Almost one week had passed after my return from home and I felt the tsunami of my heart had diminished to oblivion. I could laugh at my own foolish infatuation.
That day I was late as usual and started running when the bus was just leaving the depot. When I touched the back pedestal I was gasping for oxygen. In the carbon monoxide-imbued atmosphere I never find the promised percentage of O2, never. My lungs are always in need. Anyway, I was certain that I had fought back that grumpy-faced wall clock and that thought gave me some indirect oxygen. Whenever I recall that round-shaped golden frame boss, hanging conspicuously on the indifferent white wall with its smugly sly white face, I felt the rolling marbles under my feet…hurry… hurry …hurry.
As I was pushing my body with great prowess using my ambidextrous competency of using and engaging both hands in carrying my two bags and shoving the blockades, I heard someone shouting,
“Prasun, there is a seat.”
“Ok, I will reach.”
It was too familiar a voice that responded to the great proposal of managing a seat in this time of severe seat deficiency in a fully air-tight bus. I wished to have a close look, but the bus was too crowdy. I started searching for the voice desperately, forgetting all my previous resolution.
After some time the crowd got thinned and I could see him.
He had so many friends and acquaintances including some ladies in the bus that made me feel jealous. They all were chattering, laughing, gossiping. It seemed they were all local people familiar with each other for a long time. I felt like not belonging there.
“Then his name is Prasun. Ok, it’s nice”, I thought in my mind.
I kept watching him silently- how he spoke, how he smiled. What seemed to me most attractive was his eyes- how fathomless and calm they were! I wished to detangle every mystery hidden in them. My foolishness had vanquished me again. I could not escape it and I wished not to.
To be continued…
Hey, I am Munmun, the phoenix fabulist who wants to tell you stories. I love to read stories and I love to weave stories. I feel life is an amalgamation of multiple stories, colourful threads, and threads of pain, pleasure, hope, and hopelessness. We just need to pick those hues and arrange them, knitting them with our own emotions and perception. So let’s celebrate the stories of life.