Being Party to a Bus Crime
If “More people, more problems” was printed on a T-shirt, it’d be a hit among DINK (Dual income, no kids) couples. And in crowded places, you’d smilingly agree reading it.
I’d have agreed too.
All until my three co-passengers and two drivers of a 30-seater bus taught me this– problems are count-agnostic.
The bus had stopped at a semi-hygienic restaurant– Hotel Kailash. Their poha was priced at 70 rupees a plate.
Was I in rural Maharashtra or an Indian restaurant abroad?
You know, the kind where Poha is spiced beaten rice garnished with cilantro and fried gram flour shavings (i.e., sev). You’d laugh at this pretentious description. Meanwhile, their customers giggle back — at our powerless Indian passports.
But I was hungry. It was 8 am. And I was hungry. Repeating for emphasis. I was hungry. Now it’s excessive — akin to the salt in my overpriced poha.
While eating, I took turns to observe my co-passengers. There were three of them. Each, on a separate table, sipping tea. They weren’t falling prey to hunger.
Wait.
Were they one of those super sorted folks who woke up at 4am, did yoga, maintained flawless skin, wore steam-pressed suits to work, and scaled Mount Everest on weekends with their equally protagonist-like peers?
All while you and I nominate Hansa Parekh of the Khichdi fame to represent our souls?
Post-poha, the bus left Hotel Daylight Robbery (name changed, to induce crime-report feeling).
“Stop the bus! My mangalsutra is missing!” claimed Gitanjali (name added because I don’t know her real name).
Gitanjali and the two drivers proceeded to Hotel Daylight Robbery and demanded the CCTV recording.
Ivanti (passenger, sorted woman in her 50s), Arvat (passenger, sorted man in his 60s) and I (passenger, mid-twenties, trying hard to sort it out) waited in the bus with commiseration.
Gitanjali only returned with dismay. She was in her early 30s. Her maiden status had recently expired. The now-missing mangalsutra was new, she explained weepingly.
“Wait, there’s a mangalsutra on your neck!” Ivanti remarked enthusiastically.
Was this a Eureka moment? A happy resolution to a grieving Gitanjali?
Except it was merely a plot twist.
“No, this is my small Mangalsutra. My second — the big mangalsutra, is missing. It was with me at Hotel Daylight Robbery (was the name fitting, again?)” Gitanjali clarified devastatingly.
She recounted her insistence against wearing two mangalsutras, but her mother-in-law didn’t oblige. They were strict, she added.
Now, Gitanjali had to face the loss of an expensive gold necklace, and her in-laws’ reactions. A concerning problem — best kept away from the likes of Ekta Kapoor.
The bus resumed. Gitanjali wept vigorously.
Ivanti consoled her.
I offered water.
“Maybe the mangalsutra fell in…” Arvat suggested, gesturing at her cleavage.
Was that a perverted thing to say?
Maybe Arvat was not a sorted man.
On Gitanjali’s insistence, the bus halted at the police station. Three police officers of varying seniority inspected the bus. We were asked for suspects. All seats and cabins were emptied. Mats were upturned. Our bags had to be emptied, voluntarily. A more formal investigation would’ve necessitated a search warrant. I know this superficial legalese because I follow Lawyer WhoCares, and you should too!
The investigation was followed by a three-hour event at the police station. It involved the two drivers, Gitanjali and her family who’d just arrived. Ivanti, Arvat and I weren’t invited.
This compelled an awkward co-passenger camaraderie.
Ivanti’s children lived abroad. She repeated it several times. That supposed prestige was probably an attempt to render herself innocent, in this crime setting. And Arvat claimed financial dominance by mentioning his 3BHK landlord status…..in Mumbai.
Through further conversation, I learnt of our coincident ties to Gulbarga, a city in Karnataka.
Were we connected by Akashic records? An Akashic record, if you’re unaware, is destiny but documented in the past tense. Does that not make sense? Congratulations, you just grasped the concept!
When the bus resumed journey, Arvat offered us Mysore Pak.
As we chewed, we collectively awaited one goal — the expiration of our co-passenger status.
