“This is unfair treatment, conductor! You didn’t tell us that you don’t stop at Ketu…now we have to drop at Ojota and spend extra money in returning here. You are wicked! You will not…you will not…” the ladies were cursing the conductor, who was standing by the entrance of the red bus, shrugging nonchalantly and staring outside.

The ladies, who would be in their mid-twenties, were spitting fire in anger. They felt betrayed. Even when other passengers had tried to pacify them and remind them of the rules of red buses, they turned deaf ears.

“We had no idea that red buses do not stop at Ketu. If we knew, we wouldn’t have entered. What does it cost this man to tell us that before now?” the more confident lady, who was dressed in a peach-coloured chiffon top and blue pair of jean trousers, yelled.

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