Toll Bus Stop

This morning I took a refreshing bath before the water magically shut off... I had just enough water to get the conditioner out of my hair and the soapy suds off my toes. Then it was a quick steel tumbler of black tea, which means no milk (paal) and serious sugar complimented by a steel bowl of oats with a sliced banana. I had packed my bag the night before when Mathew informed me I had been scheduled to stay at St. Joseph's Branch school the next day. Preem arrived to discuss a few important matters and then take me to pick up my new Lead Forward business cards, then to the bus station. Traveling by bus is always the cheapest and most interesting way I travel, though I can't do it alone because the Tamil alphabet still boggles me. So the business card pick up was scheduled for 10:00a.m., and I think we must have finished around 11, not bad. I left the printing shop with 100 business cards, custom designed for me in color at a total cost of $6. Off to the bus station, or so I thought. When we passed the road leading back to Mathews away from the bus stand I figured there was another stand on the other side of the city. I casually asked Preem where we were catching the bus as we prepared to merge onto the highway, my vintage Kelty blue suitcase ripping into my fleshy shoulders as I tried to balance on the back of his Honda motorcycle. Preem said the direct buses to Cuddalore, my destination, were only passing through the toll plaza and not entering Chengelpattu town. 1km to Toll the highway sign read as we coasted at a casual 40km/hr. It is not required by law to wear a helmet unless you are in Chennai, and as with the rest of India, rules are meant to be broken. We crossed four lanes of traffic in a smooth swoop and parked on the rocky dirt embankment next to the toll booths. I followed Preem weaving between passing cars, lorrys, bikes and motorcycles to the dividing barrier between two lanes going south through the plaza. Most of the commissioned agents took notice. A white curly haired girl in something other than a saree definitely requires gawking. The buses passed frequently, Trichy, Villapuram, Tambaram, Chengelpattu, Madurai, but none for Cuddalore. We waited and sooner than later an official approached asking Preem our purpose. As soon as he explained they told me to put down my bag, stand with them, and they would hail the bus for me. How hospitable! I stood separated still avoiding the common slew of questions I would soon encounter and continued to watch the variety of people staring at me when they drove through the toll. Another operator approached this time with cucumber slices covered with salt and chili powder, Preem and I munched as he noted that this experience would not be had by any local person. I began to listen to life stories, a military man, now aged 62, who had a humanitarian spirit and a inquisitive attitude. A bachelor who finished his physics degree living in Villapuram and commuting 1 1/2 hours one way to the toll booth daily appreciated my fashion sense and told me about his three brothers, as he his their annan(eldest brother) I jokingly commented on his status as a role model for them to become bachelors too. So about 5 toll booth operators were working to help me and Preem find a Cuddalore bus. I witnessed a heated argument where a motorcyclist hopped off his bike, strategically placed it infront of a bus, and began to vehemently explain his piece of mind to the equally expressive bus driver. I saw some white foreigners questioningly stare me down as they passed in a black SUV. I got the sweetest smile from a woman with a window seat wearing a red and yellow saree. Needless to say after planning alternates in options of a taxi or hitchhiking a private bus going to Cuddalore finally came and I boarded with a small family. I took my seat on the floor above the third step where I had boarded the bus and began to read The Kite Runner as the breeze instructed my beaded pants to jingle toward the open door infront of me and coax my eyes to dance between the words on each page and the cows littering the grassy banks along the highway shoulder.