My Bus Episode

I jumped into the bus with my elder brother. I did not know where were we going. I did not know how to catch a bus. I still do not know. All I knew was we were going to a place where my elder brother had to work as a mason. The bus was inundated with people of all kinds. I had to be seated somewhere nearby the driver. My brother kept standing. I was not alone attuning. 

I wore a dull pajama and a red sweater. That's all I had to bundle up myself against the possibility of cold in the capricious weather of Himachal Pradesh. And God only knows why my hair shone high due to over-oiling. My forehead too.
The movement of the bus was incipient. And the eventual trembling. The bus moved through the curves of roads tempestuously as if with a vengeance. I had to make a balance. So with all my innocence I was moving to and fro with the motion. And in that process, my head swayed back and forth and touched a lady's Dupatta who was sitting right behind me. A few times it was not an issue. But then she suddenly noticed what my oily hair had done to her Dupatta. Her peevishness was quite elicit. The dark little patch in her Dupatta was like an opprobrium. For me this thing was diminutive. Maybe because my clothes are stained ever since they appeared on earth. The lady in an effort to desist, pushed me a little so that I don't lean for support on her. My hair were deplorable. It was not her fault.  

 I leaned forward. The bus or rather the road was not forgiving my sedentary style. I now leaned on a big uncle's arm. He was looking outside. Or maybe got carried away. Or perhaps nonchalant. For all I knew was he let me take his arm's support. I sat in some kind of dejection but was taken away by the trees and the valley which the distant window had to offer.
Brakes were applied in obedience to the conductor's shrill whistle. My brother gestured as he moved. We got off the bus.