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Anytime a debate kicks off about public transport in Indian cities, I think of a scene I saw on a late summer evening in 2006 (when I still used buses). I think it was route 422, going past Nizamuddin down to Badarpur Border. (1/n)
It was crammed from steel floor to steel roof with bodies. I was tired from just waiting for the bus, but everyone else on it was a day labourer, they must have been in the final stages of exhaustion. (2/n)
I had boarded from the front, and as we roared down Mathura Road, suddenly the conductor was raising her voice. There's a commotion – centred on a tiny woman, sitting with her family, who looked like they might have been riding that bus for days. (3/n)
