Yesterday morning, I overheard a bus conductor arguing about "trouble" near Wireless Gate in Mohakhali. Walking there, I found the remains of this burnt bus.
Stepping into it I was filled with sadness. I imagined all the passengers these seats had carried to and from work, or school, or friends and relatives' houses - even secret rendezvous. Some had gotten seats to sit, others had travelled standing, yet others maybe dangling from the door (don't see much of that these days.) How many Aamra and other Snack-wallahs had sold food inside here? And what about those small quarrels that passengers have with the conductors? Maybe a father had treated his son to Shishu Park on a Friday, sitting on that last row on the left? Maybe a beggar had sneaked past the conductor and sang sad songs to earn something? Had any pickpocket operated in this bus?
Well, there you have it. One less bus to take people where they need to go.