It was drizzling from the morning. I knew I’ll get wet but I wore the violet saree. Every time I wore the saree you never were there. It was an unlucky saree.
I came out a bit earlier from home because of the rain. When I reached the bus stop I was drenched already. Keeping my scooty in the stall I stepped on the road. Raindrops fell on my face like blessings of love. I felt happy.
The road was crowdy and striping the smell of wet soil a pungent smell of rotten objects filled the air. Disgusting! The hellish surrounding snatched all the peace of mind.
The bus was just in front of me, with vacant seats visible from the outside. I tried to avoid it but the conductor will think badly of me. So I restrained myself and dragged myself onto the pedestal.
Nope… supporting my apprehension, he was not there, not in any corner of the bus. I felt blank…vacant …lifeless I knew certainly, he is on the next bus.
Every day I promised no insanity on my part and tried to detach myself from his charm but when the time come I again fell into the trap of enchantment.
I took the seat unwillingly. Mira, a school teacher sat beside me. She had two kids and her life was a journey through the steep. Her husband died two years before, of cancer. She fought hard to keep him alive. But now she is at a loss economically, mentally, and socially. Her elder son was getting stubborn and truant while her younger one was reckless. She felt helpless in this uncontrollable situation.
We had a detailed and serious conversation about this. But in my mind, some other thoughts were wriggling.
I was damn sure he will be there on the next bus. I took a desperate turn and came down from the bus at the next stop with some pretext of meeting one of my colleagues. Though I had paid the full fare it did not change my decision.
The rain had not stopped yet. I could hear the beating of my heart in my chest… fear, and anticipation, mixed with a feeling of abuse started pouring heavily on my skin.
Veering the misty veil two searchlights pierced
through the road. The bus had come.
Holding my heart in my hand I boarded the last stair.
Yes…he was there at the last row…looking at me with disturbed amazement.
“Hey, what are you doing here?”
I closed my dripping umbrella and sat beside his empty seat.
” I got the earlier bus but you were not there
.I became sad and waited for this bus to meet you.”
Oh! No believe me I didn’t say that.
” I have some work here.”
We were chattering and for a time I forgot everything. He was talking about his health condition, his favourite music, and his love for sports.
He did not perceive my eyes were digging his to unwind the mystery that enslaved me in their captivity, and subdued me in grinding pain.
“One day I’ll take my revenge … I’ll decipher the power of your eyes. They no longer can cast any spell on me.” I tried to assure myself.
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.