Bouncing to Bhuj

It just so happens that many of my trips are totally antipodal in nature. One morning I could be touring the slums in Ahmedabad, the same evening eating out of a silver thali at an aunt’s house. I once spent a night in a pay-by-the-hour hotel in Hong Kong (sorry to disappoint, it’s not what you think), and the next in the Hyatt Penthouse suite. One day I had a designer bath towel the size of a bed-sheet, the next no towel at all (I can, however, vouch for the absorbency rate of Charmin). One week I was riding around Dubai in a Maybach with a liveried chauffeur, the next week in Kutcch, traveling in a Volvo.

I use the term 'Volvo' loosely here, but more on that later.

Spur-of-the-moment, impetuous decisions have sometimes left me in a miserable, ‘I think I want to kill myself’ state; others have led me on serendipitous journeys to experience the unknown. While in Ahmedabad on a volunteer assignment last year, I made one of those split, last minute decisions leading to one of the best travel experiences I have known.

Staying at the Manav Sadhna guest house is fun. You just never know who you will meet and where you will end up. In this case, I met Rajshree, a volunteer for Teach for India and I landed up the next day in Kutcch.

Over breakfast, Rajshree suggested that since my trip to Patan had fallen through, why don’t I just accompany her to Bhuj??

And so, placing infinite faith in a girl I had just met the day before, I agreed. I had always wanted to visit the village of Ludiya, or Gandhi nu Gaam as it has been renamed. After the January 2001 earthquake, the NGO of Manav Sadhna rebuilt it as a self-sustainable village. A group of highly-committed volunteers went there and within three months, the villagers were relocated in brand-new bhungas, their traditional mud huts.

While last minute decisions may work in India, last minute train tickets do not. We were left with no alternative, but to take the bus.

Throwing a few things in an overnight bag, we caught an auto-rickshaw to the bus depot. The price of the bus ticket had me worried – $ 8 for an overnight ride? Would we have to push? Would we have to drive? Would we have to sleep on the roof?

It took us a while to locate the office of the famous and reputable Shree Sahajanand Travels, where we were to catch the bus. One person pointed us up the street, another across the street, and the third scratched his head in wonder and had absolutely no clue, his hut of course being adjacent to the bus depot itself. The man at the ticket counter put my fears at rest and assured us a safe and pleasant journey. He pointed to the poster on the wall, touting all the benefits of traveling with them.

I heaved a sigh of relief to note that:

a) the bus was air-conditioned

b) it was a Volvo...

and...
drumroll please!!!

c) it had air-suspension.

The relief was short-lived, as:

a) the air-condition went straight from ninety degrees (F) to sub-zero temperatures within seconds. I spent the night, one minute sweaty and miserable, throwing off my shawl and then groping for it later with frost-bitten fingers. In their defense, they had thoughtfully provided us with a mothball-smelling blanket, having the same feel as a hair-shirt, in addition to having several hairs clinging to it from the previous user.

b) the name Volvo was used with reckless abandon and had no approximation whatsoever to that wonderful product of Swedish ingenuity. As far as safety and reliability, it was about as non-existent as the level of comfort.

c) In all fairness, it did have air-suspension. We were suspended in air for over half the trip. The Gujarat Highway Safety Commission apparently went to town installing breakers…one for every kilometer the whole way to Bhuj. Every time the bus lurched over a breaker or speed bump, I levitated off the seat and then landed…definitely not with the grace of a swan. Upon alighting, I heard noises. Was it the fracturing of my bones or just fragments of the bus as they fell on the road?

Being a fast learner, I soon caught on to the jouncing machinations, hanging on to the berth with the first squeal of the brakes. Slowing down meant we were nearing the speed breaker. While the front wheels rolled over the breaker with a gentle wave, those of us riding on the back wheels were flung about like popcorn.
So while the front wheelers slept in first-class comfort, the back-wheelers hit air-pockets without the aid of seat belts. Hitting a pothole however, turned the whole bus into an egalitarian society and everyone was tossed into the air with equal force, causing me to gloat in schadenfreudian glee.

Mr Raojibhai Patel of Shree Sahajananda Travels would do well to add a caveat to his poster on the wall: The bus ride is not recommended to anyone with wigs, dentures, hearing aids or any equipment not permanently welded to their body.