It was a scorching hot afternoon that day and the thought of travelling by bus was quite intimidating to my subconscious mind. So I started off my journey to my maternal grandfather’s house with much frown and grimace.
I reached the Bhubaneswar bus stand pretty comfortably in an autorickshaw, though the perpetual ‘looish’ wind kept brushing against my face. I got down from the auto and boarded a ‘Puri’ bus. I would say that I was lucky to get a seat in a ‘Puri’ bus as it generally tends to be very crowded. Suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, a different picture popped up in front of me.
There were a cluster of people, signifying their respective backgrounds. The people were sweaty and stinky, which affected my respiratory system considerably. Some of the people were so old and weak that you could literally count the 206 bones in their body. One thing was very common-the ‘paan’ in everybody’s mouth. The bus ticket was 27 rupees from ‘kalpana’ to ‘bada daanda’. That didn’t bother me much. But I was amazed to see that this amount did deter others. Arguments and altercations occurred between the passengers and the conductor regarding the bus fare being 25 instead of 27 rupees. Some of the passengers even went paranoid and accused the conductor of beguiling them. Certain passengers boarding at ‘sakhigopal’ confronted against the conductor when he demanded Rs. 4 instead of Rs. 3. This left me utterly bewildered and made me realize the value of a single rupee.
Certain people had a claustrophobic ordeal. An old lady sitting beside me, goaded the kid sitting at the window seat to swap places. She wanted to puke, and the constant prodding left the kid fuming. Eventually the kid had to succumb to her request. I sat with bated breath to reach Puri.
After an hour’s journey, the bus reached ‘Pipili’. The place was a hub of artistic handicrafts and exotic beauty. It was crowded and the constant chirping and rushing of men drew everyone’s attention. The decorative articles, the handbags and many other articles had a touch of ‘royalty’ imprinted on them, like the traditional Rajasthani attire. There were those huge hats which resembled to the ones worn by the ‘barmy army’ in England. But I was a bit perplexed when I got to know the cost at which they were sold. The price was quite less compared to their worth. May be the reasons would be the lack of advertisement, inefficient connectivity to the place, ignorance and illiteracy of the people, etc. The bus sped through a stretch of forests which was serene indeed.
After sometime, we reached the suburbs of Puri. A characteristic picture of a ‘below poverty line’ area appeared. The roads were too narrow for simultaneous vehicles to pass through. To my amazement, all men were pucker faced and topless. The only clothes on their body was a so called ‘lungi’ or a red ‘gamchha’. The women superseded the men in terms of attire. Most of them were scantily clad. Their embodiment would perhaps signify their frustration and disgust, or their antipathy to overcome it. The street drains were lined by impudent kids, defecating in the open, oblivious of the repercussions.
Then finally I reached my destination. As I got down from the bus, I could feel the spasm of enlightenment in my inner soul. I couldn’t make out that implicit feeling. May be for that sole obvious reason, PURI (the abode of Lord Jagannath) was one of the ‘char dhams’. The rickshaw drivers came rushing towards me to offer help, in a polite manner. A sense of belonging rushed through my inner self. This land belongs to my forefathers and I am the ‘son of the soil’. On my way to my grandfather’s house, many people (whom I hardly knew) gestured a friendly smile and seemed very caring.
The trip was unique in its own way. It was an education and realization of the world out there. Though it is 60 Km away from Bhubaneswar, the difference in culture is substantial. While the Bhubaneswar people are emotionless and progressive, Puri people have only emotions to offer!!!
CONTRIBUTED BY SOURAJEET PRADHAN
