I am a public transport advocate. I’ve used public transport in every single city I’ve lived in and in many cities I’ve visited. I’m proud to be able to ‘crack’ the basics of public transportation wherever I go, and it’s a big part of my process of learning more about a city. But in Delhi, I face a big hurdle that is a blotch on my public-transportation-user status.
Delhi buses.
I don’t understand them. And I admit, with shame, that I find them scary.
Where do I begin?
For one, there are quite a few ‘bus stops’ that aren’t distinguishable from the rest of the sidewalk. To be fair, there aren’t too many of these, but still. National capital and all. Must do better. So if one is looking to take a bus along a new route, it’s about finding the place where a few people seem to be gathered with a sense of purpose.
If you are lucky enough to find the bus stop, you’ve to be lucky enough for the bus to stop there. Because Delhi’s buses seem to want to play – they drive close enough, but often don’t stop. At best, they slow down to pick up passengers. Several times, I’ve boarded a bus while it was still moving.
The first few times, I used to be really confused when I saw the bus not really stopping. Often, the bus would just drive past with abandon, ignoring those of us waiting for it. I would quickly confirm on Google Maps that I was at the right place. What was I supposed to do? Stick my hand out? Board a moving bus? Brace myself for a run ahead of the bus stop, behind, or to the middle of the traffic (yes, because no motorist respects bus lanes and buses have no other way)? I’ve still not figured this out.
Imagine the level of this confusion if you didn’t know which bus goes to your destination. You run up to the bus when it’s slowing down (if you’re lucky) and frantically look at the faces of the people at the window to find the conductor, who for some reason, isn’t in a uniform or anything that distinguishes them from the other passengers. This took me, a former seasoned Chennai bus commuter, a few tries to understand – the conductor is usually seated towards the end in plainclothes and an annoyed look. If I could see myself when I’m trying to find out something from a Delhi bus conductor, I would see the stricken face of a woman jogging to keep up with the bus that never stopped, shouting ‘Kailash Colony??’ or ‘Malai Mandir’ to bewildered passengers in the hope that someone knew. Something like Kamal Hassan in Moondram Pirai, running from window to window.
You might think things get settled once you get into the bus. Delhi buses require people to board only from the rear, near the conductor who’s mostly angry. God help you if you found the bus number using Google Maps because routes and bus stop names are different from what the bus actually uses. I’ve been barked at several times for asking for a ticket to the ‘wrong’ place even though I was faithfully following Google’s instructions. You take a ticket – blissfully inexpensive, which is why the buses are a lifeline for Delhi’s people – and get a seat if you’re lucky or get pushed around in the crowd, and then your stop arrives.
You have to alight only from the front, where the driver sits. I found out why soon enough; if not, the bus driver would keep on driving, no matter whether there was a bus stop coming up. So you have to do everything to make your presence felt and catch the driver’s attention when you have to alight. If you’re the only passenger alighting, be ready to run for a few seconds after leaving the bus, because it only slows down, throws you out, and carries on.
I often think back to buses in Singapore and Chennai. Singapore was, understandably, organized to be idiot-proof – my first ever purchase there was a book that listed the route of every bus in the city. They had, even in the 2000s, figured out an SMS-based system to alert passengers of the time a bus would arrive at a bus stop, a feature I exploited to take a few extra minutes to get ready in the morning. But Chennai, too, was sorted, at least up until I lived there (now a good 15 years ago). I took buses to go home from school for most of my schooling life. The buses would – mostly – stop at every designated stop for a few seconds. The bus driver and conductor were in brown uniforms. The conductor would have a leather bag that jingled with the coins everyone gave him. They were, for the most part, kind and didn’t bark at passengers who didn’t know whether they were on the right bus. The occasional passenger who was in the wrong bus or gave a 100-rupee-note for a 2-rupees ticket would be made to alight at some random in-between point so they didn’t freeride.
In Delhi, I’m privileged to be able to skip buses entirely and find other ways of reaching my destination. Even as I write this whine-mock piece, I realise that there are millions of people who have to rely on this haphazard commuting system, so I desperately wish Delhi ups its bus game. I’ve heard from people about buses in pre-metro days and I’ve heard horror tales of the private blueline buses.
Maybe Delhi buses have a simple system that I haven’t figured out. The city’s bus connectivity game isn’t great, and there are some pretty important, busy routes that bafflingly don’t have direct buses, making it far easier to take an auto or the metro. But most importantly, I’ve lost the patience for taking modes of transport that are erratic, and are driven badly.
This makes me sad because buses are a great way to know a city better. A route that I’ve taken often in a taxi or an auto looked entirely different the one time I went by bus.
I hope things improve, and I hope I can discover some more bus routes before I grow too impatient to even consider joy rides on buses.
Image: “089-IMG_2924”by MR.Updown is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0