birthright to Spit

I have to report to my office at 9 am and I have missed the regular bus.I take a ric to the nearest bus stop in the eastern express highway.this stop is theone with no seating facility;it is just a pole with bus numbers written.The bus is taking a while to arrive so the crowd is steadily building up.There is this middle aged gentleman on my right and a teen aged scrawny lad to my left. Either the poor younger lad doesn't realise it or he wants to simply scare people scanning him; the t-shirt with the message 'Kill is Love' makes him a loner in the crowded public place.

He seems indifferent.I am staring at the longway trying to spot a red spot growing in size, but this college boy blocking my view performs a recurring ritual of spitting bowing to his sides.It seems natural and a perfectly normal social act to spit incessantly though nothing seems to be blocking or irritating his windpipe.
Though I myself am not reared to finer non-perturbing cleanliness mannerisms,I gradually convince myself to increase physical proximity from this Spitman.I move towards the middle-aged gentleman on my right and wish that the bus comes faster.My wish is granted and I see the bus finally arriving.

The bus slows down Mumbai in many stops usually a few feet away from the crowd.I am not quite able to fathom why these bus drivers derive such pleasure watching the people run towards the bus and trample over one another's belongings,but they may have some logistical reasoning in positioning the actual bus-stop metres away from the visible one.

I make a fast move expecting to get in fast and maybe grab a seat.As I try getting in, both the younger lad to the left and the middle aged gentleman both close in as they may be headed towards the same destination. My natural instinct keeps my sticking more towards the gentleman.The gentleman suddenly gets an urge to access his birth right to spit and unseemingly a lot of bloody pan spurts out of his mouth heading to a patch of road a couple of metres nect to me.There are slight red spots on my caramel shirt and few red linings on my creaseless pants.
The pan-eating gentleman with a natural habit of courtesy excuses himself as it I was unintentional and nothing to worry about and gets on the bus to catch hold of a vacant seat.