B.E.S.T. & Worst

(Published in Time Out Magazine, April 2006)

Five rupees is a lot of money. Two weeks ago, I saved a lot of money when I rode ticket-less from Fountain to Cuffe Parade on bus number 138. 'Free hai, free hai!' the conductor said when I held out a tenner. What? Why? The conductor motioned me to move along. 'Ticket nai, free hai, free hai!' is all he would say. I sat down next to a middle-aged man. 'No ticket?' I asked delightedly. My fellow-passenger shrugged coldly. I looked around at the other deadpan faces. What was wrong with everyone? A free ride, in a city like this, was an occasion for joyous revelry!

As the bus pulled in at the next stop, I suppressed my chortles and watched the next lot of passengers clambering in, oblivious to the pleasant surprise awaiting them. A bumpkin-type became alarmed when the conductor refused to give him a ticket. Other passengers had to intervene and assure the panicky fellow that there really was no charge for this ride.

I looked out of the window. Our double-decker bus was now winding down Marine Drive. The city seemed more beautiful than usual. There was the sea glittering under the afternoon sun. I wanted to stick my head out and yell at passersby to hop on and enjoy this unprecedented gesture of municipal munificence.

The bus took a turn towards LIC. I restrained my over-excitement and tried to imagine some sane reason for this bonanza. Was the B.E.S.T. finally shutting shop? Was this free ride their swan song? Or had New Delhi taken mercy on Mumbai at last?

I looked around. The conductor was sitting in the opposite aisle, two seats behind me, enjoying the ride for once. This time I wouldn't take no for an answer. 'Free kayko hai?' I asked. My listless fellow passengers turned their heads perfunctorily. 'TV channel ney bhaadey pey liya,' the conductor replied. What channel? Which channel? The conductor named a popular Hindi TV channel and pointed to the front, where a twenty-something man was sitting in the seat behind the driver's. The chap was wearing a T-shirt and cap with the TV channel's logo. I knew that TV channel; was familiar with its imbecilic programs and its vociferous media campaigns. But this was a new low: bribing citizens with free bus rides in an attempt to earn our precious viewer-ship.

After the bus had pulled away from the Mantralaya stop, the TV channel stooge in T-shirt and cap stood up and addressed us passengers. He began talking about some soon-to-be-aired reality show. By then I had already rushed to the back of the moving bus. I stood on the exit platform for the rest of the journey, clutching a metal railing, swearing to get off, but never quite managing to.