Fireworks at Banglore Bus Station

It wasn’t the first time Krishna and I had an argument, but this one is by far the most memorable one.

It felt like the climax of a cheesy Bollywood film.

Picture this: The heroine at a bus station, ready to leave, she has evidence in her hand that will prove the villain’s guilt the hero desperately searching for her. They are departed with all difficulties and finally the hero spots the heroine, wind comes in, papers fly all over…. Only in this story, the hero keeps his shirt on and the heroine hasn’t just stumbled out of a plastic surgeons office and she leaves.

Don’t go yet, this is not a tragedy, but a story of chaos and comic.

The whole mess started with Krishna’s eternal confusion about dates. I was headed to Jaipur for my cousin’s wedding, accompanying Ma and Pa. I was excited—it had been eight years since I last saw all my cousins together in one place, and I’d been living in a dreamy haze of anticipation.

Krishna, my ever the helpful partner, offered to arrange tickets through his travel agent. I was grateful and trusted him completely. I packed meticulously, checked, rechecked, and triple-checked my bags. Everything was ready—except for the ticket, which Krishna had assured me he’d bring when he came to drop me off.

At the Bus Station

"Krishna, where’s my ticket?" I asked as we stood at the station.

"Here you go babe. Happy journey!" he said with a grin.

"Thanks. I’ll miss you."

"Me too”

“Take care, and eat properly. I’ve stocked the fridge for you."

"Will do”

I’ll call once we reach Jaipur."

"I’ll be waiting. Wish I could come along."

"So do I. But if I don’t board now, I’ll be stuck with you," I teased.

"Not such a bad deal," he laughed.

And with that, I boarded the bus. It was a farewell straight out of a romance novel—sweet, heartfelt, and picture-perfect. Krishna probably drove off dreaming of some quiet time without me constantly chit chatting and distracting him from his zen.

Little did he knew his evening was about to take an unexpected turn.

The Evening of Errors

I walked toward the bus, baggage in hand, and handed my ticket to the man at the entrance. He looked like a quintessential Indian man in his fifties who has spent most of his life in hospitality - well groomed, thick mustache, neatly pressed grey uniform with company logo on left breast pocket, and black slippers. His watch, surprisingly expensive, stood out against his otherwise modest attire.

"Madam, you’re late," he said, his Telugu-accented English sharp.

"Late? The bus leaves at 8:30. It’s only 8:15!" I replied confidently, glancing at my watch.

"Yes, but your ticket is for the 16th. Today is the 17th." he said with a smirk.

What? whats with that smirk? Jerk! I snatched the ticket from his hand, getting ready to tell him he is wrong and…. WTF!! He was right. I was late—not by minutes, but by 24 hours. 23 hours and 48 mins, if someone out there is doing the exact math.

Reality hit me like a freight train. I wasn’t boarding this bus. The man, smirking, vanished into thin air. Panicked, I called Krishna, who was likely halfway home by now.

"Krishna, what’s today’s date?" I demanded.

"16th of February," he replied casually.

"No, Krishna. It’s the 17th. Which means, I don’t have a valid ticket."

"What? Let me check."

“Check? i have just been asked to leave the bus. Stop ‘checking’ and come here right now!"

Seven minutes later, Kumar arrived, apologizing profusely.

"I’m sorry,. I thought—"

"Never mind. What now?"

"Let’s talk to the agent and get another ticket."

The Agent and the Bribe

We found the travel agent, a man whose appearance was comically mismatched: dark complexion, vibhuti on his forehead, a bright yellow checked shirt, a red printed tie, brown pants and slippers. He looked as though someone had dressed him in the dark. I suppressed my laughter and explained the situation.

"Sarvanan sir, I need a ticket for the 9:30 bus."

"Sorry, madam. No seats available," he said with finality.

Krishna pulled him aside, and after a brief, hushed conversation. After 5 mins of staring at his screen, he magically “found” a seat for me.

Later, I learned about the ₹1500 bribe.

Ticket in hand, I was relieved— but wait, the story doesn’t end here.

The Long Walk to the Bus

It was 9:15, and we were rushing to catch the 9:30 bus. We can make it, we have enough time. The unexpected is never expected, Krishna suddenly needed to answer nature’s call. I couldn’t believe it.

So here we are at 9:25, still walking towards the designated pick-up spot. As we reach we discover the bus didn’t stop there at all.

Fortunately, this time i had company, a small group of equally confused passengers.

We all turn to our trusted agent, Sarvanan for answers and he looks back with a confused face. He runs to get information and comes back asking us to follow him. So we start walking towards the destination, not Jaipur, but the right pick-spot.

A 1.5-kilometer walk later, we were finally where the bus actually was.

When we finally reached, I showed my ticket, this time for the right day and turned to take my luggage from Krishna—only to find he had disappeared.

The Bus That Left

"Madam, your baggage?" the bus conductor asked impatiently.

"It’s with my partner. He’ll be here any moment," I replied, scanning the area for Krishna.

"Madam, the bus can’t wait. We’re already late."

I ask him to wait for 5 mins as I step away to make a call, which he reluctantly agrees to.

Meanwhile the Chief Minister decides to pass by that very road that very same time, Isnt that amazing? All VIP's gathering around the same place? His motorcade began clearing the road, forcing the bus to leave.

I turn around just in time to see it drive away.

Once again, I was stranded.

The Short Ride In a Cop Car

By the time Krishna arrived, I was livid.

"Where were you?" I snapped.

"I was looking for you!"

"Looking for me? You can’t get a single thing right!"

"Happy journey, Priya" he said, dodging the argument and handing me my suitcase.

I grab the suitcase and I stomp off for dramatic effect, only to remember that the bus is gone.

Now what? I was too angry to call Krishna, just then i spot the cops, who came early to clear the road for the chief minister, sitting in their jeeps and sharing stories. What a waste of tax payers money! Wait, I am a tax payer too and its time i got some VIP benefits. I walk straight to them.

“Where is the bus” I demand

“The bus?” he replies confused.

"Yes the bus. Which was standing right here?”

“Oh the tourism bus, that left”

“But it was suppose to wait for me”

"Yes, we needed to get the road cleared; the CM is going to pass by.”

“Well then" I said, trying to sound brave, “you created the mess and now you need to solve it. I need to board the bus, so you better do something”

Just then we spotted a young lanky boy running in our direction. He came straight to me.

"Madam are you the passenger left behind?"

"Yes. Where is the bus?"

"The bus is waiting for you at the highway, In front of National Dhaba."

“That’s 4 kms away” I turned to the cop and demanded he drive me there. May be he noticed the panic I was trying so hard to hide, he didn’t argue and drove me.

And that’s how ladies and gentlemen, I got a short ride in the back of a cop car.

The Finale

The bus indeed was waiting for me there.

I finally boarded, with luggage, exhausted but relieved.

As I sat back, ready to relax, the aromas of dhaba food wafted into the bus. I smiled, dreaming of a peaceful journey ahead.

But then the phone rang.

"Priya" Krishna said, "I can’t find my car keys. Are they with you?"

What happened next? Well, I’ll let you imagine.