If you’d like to have your pulse racing sometime – and if romance is not an available option – I suggest that you take a ride on a Himachal public transport bus.
These buses were made in the early stage of the Industrial Revolution, around the time when candle making was considered seriously high-tech and hence headquartered in Palo Alto. The driver’s seat is surrounded by wires, some emerging from the engine, others just lying around in case…(though I never have figured out in case of what). Where an accelerator is supposed to be are metal stumps emerging from the debris, like desolate trees in a dammed river and the only concession made to the 20th century is the steering wheel.
The typical Himachal driver is a fair, good-natured fellow, with a big tummy and a bigger burp. He seems to know exactly what the wires are for, as he gets the vehicle lurching forward and then eases back to drive this bus with one hand. Yes, you read that right. With one hand.
His other hand – generally the right one – has more important endeavours. For much of the time spent going up the steep slopes of the Himalayas, taking turn after curve after hairpin bend, the driver uses his right hand to expertly eject projectiles from his nasal passage or investigate his ears or other parts of the anatomy that one must refrain from describing.
On one memorable occasion, the driver had a long-ish straw that he inserted into his right ear, contorting his face and tilting his head to a side, even as we climbed up a narrow road on a wet day. In keeping with the tradition set by the finest explorers, he was persistent, removing the straw once in a way to closely inspect the inserted length in puzzlement and then repeating the caving exercise. What did he expect? That it would emerge from his nose with the sinus at its tip? Or that beyond the ear drum, there'd be a vast emptiness with a hollow sound? I was riveted not just by this, but equally by the fact that the tyre below me was about two feet away from a seven hundred foot drop and my heart thudded at a lively pace right through this journey.
Himachal drivers are chatty too and believe in the basic principles of eye contact in communication, which is most unhelpful when you are palpitating uncontrollably. But try to give them feedback, such as “Could you please look ahead?” or “Watch out, there’s a cow in front!” and what you will get is a considered, elaborate stare (which, of course, gets you palpitating more than before).
So the best thing to do is to shut up and pray. Till you see that he too is doing the same, joining his palms and half bowing reverentially to a roadside temple that the bus streams past, even as about two feet away from your side is what is now a nine hundred foot abyss.
