30/06/2020
A beautiful account of a journey by the "ROCKET" in its heydays, penned by our dear member, Sreejit Panda! Not just the story, he has also shared his own rendering of a CSTC BS1 Ashok Leyland Viking serving as an Express bus bound for Farakka!
Here writes Sreejit Panda,
The Time Machine. A short story.
2005, a wintry evening in Esplanade.
There’s me, a kid who finds immense joy in travelling onboard buses, and my parents who were complaining about the train ticket not being confirmed. I didn’t care, for I saw the red brute in front of me, my would-be tripmate- the veteran CSTC buses which were christened as “Rockets” for their speed, bound for Siliguri. Although it was peak season, we managed to get seats that were legitimate enough for my standards. All I cared for was a seat near the window, preferably behind the cockpit and the packets of Lays and Cadbury Perk which I was desperate to gorge upon. This was my first overnight trip onboard a bus and needless to say, I was enthralled beyond words.
The hullabaloo quickly settled as the bus started to slowly make its way out the L20. The driver was visibly annoyed but ready as he had a hectic trip ahead. Imagine potholes, loose asphalt, traffic jams and the burden of the responsibility of being a “Rocket Pilot”. As we left behind the city, the mood was a bit tense. The interior lights were shut and the passengers were disgruntled as they were unable to sleep because of the maneuvers the bus was undertaking to swerve past the humongous trucks. The potholes were enough to break backs, but that still was not enough to budge my spirits down.
As it reached the first rest stop, I witnessed those visibly annoyed people get down to stretch their legs out. The highways rumbled with the echoes of the speeding vehicles. Scuffles broke out between the tea vendor and one of the passengers for overcharging. Few of them treated themselves with some drags of cheap ci******es whose stench could be felt from a mile. The silence in the air suddenly broke when the driver got on the bus and ignited the red beast. The loud air horn echoed as the angry chap behind the wheel was desperate for a headstart to make up for the lost time. It was a contrast to behold: on one hand you have me, an anticipating kid waiting for the action to unfold and on the other you had all the passengers who were in dire need for some shut-eye.
Hours went by as I kept staring out the window and enjoying the sheer adventure of the ride. It chewed out the other slowpoke vehicles like they were minnows. It felt like a whole new world was unfolding before me, and the orchestra of the air horn, the rough gear shifts and the windows madly rattling was enough to keep me pegged to the action. Towns were left behind like mere shadows, and the bus kept on charging through the foggy night like mad. Still, to this date, I find it hard to fathom how time flew by onboard that vehicle.
Dawn broke and the orchestra soon became a lullaby for me as I found myself receding to another realm- it was fatigue. Hours of psychedelia was slowly getting the better of me as the veteran trundled on towards its destination. But regardless of this, I was content. I was content beyond words. I knew this was an experience that will forever remain ingrained within me. Everyone onboard was visibly pi**ed off, including the driver- a different one from the night before, trying to make it to the destination in time. I was probably the only soul onboard with a glistening smile on my face.
I woke up to a sight that could only be categorised as mild chaos- the bus made it to the destination. As people heaved a sigh of relief, I was a bit melancholic. For me, it was over all too soon.
Bus journeys appear to most as a medium to get from point A to point B, for us it is a vivid mix of adventure and joy. The rattling of the window panes, the wheels trudging through loose asphalt, the rest stops, the overpriced cup of tea one sips on, the stale cigarette people puff to relieve the ringing sensation caused by the sound of the bus continuously accelerating and decelerating for hours and hours. It is never about the comfort (unless of course you are onboard an air-conditioned bus), it is about the thrills and the chills. It is about a childish self staring out at the window in curiosity as the quaint towns pass by. It is about being astounded at the adept hands behind the wheels and vibing to the melodious tones of the air horn. It is about a kid who’s content with munching down junk food. It is about the stories one reminisces when the brute machines get replaced for being aged.
Here's to 5 years of WBBFA.
In picture: This is a previously posted sketch of a CSTC express bound towards Farakka. Not a rocket, but enough to stir memories.
