Warning - Vehicular Madness

Trip Start May 25, 2003
1
8
13
Trip End Aug 21, 2003


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Flag of India  ,
Tuesday, July 1, 2003

This story may be relegated to the realms of urban legend, but as I live and breathe, it is true. A man who shall remain nameless is terrorizing the roads in Northern India. Let me start by saying that he is anonymous not for any lack vengeful and punitive ambition or zeal on the part of this passenger - I'd post this guy's name in lights if I thought it might lead to his eventual capture and subsequent medievil punishment. No, I don't know his name because this madman never introduced himself. Whether his insanity had ravaged some essential component of the speech center in what for lack of any more appropriate term this I shall refer to as his brain, rendering him mute and thus unable to communicate his name, or perhaps he is some satanic version of the immcaulate conception, sprung forth in his current vile form from the very essence of evil with no mother to name and love him - we may never know. Suffice to say, this nameless cad is a menace, armed with a bus and unquestionaby dangerous. Sadly, my fervent desire to help protect any potential victims may be belied by the fact that not only do I have no name for him (and even if I did I surely would be unable to utter it), but I can't tell you much about his appearance. You see, not long after I boarded his hearse, cleverly disguised as a government bus, I found myself blinded by my fear, not to mention that my view was interrupted due to my tumbling ass over chai kettle. The unnamed driver worked the gas and breaks as if they were instruments of wrath with which, from his fiery throne he could violently arrest earth's rotation, abruptly spinning it in reverse so as to uproot all that is good and pure and minding its own business trying to dig up a couple rupees to, wait for it, PAY FOR this ride. I was naive enough at the outset to assume responsibility for these initial acrobatics - clumsy me, I, with my cat-like reflexes seem to have lost my impeccable balance and pulled a one-and-a-half gainer here in the aisle. Degree ofdifficulty - off the charts; landing, not much to look at. But once I had recovered and found a seat, it came to my attention that this driver had rescinded the laws of gravity, allowing him to toss his victims around like hapless playthings. My neighbor,a very stout Muslimman with a neatly trimmed mustache and minty breath, turned to prayer. Ram Ram Ram sri Ram, Ram sri Ram sri Ram sri Ram. He chanted devoutly from the airspace above his seat, interrupted only periodically when his body would thump back down on his seat, or more often, on my lap, and a Ram or a sri would come out more like urmfgh. His reverent prayers could not save the girl in the yellow dress. Her hair in braids, the epitomy of youthful innocence when she boarded the bus, her fine features faded as the road, under those maniacal wheels, began to take its toll. She steadily decompensated, looking into the ether for some devine intervention which she doubtlessly deserved. But on this day, in this bus, there would be no salvation. She eventually succumbed in a graceful projectile pirouette, her deathspin playing out in a blur of yellow fabric, braided pigtails and vomit, the latter splashing in the laps of two young men holding on for dear life, sitting in the wrong bus on the wrong day. These two guys looked knowingly, almost serenely at each other, long-ago nummed by the brutality of this busride, each surely recogninzing his own impending doom in the visage of the other. They wiped themselves off and resumed their suffering. For her part, the girl in the yellow dress had lost forever the innocence of youth, yet another victim of this crazed captain of the bus from hell. The bus finally did stop, proving that even in the depths of depravity there is some hope. Even in her haste to disembark, H was kind enough to fetch my small bag, which had lodged in some nook or cranny of this rolling coffin. Another passenger was gathering his strength below my bag, when H freed this ostensiblybenign object from its nest, with some considerable force, bludgeoning the man about the head. He demonstrated remarkable fortitude, or perhaps he had simply given in to the dark forces of our driver, for this guy glared at Heather with an unearthly anger no mere man could muster in the wake of that terrible ride.
I will end this message now, as each word I type brings me back to that bus, to the painful memories that shall haunt each of us the rest of our living days (and I'm starting to get alook from H that resembles the oneshe got from that injured man). Please heed this warning - if you see a demon driving your bus in India, whatever you do, don't stand next to a girl in a yellow dress...
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