Riding the bus and making it work: Lamabagar to Charikot
People were crammed into every crevice imaginable on our bus ride from Lamabagar to Charikot. Because of the number of people travelling back to the city or their places of residence after the elections the buses bringing passengers back to Kathmandu could fill up in Singati or even Charikot, without having to drive all the way to Lamabagar. As a result, not only were there many more people than usual hoping for seats, but only one bus had reached Lamabagar to take passengers back that day, instead of the normal two.
The night before there had been a tense uncertainty, as no one seemed entirely sure when and how many would arrive. When a bus finally pulled into town, we hustled to track down the driver to lock down seats. The last available were those perched on the narrow bench that encircled the shifter in the cab. We reluctantly agreed and laid down the cash.
The next morning, we climbed into our cab seats at 5:30 prompt and after an hour or two of continual stops for people waiting expectantly along the roadside (or running down the steep hillslopes above at the sound of the bus’ approach), the bus was at least three times past its seating capacity. Inside, the arrangement was cramped to say the least, with people who had not had the opportunity to book seats ahead of time gently, or forcefully, edging onto the seats of theose who had. The word milaunu is defined variously as: to reconcile; to resolve, to arbitrate, to bring about an agreement, to mix, to adjust, to solve, to balance. The sentiment seemed exemplified on this bus ride as, after some hemming, hawing and negotiating the old and the crippled were eventually found seats, while children and bags were placed on available laps.
The bus was packed to the point that, when the driver announced that the roof was open for seating, the young and able squeezed out of their positions in the crowd and flooded out and up for breathing space. The formal illegality of this practice, however, made it an awkward solution. At the approach of a chauki or police stop the bus would have to stop just out of sight and those on the roof had to either clamber back into the bus or get off and chase after the bus through the stop and around the corner to once again climb back onto the roof. The process did feel like something of a formality as on at least two occasions the procedure of re-loading was watched by members of the police standing on the hill above us or ambling back to their post.
The bus riders seemed to be in good spirits on this bus. Many were telling jokes and laughing heartily about the amount of people on the bus. I guess the volume of people was more than they were used to as well, yet not unthinkable, so they were having a hoot. Those crammed into the aisle negotiated leaning positions and hand grips and improvised seating on bags of potatoes or propane fuel tanks, whilst the tank owners complained about it half-heartedly. There were people sitting on top of each other, in some cases without asking. At one point, a woman who weighed over 250 pounds came on the bus and sat directly on a small man who may have weighed 150 pounds. It lasted for about 2 minutes before the man who had bought the seat, weighing his options, got up and sat on a pile of neighbouring backpacks for the remainder of the trip.