Ticket, ticket," he shouted, rudely shoving past us women. "Go back, go back!"

Like everything else, bus conductors come in all shapes, sizes and degrees of rudeness. But you really can't blame them. It is such a thankless job, being on your feet for about 12 hours, juggling change and torn notes, haggling with passengers even as you worm your way among them, every inch of your body being squeezed and stretched out of shape.

Of course, there are those who are born to be conductors: bright and smiley-faced even when you don't hand them the correct change. But many are victims of those terrible mood swings -- kind one day, fiendish the other.

I suppose loose change is the biggest culprit when it comes to mood swings. Tender exact change, your journey is blessed. Give a five-rupee note and you are in for trouble!

Which is precisely what I did. And I chose a conductor who wasn't in very good humour to begin with. My ticket was for Rs 3.50.

I must admit that I have made a habit of not having change. I don't know how, but it always disappears when I need it the most.

The conductor gave me a steely look and scribbled something on the back of the ticket. Now, getting your change can be quite an art by itself. There are some people who just shout 'Conductor!' and stop the bus for a mere 50 paise. I certainly wasn't in that bracket.

It's also a little difficult to judge these conductors. At times if you ask them for change one stop before yours they turn around and bark, "What's the hurry, I am not going to eat your money!" If you ask them while your stop is nearing, they frown and ask, why didn't you ask earlier? It's a thin line, this one, and a lot depends on the mood of the conductor.

Anyway, I finally got around to asking for my balance when my stop neared. He asked me for 50p, so that he could return Rs 2. I didn't have 50p. He looked at me incredulously, and murmured something about settling it with some stranger behind me.

The next day, I had the misfortune of catching the same bus. I shuddered when I saw the conductor; again, I didn't have change! In fact, I didn't have a fiver to give him this time, only a tenner!

When he approached me, I handed him the Rs 10 note, saying a silent prayer. He recognised me, but calmly returned the change. Now it was my turn to stare at him incredulously. My! He could outdo a chameleon on its own grounds!! I thanked my stars.

On the third day, I had the misfortune of boarding the same bus and dealing with the same conductor. "Murphy is really overworking!" I told myself, because, again, I had no change. Then I decided to try my luck once more.

I observed the conductor till he reached me, but failed to make out what mood he was in. I guessed he was in a foul mood, because I heard him murmur, "Why did I ever become a conductor?"

He approached me. I opened my wallet. Horror of horrors! I didn't even have a tenner like I thought I had, but Rs 50! I braced myself, gave him an innocent look, and handed him the note sheepishly confessing I had run out of change.

"No problem," he smiled, "I'll give you change."

I watched him, my jaw dropping lower by the second, as he handed me Rs 46.50!

Now, will the real conductor please stand up?!

Meera Guthi is coaching herself to travel with change -- and, man, is it hard work!

Illustration: Lynette Menezes

 REDIFF DIARY

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