Dada's Sketchbook

Every time I would step on to the Force Traveller back in college, I’d heave a sigh of relief. The satisfaction was instantly doubled when I’d manage to set my bum on a vacant seat.

The trip from NID to IJM was as short as the acronyms but somehow, felt shorter on the days I’d be exhausted from drawing straight lines all day or having toiled at the workshop sanding a piece of teak. These trips, the return journeys, would always be more memorable than the morning ones. Maybe dozing off to the shifting amber lights of the Guntur-Vijayawada expressway felt better than struggling to find a footing, clutching onto your belongings while you’re still munching on the last bit of chutney laden idly.

Towards the end of my four years at college, I had completely switched over to my trusty single-speed, a gift from Mustafa who, after finishing his Bachelor’s degree, left for Delhi and then Iraq. However, the occasional Traveller trips still gifted me a basket of memories, some warm, some steamy, some I barely remember. Now, the Bus Service group on WhatsApp stays relatively quiet, beeping once in a while, serving as a reminder that fewer days remain till it buzzes again — “Buss to IJM!”.