In a curious episode that has left many scratching their heads, two public bus conductors in southern India have found themselves in hot water—not over delays, misconduct, or ticket fraud, but for their handling of everyday household items brought aboard by passengers.
The incidents, though separate, both stem from the same issue: the interpretation of what counts as chargeable luggage on public transport.
In the first case, a female passenger boarded a government-operated regional bus carrying a small, portable gas stove—an object not out of the ordinary in many parts of the country where people often travel with cooking equipment. The conductor issued her a regular ticket but didn’t consider the stove worthy of a separate charge. However, during a routine inspection, a senior transport official ruled otherwise, stating that the stove should have been treated as additional baggage. The conductor was formally reprimanded and had to provide a written explanation for the lapse.
Just days later, another conductor faced similar scrutiny—but this time, the offending item was a jackfruit.
Yes, a jackfruit.
A man boarded the bus carrying the large, spiky tropical fruit. Again, the conductor used his discretion and allowed the fruit on board without demanding a separate ticket. But once again, an inspector intervened, deeming the fruit as excess baggage and holding the conductor accountable for failing to charge for it. The conductor was issued a show-cause notice—essentially a formal letter asking him to explain why disciplinary action shouldn’t be taken.
These decisions have stirred quiet outrage and amusement in equal measure. Many commuters and onlookers have questioned the rigidity of luggage rules that treat a piece of fruit or a small kitchen appliance the same way one might treat a heavy suitcase or large carton. After all, jackfruits, while bulky, are a common part of rural and urban markets in India and are frequently transported by passengers traveling between towns and villages.
The Karnataka State Road Transport Corporation (KSRTC), which operates the buses in question, has clear rules stating that luggage exceeding 30 kilograms or occupying more than the equivalent space of a seat must be charged accordingly. But in practice, interpretation varies, and conductors are often left to use their best judgment. This leeway can land them in trouble when inspectors choose to strictly enforce the rules.
One union member, speaking anonymously, noted that the situation puts conductors in a difficult position. “They’re expected to keep the bus on time, manage crowds, collect fares, ensure safety, and now they have to think twice before letting someone carry a jackfruit? It’s absurd.”
The jackfruit conductor, in particular, has become a sort of folk hero among colleagues, who view the punishment as symbolic of the disconnect between field realities and bureaucratic enforcement. Online, news of the incidents has sparked both laughter and criticism, with many calling for clearer policies that recognize the common nature of such items.
As of now, both conductors have submitted their responses to the show-cause notices, and the transport authority is reviewing the cases. Whether this will lead to a change in policy—or simply fade as a bizarre footnote in the annals of transit history—remains to be seen.
But one thing is clear: in the world of public transportation, even fruit can become a matter of official concern.
Is punishing front-line workers for using common sense a symptom of larger bureaucratic problems in public systems?