On Sunday I did a very brave thing. I got on a public bus. It was only because B (who’s going home tomorrow *sniff*) was so enthusiastic and brave about it that I was willing to do it. I’ve seen those buses go by, stuffed so full that I’m surprised people can breath. I’ve also seen what constitutes the bus ’stopping’ to let people on and off. Somehow B convinced a colleague who is at least a local, if not a Hyderabadi, to come with us on our excursion. He didn’t really get it. He kept trying to tell us that the buses were horrible, without realising that that was sort of the point.

So having refused his repeated suggestions of using a car, and hoping we had given our driver the slip, we went out to the bus stop. The other people waiting were surprised, the auto rickshaw drivers were hopeful, and our driver – whom we had indeed failed to give the slip – was shocked and confused to see us at the bus stop. Ch (the Indian colleague) explained as best he could that we would be back soon.

Having been passed by many express buses, and watched many non-express buses go by on the other side, we decided to take an auto to the next stop, get a bus from there, and then get an auto back to the hotel where our driver was waiting. An enterprising auto driver had spotted us at the stop, and despite our protestations that we were waiting for the bus, he had stopped just ahead of the stop and waited patiently. I suspect he was disappointed that our Indian friend came with us, and that we went such a short way.

Finally our bus came. We got on, and laughed ourselves silly. The locals were very accomodating, and slightly amused. They certainly didn’t seem to mind. We found out once we got off the bus, that Ch should not in fact have gotten on at the front with us. Hyderabadi buses are segregated – men at the back, women at the front – but the women who spoke to him when we got on were satisfied with his explanation as to why he was at the front with us. So we went one stop and got off. We got another auto back to the Taj, back into our semi-permeable bubble of privilege.

Speaking of which, I’m getting a suit tailored! I’ll be picking it up before we leave for home, so you’ll all get to see it at Christmas.

Oh, the idea of Christmas dinner is making my mouth water.

Your pavlovian correspondent,
Tg