DATELINE
SYDNEY circa 2002
Go Home! Go
Home! Go Home!
That’s precisely what I was doing the other weekend when I took a bus on Parramatta road to the Inner-West. Since I started driving three years ago, I was almost out of habit of using public transport. That Saturday morning I went out on a nature photography tour to Bradleys’ Heads Point Road with a generous and very welcoming bunch of recently met photography enthusiasts.
In the morning I waited for the pick-up in front of my flat. I have already been in and out couple of times looking for my pick-up person. We had almost lost each other but much to our relief were about to be united and to continue with our journey. At this moment I realized that later in the day I will need my Travel Ten bus ticket. I used one perhaps every three months.
Much annoyed with myself I opened the two doors to my flat and grabbed my ticket and shoved it in the top pocket of my jeans. I knew that was not the right place to put it in but decided about transferring it to a proper pocket in my camera bag later on. As so happens, I forgot all about my ticket till about lunchtime.
After finishing with the nature walk we all sat down for lunch. I lost my pick-up person as she went in search of some coffee. While everyone unpacked his or her lunches, my lunch was getting warmed in my small backpack secured in the boot of the car of this person. The bag also had some travel money in its pocket.
After waiting for a while I started plotting a rescue plan in case my pick-up person didn’t turn up. I said to myself, never mind I can collect my backpack later. In the meantime I was happy to have an apple, which I kept in the pocket of my jacket. I had my Travel Ten and I could manage to get back home after finishing with the photography outing. Much to my dismay, poor Travel Ten ticket got all crumpled in my jeans pocket. It was still flat but I could seem some cracks in the magnetic strip. I worried about the fate of this Travel Ten and was not too pleased with myself.
Somebody else too was not pleased about it. When I dipped my ticket in the box of Sydney bus route 413, it didn’t go in. I was putting it in from the wrong end. Next time when I dipped from the right end still it didn’t work.
I looked around for this man and he was sort of trying to hide from me. In a flash of a second I decided not to take such bullying lying down. I walked towards him and stood there. The guy gave me a hard stare and had his headphones firmly ensconced in his ears. I asked him, “What were you trying to tell me there at the machine. Can you tell me again”?
He continued in his aggressive tone and repeated himself. Not only I could be dealing with a possible racist but a misogynist too. I tried to tell him that it was none of his business what should I do or what I should not. I tried to also tell him that my ticket still had five trips left out of ten and that’s why I couldn’t just give up on it.
He was not listening and he went berserk telling me to get off the bus. I tried to hold on to my ground. He got up and while telling me to get off the bus, pushed me to the floor of the bus. Bus was full and I heard a big sigh from the fellow commuters. But nobody tried to protect me or tried to tell him to stop shouting. As I picked up myself from the floor, he started chanting, “GO HOME. GO HOME.GO HOME.”
I knew his “GO HOME” meant – go back to your country. Earlier also once in a while, I had come across such people who asked me to go home as I shared my pains and struggles in settling down in a new country.
I still tried to maintain my sense of humour and told him that’s precisely what I was doing, going to my home in Summer Hill. He was not there to listen. He kept up with his chant – louder and more sinister. I walked back towards the front of the bus and told him that I was going to ring the police. Which I did. Police was willing to cooperate and asked me to ask the driver to stop at a particular section on the Paramatta Road.
Bus driver also radioed his people. This aggressor continued with his chanting – nobody asked him to shut up or tried to talk to him. Driver locked the doors but one or two people were getting restless and wanted to get out. At that moment, this man also walked up to the front and gestured to get out. I stood next to the driver with my back to the windscreen. One man in front of me wanted to get down and then this aggressor also queued up. He was quiet by now, he had stopped chanting.
For a moment I was worried that he may attack me. He might have had a knife or a gun. I was getting worried, what if he physically launches himself on me? In the meantime bus driver pleaded with me that he couldn’t keep this man in the bus and he has to let him go. I agreed and asked him to let the aggressor go.
Bus Driver updated his help desk; police perhaps were still trying to catch the bus. I got down at my stop. Looked around for the police as they said they would meet me there. But no police were around.
SYDNEY circa 2002
Go Home! Go
Home! Go Home!
That’s precisely what I was doing the other weekend when I took a bus on Parramatta road to the Inner-West. Since I started driving three years ago, I was almost out of habit of using public transport. That Saturday morning I went out on a nature photography tour to Bradleys’ Heads Point Road with a generous and very welcoming bunch of recently met photography enthusiasts.
In the morning I waited for the pick-up in front of my flat. I have already been in and out couple of times looking for my pick-up person. We had almost lost each other but much to our relief were about to be united and to continue with our journey. At this moment I realized that later in the day I will need my Travel Ten bus ticket. I used one perhaps every three months.
Much annoyed with myself I opened the two doors to my flat and grabbed my ticket and shoved it in the top pocket of my jeans. I knew that was not the right place to put it in but decided about transferring it to a proper pocket in my camera bag later on. As so happens, I forgot all about my ticket till about lunchtime.
After finishing with the nature walk we all sat down for lunch. I lost my pick-up person as she went in search of some coffee. While everyone unpacked his or her lunches, my lunch was getting warmed in my small backpack secured in the boot of the car of this person. The bag also had some travel money in its pocket.
After waiting for a while I started plotting a rescue plan in case my pick-up person didn’t turn up. I said to myself, never mind I can collect my backpack later. In the meantime I was happy to have an apple, which I kept in the pocket of my jacket. I had my Travel Ten and I could manage to get back home after finishing with the photography outing. Much to my dismay, poor Travel Ten ticket got all crumpled in my jeans pocket. It was still flat but I could seem some cracks in the magnetic strip. I worried about the fate of this Travel Ten and was not too pleased with myself.
Somebody else too was not pleased about it. When I dipped my ticket in the box of Sydney bus route 413, it didn’t go in. I was putting it in from the wrong end. Next time when I dipped from the right end still it didn’t work.
In the
meantime a big middle-aged guy crept up on me. His face was full of disgust and
contempt for me. He howled at me, “Buy a new ticket. Don’t use this. Buy a new
ticket …” And walked towards the rear of the bus and he continued growling.
Obviously I didn’t like it. I felt totally crushed and bulldozed over. He took a seat at the rear end of the bus and I walked up to the driver and explained him the situation. He took the ticket from me, dipped it in the box on his side and validated it. I secured a standing spot in the front end of the bus.
Obviously I didn’t like it. I felt totally crushed and bulldozed over. He took a seat at the rear end of the bus and I walked up to the driver and explained him the situation. He took the ticket from me, dipped it in the box on his side and validated it. I secured a standing spot in the front end of the bus.
I looked around for this man and he was sort of trying to hide from me. In a flash of a second I decided not to take such bullying lying down. I walked towards him and stood there. The guy gave me a hard stare and had his headphones firmly ensconced in his ears. I asked him, “What were you trying to tell me there at the machine. Can you tell me again”?
He continued in his aggressive tone and repeated himself. Not only I could be dealing with a possible racist but a misogynist too. I tried to tell him that it was none of his business what should I do or what I should not. I tried to also tell him that my ticket still had five trips left out of ten and that’s why I couldn’t just give up on it.
He was not listening and he went berserk telling me to get off the bus. I tried to hold on to my ground. He got up and while telling me to get off the bus, pushed me to the floor of the bus. Bus was full and I heard a big sigh from the fellow commuters. But nobody tried to protect me or tried to tell him to stop shouting. As I picked up myself from the floor, he started chanting, “GO HOME. GO HOME.GO HOME.”
I knew his “GO HOME” meant – go back to your country. Earlier also once in a while, I had come across such people who asked me to go home as I shared my pains and struggles in settling down in a new country.
I still tried to maintain my sense of humour and told him that’s precisely what I was doing, going to my home in Summer Hill. He was not there to listen. He kept up with his chant – louder and more sinister. I walked back towards the front of the bus and told him that I was going to ring the police. Which I did. Police was willing to cooperate and asked me to ask the driver to stop at a particular section on the Paramatta Road.
Bus driver also radioed his people. This aggressor continued with his chanting – nobody asked him to shut up or tried to talk to him. Driver locked the doors but one or two people were getting restless and wanted to get out. At that moment, this man also walked up to the front and gestured to get out. I stood next to the driver with my back to the windscreen. One man in front of me wanted to get down and then this aggressor also queued up. He was quiet by now, he had stopped chanting.
For a moment I was worried that he may attack me. He might have had a knife or a gun. I was getting worried, what if he physically launches himself on me? In the meantime bus driver pleaded with me that he couldn’t keep this man in the bus and he has to let him go. I agreed and asked him to let the aggressor go.
Bus Driver updated his help desk; police perhaps were still trying to catch the bus. I got down at my stop. Looked around for the police as they said they would meet me there. But no police were around.
Once
the aggressor exited from the bus, driver asked me for contact details. He
firmly stated that my ticket matter was none of aggressor’s business. I told
him that I was ready to buy a new ticket if he, the driver, thought that was
the only option.
All this happened within a matter of 10-15 minutes. I could see faces from the world in the bus but nobody came to me later and nobody spoke or did anything when I took this big guy head on.
Once the aggressor was out, I sort of addressed the whole bus and told them that I had to this for all of us and I belonged to this country (Australia) as much as anybody else.
©sumeghaagarwal
All this happened within a matter of 10-15 minutes. I could see faces from the world in the bus but nobody came to me later and nobody spoke or did anything when I took this big guy head on.
Once the aggressor was out, I sort of addressed the whole bus and told them that I had to this for all of us and I belonged to this country (Australia) as much as anybody else.
©sumeghaagarwal
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