A Bus Ride to Bathinda, Punjab

This has nothing to do with sports but figured I would post it any way. It's a short piece I wrote about a recent overnight bus ride I took to Punjab to assist at a Landmark Education event. Was quite an experience:

It's Saturday night at 7:00pm and I'm on the Indian Railways website booking a ticket for an overnight train to Bathinda. I'm nervously excited about taking my first overnight train in India and assisting in the first Home Introduction in Bathinda. I click to book the 9:50pm Punjab Mail and the text reads, "Tickets for this train are no longer available." My heart sinks. All the excited energy I had minutes earlier has disappeared along with my visions of Punjabi food, Bhangra music, watching India through a train window and sharing Landmark Education with hundreds of people in Bathinda.

Frustrated, I call up my coach Neha and say, "I'm not going to Bathinda, there are no more train tickets available." She says,"Do you want to go to Bathinda?" I say, "Yes, of course." She says, "Well, you can take an overnight bus, you may have to change in the middle of the night, but you can probably get there on time." I say, "No way am I taking a bus to Bathinda. I get being unreasonable but this is just stupid and irresponsible." She says, "Can you drop that taking a bus to to Bathinda is stupid and irresponsible and live inside of the possibility of why you wanted to go in the first place?" I say, "Yes." She says, "There is a bus that leaves ISBT at 11:00pm and gets into Chandigarh at 4:30am. From there you will get on a local bus to another station and then take a local bus to to Bathinda that gets you into the station at 9:30am. Parminder's brother will pick you up at the station." I reluctantly say, "Ok I'll do it."

I jump into my blue I-10 and ask my 22 year old driver, Samir, to drive me to ISBT. He keeps asking, "Why are you taking a bus to Bathinda?" and I fumble my words without giving him a clear reason of why I had to get to Bathinda as soon as possible. He says, "Boss don't take a bus, I'll drive you to Bathinda." I think for a few minutes and then say, "No, I'm taking the bus."

The ISBT looks like a war zone and we make our way through trash and stray dogs to the terminals. People are yelling all different names of cities I've only read about in my Lonely Planet travel book and buses and people are coming and going. We find the terminal for Chandigarh and a man tells my driver that I should get on the bus immediately or it's going to leave without me. Samir reluctantly walks me to the entrance of the bus and says with the loving words of an older brother, "Be careful boss, don't eatanything and don't talk to anyone." I walk to the back corner of the bus, put my headphones on and wave to him out the window smiling big to cover the fear in my chest.

We get to Chandigarh at 4:30am and I get off the bus with sleep still in my eyes. Immediately auto drivers are pulling me in different directions offering me everything from auto rides to women. The conductor of the of the bus I was on grabs my hand and drags me to a local bus. The local bus conductor says (in Punjabi I think),"where do you want to go?" I tell him "Sector 43." The other passengers look at me and my accent with intrigue and delight. He takes my 5 rupees and we are on our way. The windows are broken and the cold wind is making me miss the scorching Indian summer.

We get to sector 43 and I get on another bus to Bathinda. I sheepishly ask the conductor in broken Hindi to make sure he wakes me up when we get to there. I try to sleep, however, the cold air, crowds of people getting on and off the bus, the violently ill older gentleman in front of me and the non-existent shocks on the bus keep me awake. I spend the 4.5 hours staring out the window watching scenes of people in Patiala and other Punjab cities getting ready to start their day.

I get to Bathinda at 9:30am and Parminder's brother easily spots the lost, clean cut American wearing the big adidas backup wandering inside the sea of beards and turbans. I jump on the back of his motorcycle and we are off. We get to Parminder's house a few minutes later. I walk in and Parminder's father hands me a tall glass of warm masala chai and some Punjabi sweet I don't recognize. I take a big gulp of the chai and a bite of the sweet and thank God that I chose to go on this incredible adventure.