Don’t let the title fool you, this post is not about the animated television series that captivated me during my primary years of schooling - but about the events in a school bus. Unlike the show, this van did not fly, but I would not fail to believe that it was not enchanted in some way, since it brought out the most authentic version of myself, one that I was forced to hide during school hours. The four-wheeled vehicle represented a concept that I always deemed to be unrealistic - a utopia wherein people appreciated even the craziest and cringiest aspects of my personality, and turned my idiosyncrasies into something laughable in the long run.
At first sight, nothing about the bus seemed special to me at all. I was just nine years old, so the only aspect that intrigued me was the fact that it was gigantic in comparison to what I was expecting. Being the new girl, I was scrabbling around for a friend, and in the process, I met Ms. Funny, and this pseudonym is befitting since she was never hilarious, irrespective of how hard she tried. Nevertheless, she was the only companion I initially had on the bus, along with another girl who left school within a few months. My first impression of Ms. Funny was that she was a sensitive girl who could easily be misunderstood, as she sometimes had a hard time putting herself in words. In fourth grade, I had no concept of the future wherein she would be party to a medley of my stunts and pranks for five years.
In the early stages of my life at school, coyness penetrated into the depths of my personality, as I was petrified by the thought of what could happen if I did not fit in or make any friends. This drastically affected the first year of my schooling, and shaped me into a person I was not - but thankfully I was able to undo the damage over the summer. Returning to school in fifth grade, my bluntness intimidated my peers, which was something I did expect. This led to me losing a truckload of acquaintances - but I was pleased to be content with who I was. Since Ms. Funny and I were polar opposites, we would always argue about the tiniest of things, but eventually talk it through to maintain our amicable friendship. The most inspirational words I said to myself as a fifth grader were “No one takes school seriously in fifth grade”. This was the motto that I followed when I completed my homework on the bus every morning. I would often preach about the depths of life like I had experienced everything, just to vent out my innermost feelings in some place. After all, I was throwing an act in school that was extremely hard to keep up with.
As much as I did loosen up with my peers at times, I never wanted details of my blunt temperament to become a talk among teachers. Sadly, I only came to this conclusion by the end of sixth grade. An incident occurred that involved my naive self acting a bit too “original” around a teacher, which shattered my personal life for months. Despite that, I did not hesitate to take out my frustration on the others riding along on the bus - needless to say, Ms. Funny was one of my biggest targets. Due to this, my friendship with her was characterised by a series of disagreements, but we always made up.
The others in my bus were honoured enough to hear a nimiety of my lectures on a multitude of topics, including my opinion on the infamous rat race in the Joint Entrance Exam, my take on the everyday injustice at school, and colleges abroad. I conveyed my thoughts in the most sarcastic ways I ever could, and it attracted the attention of many. People who knew about the manner in which I conducted myself in school were surprised by my outspoken nature on the bus. The third and fourth graders would politely call me “akka”, and sometimes ask me for help with their math homework.
One amusing example that comes to mind when I think about the bus is an incident that involved a fourth grader, who I will call Mr. Smellysocks (if you think he is undeserving of this name, you should know he threatened people by asking them to smell his socks). Mr. Smellysocks dressed up as Gandhiji for a fancy dress competition, and due to his ill fate, he decided to take the seat in front of me on the bus that morning. Holding the walking stick in his hand with a glimmer of pride in his eyes, and with a desire to annoy me, he greeted me warmly. After we exchanged pleasantries, I narrated to him the believable story of how Gandhiji was involved in quite a scandal since he was known to hide diamonds in his walking stick. This puzzled the boy, who in the past thought that he had successfully fooled me when he claimed that his pen was “magical”. I suppose I got back at him for that, since he ended up asking people if my statement was indeed true. This induced a great deal of laughter to those who witnessed it, and the people to whom it was narrated.
The bus was a free space where I could gossip about every teacher, complain about annoying classmates, and laugh about hilarious incidents from the past. Ms. Funny and I have several inside jokes to laugh about to this date. When I walked down the halls of school with my friend, an unusual range of people would wave at me, which lead to him always asking me if everyone was in my bus. Many of my fond memories from my school days stem from the school bus.