequence.
Muthu rickshaw-kaar's demise pitchforked us into the world of commuting by public transport rather unceremoniously. I think I would have been in class V or VI when it happened. That quirky age where you aren't quite a kid but definitely not the grown up yet. Overnight we were in limbo. It was quickly decided that we would take the bus as we were definitely too young to cycle to school in T Nagar traffic. Same home, same school and the same distance but we were introduced to the parallel universe of the bus commuters.
Muthu rickshaw-kaar's demise pitchforked us into the world of commuting by public transport rather unceremoniously. I think I would have been in class V or VI when it happened. That quirky age where you aren't quite a kid but definitely not the grown up yet. Overnight we were in limbo. It was quickly decided that we would take the bus as we were definitely too young to cycle to school in T Nagar traffic. Same home, same school and the same distance but we were introduced to the parallel universe of the bus commuters.
T Nagar to Valluvar Kottam on Pallavan presented us with three options: Route nos 9, 10 and 26. Appa advised us against trying the forbidden fruits of the 47 series buses that could have been a tad quicker but definitely much much more crowded by the time they were in T Nagar. Instead he bade us to take the ones that started out from T Nagar which meant that if we timed our departure from home, we could even get a seat.
Buses for routes 9 and 10 used to be parked on a side street by the main bus terminus premises. Route 9 - T Nagar to Parrys Corner - wasn't a bad option: they plied on Thyagaraya Road (through Pondy Bazaar), made a left on Nair Road at Holy Angels and went straight through to Thirumalai Pillai Road to our school. Route 10 - T Nagar to Parrys Corner (via Hell), by comparison, was truly a headache. Not only did they have TATA buses which were inferior to the Leylands, (Driver abuse a constant, the Leylands somehow managed to age much better than the rattling Tatas.) but right after Panagal Park, this bus would take us past Ramakrishna School on Venkatanarayana Road on a detour through Boag Road and Maloney Road, serving hitherto unknown parts of T Nagar and thus wasting precious minutes. We always boarded a Route 10 bus with a bad feeling and it never disappointed us.
Route 26 - T Nagar to ICF, the third option, was easily the best. Route 26 was the poor, country cousin of the more prestigious routes plying to ICF like the long-haul 47A. But it had the best drivers and conductors of the three routes. One of the conductors spoke in chaste Tamil and surprised me one day with clean English too. And the driver that he usually accompanied was a gentleman by PTC standards and never swore. But the cherry on top was the fact that this took the shortest route of the three: Panagal Park and straight through the shaded G N Chetty Road to Vani Mahal, left on Thirumalai Pillai Road and onwards to our school, bypassing the early morning Pondy Bazaar traffic altogether. But the frequency was low and the timings weren't quite convenient. But if we did end up taking 26 on a morning, we would be sure that there wouldn't be a late marking on our diary that day.
The world of bus travel truly was educative. First off, it taught us the value of time. How, together with time and tide, PTC buses waited for no man or a kid running late. Quite unlike Muthu rickshaw-kaar who only used to clang his bell if we delayed him but never actually left without us. Then came the art of managing the fellow commuters who made it clear to us that we - the school going future of the society - were truly a menace. If their looks could kill, there wouldn't be a guy typing this drivel out. Not without reason though. For we used to carry heavy bags loaded with books and notebooks that recorded our educational transactions. Oh and also a lunch basket. And the adults those days thought that a seat was truly wasted if only a kid was seated on it. They would always ask us to "adjust" which meant that two and a half men would have to hang from a seat meant for two. Again, I don't remember being sandwiched between creeps. Just the garden variety, annoyed office goers. Then there were the mornings when we would doze off on the bus. If we happened to do that while sitting, there would be more than one passenger that was standing nearby willing to call us out as unworthy of being students and how we had shamed Indian culture.
Then there was the art of getting your "pass" - the monthly season ticket - either punched or ticked by the conductor. For some reason, many conductors staunchly believed that it was beneath them to do this part of their duties and would ask us to do it ourselves. Good luck fishing out your pencil box from the depths of your schoolbag to get out a pen with curses raining all around! Good times. On more than one occasion, I have intentionally not checked it in the morning (and evening) and saved bus fare on later evening trips on that route. Yes, I'm evil, so shoot me. The Tamil Nadu Govt, sensing our troubles, then introduced the "free pass" wherein we were issued a photo ID that we had to carry and produce on demand by either the conductor or the ticket checker. On the flip side, the annoyed passengers had one more reason to be enraged by our presence on a seat: free boarders. As I said, good times.
No story on a Chennai bus commute can be complete without a mention of the ladies special. When we were still in T Nagar, we were pre-teens and it was acceptable for two boys to board a ladies special service. After all, we had neatly parted oiled hair and vibhoothi on the forehead to vouch for our character. Although this was a big deal - less crowded and hence possibility of scoring a seat went up a notch, and fewer swear words used by the conductors and drivers (not that it bothered us one way or the other) - I was somehow totally uncomfortable by the whole idea of traveling in a bus reserved for the opposite sex. Did it make me feel any less manly than my pre-teen self felt entitled to? Was it my lack of interaction with girls of our age that made me feel awkward? I can't tell. But I remember becoming totally self conscious as soon as I boarded and would head right to the front of the bus to occupy the space by the engine and the driver. For some reason that seemed to help my situation. But these rights were taken away after we moved to Adayar and I was officially a teen. That meant wearing pants and that was the act of crossing the threshold for admission. There have been days when we were running late when I would strategically wear my uniform shorts (instead of full trousers as mandated by the school) to allow myself to board these buses together with my brother who still enjoyed the benefits of being a pre-teen. Since I was a late bloomer and also vertically challenged at that time, my costume didn't raise too many questions at school apart from the usual teasing from friends that lived within a mile from the school.
Once we moved to Adayar, we had to take the 47 series of buses that were until then forbidden. There was the workhorse 47A (Besant Nagar to ICF). But the excalibur was the 47V (Thiruvanmiyur to Ambathur OT) - a limited stop service that truly did shrink the distance from the southern suburbs to the western industrial badlands of Chennai. But it would be inappropriate to not mention 47G (Besant Nagar to Korattur) that was right inbetween the other two. The one small problem was that many of these buses skipped our school stop, which was a minor one, and would only stop at Valluvar Kottam - a few blocks away. We had to walk all the way back and more importantly, we had to cross Kodambakkam High Road which was nearly impossible in the mornings. So we would get down when the bus stopped at the red light at that intersection and save ourselves many precious minutes. Besides the risk involved in this method, there was another issue. A couple of members of the faculty - my math teacher Mrs. MS (who traveled from Thiruvanmiyur) and Geography teacher Mrs. H (from Besant Nagar) - traveled on these routes. Since they faced the same issue, they would also alight at the signal. Although two athletic boys were any day more suited to pull this stunt off smoothly than two saree-clad ladies in their middle ages, they were adults and more importantly teachers. And I was in both their classes! There was always the risk of our stunts reaching the ears of the school principal. But as members of the bus commuting fraternity, there was an immediate kinship established: the Pallavan ring of trust, so to speak. Honor among thieves. Omerta. They never once complained about us to the school management and would even help us get to the sidewalk safely right after we got off at the red light.
After a couple of years of doing this, we changed schools and entered the world of pedaling to school. Through the verdant IIT Madras campus roads. Will be back with more of that.
Then there was the art of getting your "pass" - the monthly season ticket - either punched or ticked by the conductor. For some reason, many conductors staunchly believed that it was beneath them to do this part of their duties and would ask us to do it ourselves. Good luck fishing out your pencil box from the depths of your schoolbag to get out a pen with curses raining all around! Good times. On more than one occasion, I have intentionally not checked it in the morning (and evening) and saved bus fare on later evening trips on that route. Yes, I'm evil, so shoot me. The Tamil Nadu Govt, sensing our troubles, then introduced the "free pass" wherein we were issued a photo ID that we had to carry and produce on demand by either the conductor or the ticket checker. On the flip side, the annoyed passengers had one more reason to be enraged by our presence on a seat: free boarders. As I said, good times.
No story on a Chennai bus commute can be complete without a mention of the ladies special. When we were still in T Nagar, we were pre-teens and it was acceptable for two boys to board a ladies special service. After all, we had neatly parted oiled hair and vibhoothi on the forehead to vouch for our character. Although this was a big deal - less crowded and hence possibility of scoring a seat went up a notch, and fewer swear words used by the conductors and drivers (not that it bothered us one way or the other) - I was somehow totally uncomfortable by the whole idea of traveling in a bus reserved for the opposite sex. Did it make me feel any less manly than my pre-teen self felt entitled to? Was it my lack of interaction with girls of our age that made me feel awkward? I can't tell. But I remember becoming totally self conscious as soon as I boarded and would head right to the front of the bus to occupy the space by the engine and the driver. For some reason that seemed to help my situation. But these rights were taken away after we moved to Adayar and I was officially a teen. That meant wearing pants and that was the act of crossing the threshold for admission. There have been days when we were running late when I would strategically wear my uniform shorts (instead of full trousers as mandated by the school) to allow myself to board these buses together with my brother who still enjoyed the benefits of being a pre-teen. Since I was a late bloomer and also vertically challenged at that time, my costume didn't raise too many questions at school apart from the usual teasing from friends that lived within a mile from the school.
Once we moved to Adayar, we had to take the 47 series of buses that were until then forbidden. There was the workhorse 47A (Besant Nagar to ICF). But the excalibur was the 47V (Thiruvanmiyur to Ambathur OT) - a limited stop service that truly did shrink the distance from the southern suburbs to the western industrial badlands of Chennai. But it would be inappropriate to not mention 47G (Besant Nagar to Korattur) that was right inbetween the other two. The one small problem was that many of these buses skipped our school stop, which was a minor one, and would only stop at Valluvar Kottam - a few blocks away. We had to walk all the way back and more importantly, we had to cross Kodambakkam High Road which was nearly impossible in the mornings. So we would get down when the bus stopped at the red light at that intersection and save ourselves many precious minutes. Besides the risk involved in this method, there was another issue. A couple of members of the faculty - my math teacher Mrs. MS (who traveled from Thiruvanmiyur) and Geography teacher Mrs. H (from Besant Nagar) - traveled on these routes. Since they faced the same issue, they would also alight at the signal. Although two athletic boys were any day more suited to pull this stunt off smoothly than two saree-clad ladies in their middle ages, they were adults and more importantly teachers. And I was in both their classes! There was always the risk of our stunts reaching the ears of the school principal. But as members of the bus commuting fraternity, there was an immediate kinship established: the Pallavan ring of trust, so to speak. Honor among thieves. Omerta. They never once complained about us to the school management and would even help us get to the sidewalk safely right after we got off at the red light.
After a couple of years of doing this, we changed schools and entered the world of pedaling to school. Through the verdant IIT Madras campus roads. Will be back with more of that.
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