How Rickpooling Changed My Life, the Universe and Everything.

Dear Zonk,

Every morning, I take a bus halfway to work. A little more than halfway, really. Maybe two-thirds of the way. I can’t be too sure. In any case, I take my morning bus. It’s the same bus at the same time every day, and it starts from right outside my house. I love it. Everybody that ever sets foot in it loves it. Because  that’s just the sort of bus it is – old and reliable and comfy as hell.

And so, my journeys pass easily.  In the mornings at least. But the journeys back home at night – now that is a different story altogether.

Imagine being exhausted from 11 or 12 hours of work, and a little bit light headed from staring at a screen all day. Or from lack of fresh air or nutrition or both or neither. And imagine leaving work knowing that you have two hours to travel before you get back home. It would be okay, really, if you could get into a train or a bus or a something that would take you all the way from point A to point B. The problem, if you live in Thane and work in Bandra, is that pretty much nothing takes you all the way. And so I take a rick to Sion and train or a bus back from there, and then another rick from the  station or the bus-stop to Home.

Point B, dear Zonk, is two hours and three fucking vehicles away.

It’s mind-numbing and mood-souring and buzz-killing. It has been known to drive many a nice person over the edge and they’ve been known to go crazy and break things and turn into small birds that poop on people and stuff.

And surely I was headed that way. And I might have turned into birds, too.

Except: something magical happened this week. I found out that two girls from my morning bus who sometimes split the rick from Sion to Bandra with me have begun taking ricks all the way home on account of being overworked and exhausted and too spent to give a damn. I spotted my chance. My ray of hope. My only glimmer in an otherwise meaningless evening existence. I told them to call me the next time they took a rick. I told them I’d join in. And I did.

And it was good.

And it was convenient.

And it was beautiful.

You see, I don’t know these girls too well, but I know that we have a lot in common. We are three nice girls who work in the same area and live in the same area and travel what feels like a million miles in between. And at night, after a hard day’s work, we all want the same thing – to sit the fuck down and just be taken straight home. We want to take that rick, Zonk. And if we get to split it three ways, well.

Peace of mind for a hundred bucks.

I’ll take one of those, please.

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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