Page 22 - Sequence 2020-22

The Commute - From an Island to the City

The sharpness of the winter air brushes against my skin and it tingles as the goosebumps prick. I

breathe in the fresh smell of earth and dew. It is a wholesome sensation. A feeling of rejuvenation.
I hear the roaring sound of the bus's engine as it screeches to a stop; a meter from where I stand.
The bus is empty, as it should be on the first stop. The bus rumbles through the narrow, curvy
roads; picking passengers along the way.

I hear numerous birds chirping in the trees as we halt to a stop near a shimmering lake where the

water laps against the bank. We wait for a few minutes. I see a vast pink sky with streaks of
fluorescent and dusky rose. The school children chat nineteen to the dozen while the working
adults stare into their phones with utter concentration. I sigh as I mentally prepare myself for
another ninety minutes of travel. The bus speeds on its way to the ferry as the ferry must be caught

on time.

Getting on the ferry, I take utmost care for I do not wish to slip and fall. The two times it had
happened was embarrassing enough. I sit on the cold metal bench so that I can watch the sun as it
rises over the horizon. The ferry takes fifteen minutes to reach the opposite bank. The sun rises,

slowly and steadily. It is mesmerizing and glorious to watch the ripples in the water as it reflects
the sun's warmth and hue. The glow of the sun as its light shines through the water. The golden
and orange and yellow against the azure sky. The same reflected in the waves below. It is always

heart-warming to watch this sunrise.

The ferry's engine gets silent as it nears the bank and everyone gets off. We wait for the bus which

takes us to Panjim bus stand. It is a ten-minute ride filled with loud, irritating music and sleepy
passengers. The bus screeches to a stop and we enter in a hurry. No sooner do we get in than it
speeds away, overtaking vehicle after vehicle. My stomach drops and I feel nauseous at this break

neck speed that I'm not used to. The music blaring in my ears. Men, women and children all
squeezed against one another, standing. We swing violently to a side as the bus takes a sharp turn.
Someone's hand lets go of the handle bar and they fall into the face of an old lady who violently

brushes them away muttering to herself. I often notice this particular old lady and she is rather
peculiar. She hates being touched by anyone and is always muttering.
Meanwhile, the bus conductor pushes his way past everyone, flattening them against the seats,

and collects the fare. As we near the city, we are greeted with a stench that wafts into the bus. The
smell emanates from a garbage dump that is being treated. School children shut their windows
with a thud and cover their noses, making faces of disgust. I take in one sharp breathe and hold it

in for as long as my lungs can muster.

We all huddle out, being pushed by the people behind us and walk towards our next bus like we're

in a simulation. This is life. From one bus to the another. One destination to the next.

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