Masochism comes in many forms. And one of them is to take a bus from office to home at 6 pm to travel 30 kms. Never mind, the small stretch of Graphite India, notorious as India's biggest free parking facility.
The bus made its way out of the office through a narrow lane when London's cousin clouds hesitantly opened up after threatening from days and cheating the meteorology department for weeks. The traffic was threatening to swell. And I cursed myself for boarding a Volvo. It wasn't because it was creaking but I could not smell the fresh scent of rain. The chill of AC only reached as far as the skin, unlike the breeze accompanying the rains which touch the soul.
Most other passengers were captive to their mobiles. Some to their wives who were perhaps travelling in another bus like them. Perhaps, they were talking about the pesky co worker in their office. Or the wife warning her husband not to look at the pretty new intern.Left to myself, I opened up a book. It was only a few words before my mind just flew back to the window.
In the 90s, there were only a dozen cars in India and yet I thought there were different cars plying on the road. Today, there are hundreds in the market and yet they all seem the same. White, black, red, yellow they all crawled ahead of us.With a laptop bag for company, these collar button clad drivers seemed to race ahead of my bus. And I continued staring aimlessly across the window, as in life. And another bus came and stood besides mine. Like freshly ironed uniformed school students standing next to each other for a Physical education drill. Amid the passengers lost in their own worlds was a woman lost in her book. Fictional or otherwise. In between this, my bus threatened to leave the other bus behind. But only for a few feet. Now it was their bus turn's to play jugalbandi. Her eyes never left the book and mine never her.
And when i was least expecting it, her eyes met mine. Or that is what I thought. But, she most probably saw the book in my hand and smiled. I thought she smiled at me. She smiled at the book. These books I tell you get loved more by women that we poor men get. Being the chivalrous gent, I returned back the smile with double the interest.
And she burst out laughing. As her bus started picking up speed, she showed the cover of her book through the window. We were reading the same book. Her bus left me with an embarrassed smile for the rest of the journey.
The bus made its way out of the office through a narrow lane when London's cousin clouds hesitantly opened up after threatening from days and cheating the meteorology department for weeks. The traffic was threatening to swell. And I cursed myself for boarding a Volvo. It wasn't because it was creaking but I could not smell the fresh scent of rain. The chill of AC only reached as far as the skin, unlike the breeze accompanying the rains which touch the soul.
Most other passengers were captive to their mobiles. Some to their wives who were perhaps travelling in another bus like them. Perhaps, they were talking about the pesky co worker in their office. Or the wife warning her husband not to look at the pretty new intern.Left to myself, I opened up a book. It was only a few words before my mind just flew back to the window.
In the 90s, there were only a dozen cars in India and yet I thought there were different cars plying on the road. Today, there are hundreds in the market and yet they all seem the same. White, black, red, yellow they all crawled ahead of us.With a laptop bag for company, these collar button clad drivers seemed to race ahead of my bus. And I continued staring aimlessly across the window, as in life. And another bus came and stood besides mine. Like freshly ironed uniformed school students standing next to each other for a Physical education drill. Amid the passengers lost in their own worlds was a woman lost in her book. Fictional or otherwise. In between this, my bus threatened to leave the other bus behind. But only for a few feet. Now it was their bus turn's to play jugalbandi. Her eyes never left the book and mine never her.
And when i was least expecting it, her eyes met mine. Or that is what I thought. But, she most probably saw the book in my hand and smiled. I thought she smiled at me. She smiled at the book. These books I tell you get loved more by women that we poor men get. Being the chivalrous gent, I returned back the smile with double the interest.
And she burst out laughing. As her bus started picking up speed, she showed the cover of her book through the window. We were reading the same book. Her bus left me with an embarrassed smile for the rest of the journey.
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