A student standing at the bus platform turned and grinned

School boy on bus — Boy standing at the entrance of a bus

At a bus stop in Nasik, a town in western India, an old white bus stood waiting. It was evening, the hour when workers hurry home after a long day. The bus was already packed tight, and near the door stood a row of students in school uniforms, their bags and elbows pressed together in uneasy harmony. The door was left open—perhaps to let in a bit of air, or perhaps because it no longer closed at all.

A boy stood at the bus entrance, one hand gripping the metal rail, his gaze fixed on me. When our eyes met, he looked momentarily puzzled, then broke into a sudden grin. It was a smile that blended the disarming innocence and quiet shrewdness so often found in South Asia. Behind him, a schoolgirl with a ribbon in her hair came into view. Each time her white socks brushed against the dusty floor, the moment seemed to burn itself into my memory—like a single frame of film catching the light.

Public transport in this country has a curious freedom to it. In India, trains and buses alike rarely bother to shut their doors. Those who wish to board must run after them; those who wish to get off may simply leap into motion. Whether this is efficiency or madness is anyone’s guess. I watched the boy for a while longer, until the driver honked the horn and the bus rolled away—still with its doors wide open, and the boy’s smile slowly receding into the dusk.

Nasik on Google Map

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