The view from my bus stop

As I reach my bus-stop, I say a silent prayer, asking God to guide me through the day. Then I stand there quietly, waiting for my bus to arrive. I look around and this is what I see.
In one of the buildings in front of me, I see a man come to his balcony. He turns around to face the sun. He joins his hands and prays to the Sun God, his own prayer. His face bathes in the morning light. He then turns around and faces the opposite direction. He prays again, this time I do not know to whom. In some other flat, a lady open ups the curtains, and cleans up the dust that has settled on the windows.
The taxis are driving by, their drivers boorishly honking their way through traffic, not caring for people who have set out for their morning walk. Benzes and Lancers and Fords pass by, with their owners relaxing in the back, probably reading the Economic Times. Their drivers meanwhile have their full concentration on the road, taking care not to even slightly sratch the expensive cars. There goes Bus No. 81, the one I usually catch on my way home. Why don't I go in the morning by that bus? I use the company bus. Speaking of the company, I see few of my bus-mates walking over.
One lady is coming to drop her little girl to the school bus, or rather a cramped little Maruti Van. God only knows how that driver must be driving with all the kids inside. A few more school buses pass by, with some of the children inside excited, while some sitting with gloomy faces.
Just behind me is a bank. A few of the employees of the bank are already here waiting for someone to bring the keys to the shutter. It reminds me of my father's office back home.
Uh oh, here comes a rickshaw. The poor fellow is slowing down thinking I'm wating for a ride. "Nope man, got my own bus". Speak of the devil, here it comes. Right on time, 8:10.