Shimla was waking up, as were the folks on the benches in the waiting area of Shimla’s shabby Rivoli bus stand. The man at the ticket booth was ready at his post by six fifteen, but not willing to issue me a ticket until a quarter hour later. I have learned not to ask why anymore; he was printing out tickets for others. I am doing my utmost not to resist India, as confusing at it is at times. “Come back in fifteen minutes.” He firmly asserted. I saw my bus scrunched in between others. It wasn’t going to leave without me. “OK, thank you.” Killing the man with kindness and a smile had no impact. I went back to a steel bench, hugged my pack, and watched the rest of the residents of the bus
... read more
