Like all other public spheres, public vehicles too are rife with stories, and unsurprisingly, a large chunk of them belong to women. From shouting at a muscular man pressing against your body in a crowded bus (pretending he is unaware of it) to fighting with drivers who just slow down the bus and ask you to jump off, everyday is full of frustrating adventures.
Then with the ‘post-People’s Movement Consciousness’ flooding the whole country, the idea of so-called ‘reserved seats’ in public transportation came to the fore. It is a vivid example of how we are habituated to be oblivious to what’s written in words. [break]
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Reserved seats never appealed me until recently. Gender equality and an expectation for reservation in buses somehow sounded anomalous. Swinging on the door handle of the microbus with half of the body popping out (as there is never a space to accommodate the whole body right at the doorstep during office time), I believed I had enough strength to compete with men in this race.
I took this every day (mis) adventure for granted. As I continued to travel this way, some ‘reserved for women’ signs had even faded. But then came a time when the motherly instinct to protect the growing baby inside me rendered me incapable of swinging on the door handle anymore. For the first time I became acutely aware of my vulnerability.
During the first and second trimester, with no visible signs reflecting my physical condition, I could give no reason to those ‘civilized’ gentlemen comfortably adjusting themselves on the reserved seats on why I needed to sit down. In the first place, managing pregnancy and work was challenging. Added to this was one more skirmish with men occupying ‘my’ seat in public vehicles on the way to work everyday. As a reply to my claim, some would refuse blatantly and even throw sarcastic remarks at me. Often their bland logic would be “equality between men and women” which in their opinion should be reflected in public buses as well. How I wished every time I could reply that I was nurturing a life inside, which they could never do even if they gave their lives for it!
But my story of everyday skirmish doesn’t end here. In the third trimester, it is self-evident that I should get to sit down, whether the seats are reserved or not. Unfortunately, except a gentleman who vacated a seat twice, I have hardly come across any men who dare to acknowledge the fact that by occupying ‘my’ seat they are breaking rules—the rules of humanity as well as of the country. Most occupants of my seat pretend not to notice me standing with a protruding belly, so they do not bother to flinch.
Even those who notice remain indifferent. Still more infuriating is the bus attendant’s insensitive and disgusting advice to get a taxi for a seat of choice. The one consolation against this inhuman treatment in public vehicles is to remind myself that I live in a city drained of humanitarian sentiments, a city too mechanized to consider the humane aspect of lives.
The rule of Department of Transport Managements makes it mandatory for public vehicles to mark certain seats as reserved, and it’s been done. The entire story ends here. While I retaliate to these occupants in my own way, I haven’t noticed any traffic police prioritizing this in their checklist. A driver’s driving license and bill book is sought, the condition of sidelights and headlights checked, but this particular aspect of public transportation is largely ignored.
While women like me continue to glare at ‘reserved seats’ occupied by those who scramble as fast as possible, the traffic police are vigilant enough to ensure the vehicles comply with traffic rules. Another woman clutching a small child in her arms, and an elderly person stagger inside the crammed bus, which jolts them every no end then over bumpy roads that are always ‘under construction’.
Inside public vehicles, daily commuters like me live these everyday stories. These commuters include those voiceless people who cannot read what is scribbled. Some can read, but their voice is silenced as there is only a fickle rule to back it up. And finally there are those who are exhausted of this constant brawling and have given up. Lawmakers and women right activists get out of their expensive luxurious cars and deliver speeches on the importance of reserving seats in public transportation. They probably think the scribbling on public vehicles is their most significant accomplishment towards ensuring safety of women in public vehicles. But in practice, things are different.
In a couple of months, my normalcy will spare me of this special need for reserved seats, but many vulnerable women will continue to travel like I am doing now. In a country where things are so messed up, I do not expect this ‘insignificant’ issue will be in anyone’s priority list anytime soon. But I wish, in the condition of mental and physical fragility, no woman had to fight with someone or depend on someone’s mercy to get something that is rightfully theirs.
The author is an A-level English Language Teacher at Chelsea International Academy
paudel.smita@gmail.com
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