Bus Rides…
Being in quarantine for over three months now, lately I have increasingly been revisiting sublime moments of freedom from more normal times. One of these that is absolutely close to my heart is the overnight bus journeys that I embarked on sometimes alone and sometimes with my friends from New Delhi to various destinations in the Himalayas.
The journey started at the Tibetan Refugee Colony called Manju-Ka-Tila in New Delhi. Here we would arrive carrying our backpacks just in time to grab a last meal, or a plate of spicy dumplings. Then around 9:00, we would get onto the semi-sleeper buses that would take us to our destination overnight. The buses would sit there idling, until everyone boarded. The huge glass panes on the sides offered a great view of the outside. As the bus would depart, we would slowly settle down, adjust our seats for a journey that would be long. We usually spent the first few hours just chatting among ourselves as the cityscape gave way to the wide 8 lane highways. There was a certain peace in just looking out the window, giving your head space to wander. How there would be a town we would pass and then it would be just highways and jungle on both sides again. At a certain point, we would pull out the blankets and settle into a limp pose to usher sleep. There was a certain comfort in lying there over the hum of the engine and in the chill of the air-conditioned coach. We would try to rest while being immensely excited for the week or the few days that lay ahead.
And then sleep would come. But intermittently. Sometimes you woke up to register a strange town. Sometimes to the loud noise of an incoming car. Sometimes to the glare of a street lamp. Sometimes to on-boarding passengers. But everyone woke up around 2:00 when the bus stopped at the usual dinner dhaba. Here we would disembark to stretch our legs and have dinner and stock up some snack.
Sleep would come easier now. But again intermittently. And at some point, you realized the the bus had begun its ascent. The twist and the turns in the mountain roads made your head bobble. And the night would trudge on, and around 5:00 you would see the begging of sunrise. By 6:00 there would be enough light to disturb sleep.
This was the best part. You woke up to a different world. If heading to Mclodeganj, the snow capped Daulahar ranges would stare down at you. If heading to Manali, you would see the pretty Beas river hugging the highway. The air felt lighter and cooler. You would pass the Himachali towns, see the local folk talking walks, getting their shops ready for the day. And for one more hour, you enjoyed the views as the bus powered through some steep inclines. Finally around 7–8:00, it would drop you at your destination. Your stomach grumbling, you would head to the closest place for some chai and an omelette.
