But no matter where you stand, that little man in khakhi will always find his way to you. Identifying a conductor is easy. One, you check for a totally unbalanced man with a ticket box (unbalanced cause he doesn't seem to trust those hanging bars on top you use for support; neither does he believe in kinetic energy that might actually land him on top of five other unbalanced creatures in the crowded space). Two, you test if he could bark. You could do this by asking a polite question like “Hi, can I have my balance?” or “Could you tell me if this bus would stop at Kowdiar?” And out comes the answer. “Bow bow bow bow bow.” You may not give up easily, you think the poor man has a bad cough problem. But it turns out each bow was in fact a pretty popular curse word in Malayalam. In lighter terms, it would translate to “Don't you dare say a word or try to do anything nice in my bus!” 

And then there is the ceremonial process of getting down at your stop. This is again a good mile away from where you want to alight, because the first rule about bus stops is consistency. Once a stopper-at-a-far-away-spot, always a stopper-at-a-far-away-spot. By the time you are out, you look at yourself and have no more doubts about the magical mode of transportation. It has changed your appearance in a matter of minutes to someone who has never touched such things as water, combs, deodorants, clean clothes or an iron box for a year and a half.  

Ah buses, is there a single alternative that can do so many wonders in such a short span of time? No, probably not.