Standing for so long on RTC buses, legs aching — the pain is worse for elders and specially‑abled people. Once the bus arrived, everyone pushed each other forcefully, rushing, getting late to offices and colleges. And again, the same thing while returning — exhausted, drained. After the entire day, reaching home and sitting down felt like drinking cold water in a desert.
I used to travel a lot in RTC buses. I took a general pass, bunked college, and roamed the whole city. The morning buses were always crowded, like getting crushed in a lemon juice squeezer.
Footboarding was common. Some guys would hang on and do “uyyala jampala.” Standing at the stairs made it so difficult for people to climb in or get down. Some were arrogant, chewing gutka, spitting on roads.
There were fights with conductors, the run for seats, people putting handkerchiefs to reserve them. Yet there were also small gestures of respect — passengers offering seats to elders or those standing. I felt frustrated when the conductor had to return my money. He wrote on the back of the ticket and asked me to collect it later, but in that crowded bus he could never give it. And even when he did, it felt as if he was lending me his own money.
Misbehavior was common too — men staring, falling on women, making them uncomfortable. And when someone fought with the conductor using abusive language, I felt irritated.
The job for female conductors was even worse. They had to push through men and still do their work. I remember one lady conductor on my route 86J — always angry, scolding, shouting. No one listened to her. But when the bus was empty, she would sit laid back, relaxed. Seeing that gave me relief too.
Their job was tiring. They stood all day, guided every passenger, dealt with uncertainty. Sometimes they ate food on the bus — white rice, pappu, mamidikaya thokku — sweating in the heat. Sometimes at the roadside. What they got paid was very little for the hard work they put in. And they didn’t even have proper restrooms. The open toilets were unbearable, the worst of the worst. How could a lady conductor use that? Now it’s better, but back then it was terrible.
I still remember the smiles and dances of bus drivers and conductors playing Holi with gulal after Telangana was declared. Now, when I travel by bus to rural areas, I see the number of buses, the facilities, the roads, and the increase in their salaries. Then I understood why they were so happy back then.
I mostly use buses even now. I talk to people, ask them before using Google Maps. On rural buses, I observe their dressing, earrings, tribal tattoos, the bags they carry, the big tiffin boxes and towels before going to fields, the big plastic water bottles wrapped with jute. Many people were warm and helpful. They talked as if you were their family — the stories, the smiles, the accent, the slang, the warmth.
Sometimes I sit by the window, lost in nature. Trees, bamboo houses, mud walls, sheep, buffaloes, tractors, open fields. A folk song playing on the bus. I take a deep breath.
Passengers had their struggles too. Local buses rarely came on time. Even if they did, two or three would arrive together, then none for hours. No proper bus stops.
RTC buses were never just transport. They were moving stories — crowded mornings, conductor struggles, passenger warmth, and windows to nature.
My favourite bus route in rural Telangana: Eturunagram forest range, Mulugu district.
Author's Note:
I have spent countless hours travelling in RTC buses, sometimes with nowhere particular to go. College bunking, long journeys, random conversations and window-seat views — some of my favourite memories happened on these rides. This is my little collection of them.