It was a clear and starry night. I had been waiting for the bus to arrive for the past half an hour, but there was no sign of it. It was Saturday in the city of lights, Karachi, but no one could guess that it was late, almost 10 o’clock, with so much hustle and bustle of the cars swooping past us.

Just as I was about to give up, there was a loud honk and I could see a ‘W-11’ bus slowing down as it became visible. It was less flamboyant than the buses we normally see on the roads of Karachi, however, there were some poetic lines written on the window about love that made me giggle, along with the ‘W-11’ written in bold letters on the windshield. The number plate was rusty and so were the chains hanging below the bumper.

Screech! Roar! Grunt! The bus finally came to a halt in front of me and, in a tick, I was surrounded by a horde of people who had, as it seemed, appeared out of thin air because earlier there were only four other people at the stop with me.

The bus conductor appeared as it stopped. The conductor had his hair combed to one side and eyes popping out while his clothes were dirty. He bellowed in a hoarse voice to silence us, after which everyone entered the bus while many men climbed onto the roof.

The moment I set foot in the bus, the scents of cheap perfume, chips and bubble gum invaded my nostrils as a wave of nausea hit me. I sat in the women’s section on a dilapidated seat (in their defence, all were in the same condition). I noticed that the bus driver had a long beard and was dressed in a shalwar kameez.

I then happen to glance at my hands and noticed that they had turned brown! I looked around and grasped as I realised that all the metal rods were rusted. Before I could settle in my seat, there was a lot thud and the bus started moving.

Just then, a man, with dishevelled hair and tie almost loosened, climbed onto the bus with a great leap. The bus continued to move on through the rocky roads, bumping into every depression. A shrill voice echoed in the bus and I turned around to see that a six-month old baby was getting amused with the light reflecting from the beautiful mirror work on the lintel; she looked happy. Before long I saw a young boy in blue hoodie standing up to let an old man, who had been standing, sit comfortably.

‘Kindness still exists,” I thought.

As time went by, travelling in a bus did not seem so terrifying. I was beginning to like the carefree atmosphere. After a while, the woman beside me fidgeted and searched for something in her purse, which was an embroidered, pink saddlebag. Subsequently, two men wearing casual clothes burst into roaring-laughter and I couldn’t help but grin at them.

The bus was slowing down when I noticed that the faint chattering of the crowd had turned to a loud and cacophonous noise as the bus stopped with a squealing noise from the engines. I hopped out of it as soon as I could before another commotion could have risen. I had arrived at my destination and the bus ride had ended.

Published in Dawn, Young World, December 1st, 2017