Lesson

Nikhil Krishnan
Sep 8, 2018 · 5 min read

This story goes back to when I had just passed class 8th. Our school had planned a trip to Nainital (a hill station), and like most of the students in our class, there was absolutely no way I was going to miss it.

Now, most of the visit was just like any other school trip, simply amazing. But there was a catch, the food. To make our experience till then a bit more relatable, imagine having the worst green vegetable your mom has ever given you, multiply that feeling ten times and that too for one long week. Our days used to start with the horrendous plum jam and bread for breakfast and ended with a dinner of such things which we had never even heard of. Naturally, we had to resort to sinful ways such as smuggling food from outside the ashram to satisfy our hunger and more soever to seek forgiveness from our tongue. Then came the plot twist. On the night we were supposed to leave for Delhi we were served with such mouth-watering food that our appetite came back. All thoughts left our mind. Even the most courteous ones had turned into ravagers and jumped for the food. We ate and ate till we could fit in no more. “I had 15 pieces of paneer”. “I had a plate full of fried rice.” . This was all anyone talked about for the next 2 hours while we packed our bags and reached the bus depot under a full moon. Now, this is where the story got interesting.

About 10 minutes had passed into our return journey. There was an eerie silence in the bus, one which isn’t usually found on school trips. Everyone could feel it. With every turn the bus took, somewhere in the back seats some girl let out a small gasp. Even the teachers were in no mood to talk. In their mind, everyone was thinking about the inevitable. They all knew. We had sown the seeds ourselves and now had come the time to reap the harvest. Quietly, everyone was cursing their luck. Only hours ago we were a bunch of such happy souls, but that very cause of happiness was now going to cause us much anguish. We were regretting to have given in to our desires.

It finally began. And once it began we all fell like a stack of cards. First came a call from one of the back-seaters, “Ma’am, I feel like I am going to vomit, please stop the bus.”. Her plea was soon supported by a few other friends of her who were all sitting towards the rear end of the bus. I was relieved that I was sitting on the very first seat, not that it made any difference in the end. The teachers asked the driver to stop the bus, or at least drive slowly, the turns and twists were making everyone nauseous. Why the driver didn’t oblige to this request, remains a secret till now. Very soon came that dreading sound and along with it a girl exclaimed, “Ma’am! Shreya has vomited !”. The bus started reeking with the smell of the vomit. Any strength anyone of us had left escaped us when the stench reached our noses. But the driver didn’t budge! He kept on driving as if his life depended on it. Pretty soon it was vomit-fest. And every time someone vomited, it was the same girl who notified all others. “Ma’am! Sanya has vomited !”. “Ma’am! Rahul has vomited !”. “Ma’am! Meenakshi has vomited on herself !!”. Among all this mess I was somehow holding myself together till I happily took that orange flavour toffee our teacher was graciously distributing claiming that it resists nausea feeling. I need not tell the reader that I learned one too many lessons that day, one of them being never accept orange flavoured toffee when you feel like throwing up, and you don’t want to throw up. If that was not enough, the teacher called some girl from the back and made her sit with me believing some ‘fresh’ air and one of those orange toffees would help her. Needless to say, she started puking. WHILE sitting beside me. Although I thank my stars she had a paper bag with her and hence I was spared from a very traumatizing experience.

Then came a ray of hope. The driver stopped the bus and allowed us to spoil the beautiful hill side with some of the dinner we had earlier in the night. I still hadn’t thrown in the towel and hoped some fresh country air would do me good. To my surprise all of my friends were standing in a line and just like a ’21 Gun Salute’ they threw up in a union. One of my friends came up to me with a big smile on his face. “Bhai 11 tukde nikale paneer ke aaj tere bhai ne! Ab na hogi aur vomit” (which roughly translates to as- Bro I puked 11 pieces of paneer! I won’t vomit anymore now).
With the much needed change in mood, I climbed back on the bus but we had not gone more than a few kilometers before our driver stepped on the pedal again. And the cycle repeated. Few people vomited then a lot of people vomited. That same girl kept a tab on who all vomited and announced it with the same enthusiasm as before. This time around though, perhaps out of pity the driver stopped the bus as soon as the vomit-fest started. Even I had reached my limit by then. I dashed along with everyone else. Reached for the railing, knelt over and emptied my stomach. It was not until after I was done that I noticed the person I was kneeling beside with was none other than my friend who was earlier proudly telling how many pieces of paneer he had retched up. He still had that same smile on his face.

The driver and the conductor were busy cleaning up the bus while we were busy throwing up. And thankfully, by now everyone was empty, or maybe not because as soon as I hit my seat, I dozed off. I woke up next morning to the sound of Delhi traffic. The adventures of the previous night a far memory. I was now looking up-to a warm bath at my home because the stench of my clothes was making me dizzy!

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