The Domination Game
The violent hiss of the air brakes screamed through the humid morning air as the driver pulled off a reckless, physics-defying stunt. It was a typical, rusted state-transport bus—a battered metal beast painted in fading maroon and cream, its sides scarred by years of scraping against concrete pillars and reckless auto-rickshaws. The yellow license plate, dented and splattered with dried mud, barely clinging to a crooked bumper.
Inside, it was absolute chaos. The vehicle had ground to a sudden, violent halt at the designated stop, where a massive, suffocating tide of commuters waited on the concrete platform, desperate to force their way in even before the wheels had fully stopped moving.
The sudden deceleration turned the packed interior into a human avalanche. Standing near the middle aisle, I—Anirudha—felt the crushing weight of the crowd behind me surge forward like a tidal wave. The momentum threatened to send me face-first into the metal floorboards.
Instinct kicked in. Desperate to maintain my balance and avoid being trampled, I threw my weight backward, planting my palms against the rusty overhead iron bars. With my core locked, I extended both legs straight out in front of me with every ounce of might I could muster. Pushing frantically against the solid back of the unfortunate passenger ahead of me, I locked my knees—bracing myself exactly like Spider-Man desperately throwing his entire body weight back to stop the runaway train in the movies.
I gritted my teeth, the muscles in my jaw aching from the sheer exertion as I held the line. Against all odds, my ridiculous, web-slinger stance actually worked. I somehow managed to absorb the crushing momentum, halting the human domino effect before the crowd could completely flatten me into the floorboards.
Yeahh! I actually got it...! A silent cheer of victory echoed in my head.
The chaotic storm finally began to settle as the bus doors groaned open, releasing a mad rush of passengers. I waited out the storm, remaining in the back as the sea of commuters emptied out onto the cracked concrete of the platform. Finally, when the aisle was clear and I was the very last soul left on board, I stepped down from the rusted metal footboard.
I collapsed onto the bench at the crowded bus stop, chest heaving, listening to the heavy rattle of the engine as the metal beast prepared to crawl back into the chaotic city traffic.
I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out my weapon of choice: a legendary, indestructible keypad Nokia phone. Its solid plastic body felt reassuringly heavy in my palm—a nostalgic relic from an era before glass screens took over the world.
With practiced muscle memory, my thumb danced across the hard rubber keys. Each press was accompanied by that satisfying, tactile click-click-click as I navigated through the pixelated, low-resolution menu options. I scrolled past 'Messages' and 'Games' straight to the settings, determined to update my ringtone to something that matched my mood.
Once the new MIDI track was selected, I hit the center button to confirm. Satisfied with the quick tweak, I flipped the phone in my hand and slid the legend back into the safety of my pocket, ready to face the world again.
Just as I turned to walk away, a flash of movement caught my eye. A tiny figure broke away from the crowd, running full-tilt toward the edge of the curb—straight into the path of oncoming traffic.
Instinct overrode my brain. Without thinking, I lunged forward. I reached out with my left arm, scooped the little girl up by her waist in one swift motion, and swung her backward, planting her safely onto the concrete of the bus stop.
The very next millisecond, the world exploded into noise.
A stray pedestrian nearby panicked, losing his footing and slamming face-first onto the asphalt right next to me. At the exact same moment, a speeding car entered the frame, its driver stomping on the brakes with terrifying force. The vehicle skidded violently, its tires shrieking against the hot road. The sudden friction filled the air with a thick, acrid stench of burnt rubber—a testament to just how lethal that car's speed had been only a second prior.
For a moment, there was a stunned, breathless silence.
Then, the reality of what had almost happened set in. The little girl—who couldn't have been more than five or six years old—burst into loud, terrified tears.
Her mother, who had witnessed the entire near-death experience from a few feet away, rushed over. Her face was a mask of pure terror that instantly melted into furious relief. She snatched the girl up, pulled her close, and immediately did what almost every Indian parent does in a moment of absolute panic: she started landing frantic scoldings and slaps on her back. It was that classic, aggressive display of maternal love—beating the child out of sheer, overwhelming gratitude that she was still alive.
The young man who had stumbled onto the asphalt didn't move. The shock of the near-miss had completely overwhelmed his system; his body went limp, and he fainted right there on the gravel-strewn edge of the road.
The door of the luxury sports car clicked open. A young guy—clearly the driver—stepped out, his expensive clothes contrasting sharply with the dusty street. He took one look at the fainted body, the crying child, and the gathering crowd, and his knees simply gave out. He slid right down onto the hot pitch of the road, staring blankly.
"That was close... I peed myself..." he mumbled, his voice trembling as he gripped his own hair.
I stepped over the curb, keeping my eyes on the growing commotion. "Heyyy! Need help carrying that guy over there?" I called out, pointing toward the unconscious pedestrian.
"Ahh!" The car guy snapped out of his daze. He looked at the fainted man and, instead of standing up, actually started crawling toward him on all fours, his hands scraping against the rough pavement.
By now, the atmosphere at the bus stop had shifted. The air grew heavy and dangerous. The surrounding shopkeepers, auto drivers, and commuters started to close in, forming a tight, murmuring circle around the scene.
The driver reached the unconscious man and frantically checked his pulse, pressing his fingers against the side of the man's neck. The moment he confirmed the guy was still breathing, the sheer relief made him collapse right back onto his ass, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.
I walked closer, grabbed the driver by his arm, and gave it a sharp, warning tug.
"Get up, put that guy in your car, and get out of here," I hissed under my breath, leaning down so only he could hear. "Take him to a hospital right now, or else you're about to get a free Indian massage."
The driver blinked, looked around, and finally noticed the dark expressions on the faces of the gathering crowd. The cracking of knuckles and the hostile murmurs made him realize exactly what "Indian free massage" meant—he was seconds away from a public mob beating.
Panic reignited his muscles. He hurriedly scooped up the fainted man, hauling him into the passenger seat of the sports car with awkward, desperate haste. He slammed the door, scrambled back into the driver's seat, and tore away from the curb, speeding straight toward the nearest hospital before the crowd could block his path.
The silence that followed the car's sudden departure was heavy. I looked around, and the entire bus stop had gone dead quiet. The commuters, the auto drivers, even the mother who had just been scolding her kid—everyone was staring at me. It was like they were looking at some kind of street magician, half-expecting me to throw down a smoke bomb and disappear into thin air after the stunts I'd pulled.
Instead of waiting for applause or a round of interrogation, I did the only sensible thing.
I pulled my headphones out, slipped them over my ears, and pressed play on my Nokia. The opening beat cut through the lingering smell of burnt rubber, shielding me from the whispers of the crowd. Turning my back on the spectacle, I started walking toward the college gates, which were just a brief, 500-meter trek down the bustling road.
As I walked, my mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow's schedule.
Yep, I've made up my mind, I thought, adjusting the strap of my backpack. From tomorrow onwards, I am strictly traveling by train.
Witnessing two near-fatal accidents before my first lecture had completely drained my tolerance for road travel. The crazy bus drivers, the reckless sports cars—it was too much for a regular morning. No, I was perfectly fine with the railway tracks. The local train was a familiar, predictable beast.
Sure, it would be packed to the brim, but it was cheap, affordable, and most importantly, it didn't involve dodging speeding sports cars on the asphalt. Crowded or not, the train felt infinitely safer than the wild roads of the city.