A little prayer on the move
At 7.10 every morning, I rush out of my apartment with my friend/ flat mate/ colleague and head towards the 223 bus terminal. Out of breath, I catch the nearest seat, spaced well from the window. My friend sits in another (we prefer the comfort of a 20 minute independent nap time over adjacency). As we wait for the bus driver to finish his last sip of morning tea, the bus pandit makes his way. Before moving to Kolkata and starting out early everyday, I never knew that buses had pandits too. He wears a white vest, sometimes covered in a saffron kurta, and a faded white dhoti. Like every pandit, he carries a braided tiki on his head and bears a solemnity in his eyebrows that could be read as nonchalance or perhaps chore. His hands and feet move swiftly. He boards the bus with a tiny basket in his left hand while his right hand makes way toward the front panel. Right beside the driver’s seat lie framed photos of Kali, Durga, Ganesh and other friends. From his basket, he takes out ...
