Why should I think of him, if he cannot read my mind, cannot feel my passion, cannot soothe my nervousness? But I went on thinking of him. How much I acted careless, my careful investigation always a tale-tell revelation.
That day I got an SBSTC bus that was 30 minutes late due to a jam. I assume with confirmed certainty on my part that he will not be there. But I took the courage to rise. The bus was empty and I managed a seat. Just then a bus behind gives an earbusting horn and I peeped. It was the usual bus that we used to go. I wished to get down. I felt affirmatively and with certainty that he was there, obviously he was there. But if a passenger got down from a vacant Govt. bus for a crowded public bus, the idiosyncrasies on his or her part will be of no bound. So I restrained myself though at my heart there were upheavals of the raging sea of negation.
Dipali, one of my co-passengers seated next to me, said “You are looking beautiful today”. But how to make her understand I don’t want to be beautiful if he is not here?
When I used to dress up in the morning I looked in the mirror and I saw myself in his eyes. My bindi on my forehead, my kohl…all that embellishes me all that makes me beautiful…I visioned through his eyes.
In a desperate desire to meet him, I hurled my way to the office, to get the bus. Though it was absolute uncertainty yet my hope took its abode in never retreating shore of craziness.
But as usual, when I didn’t find him my feet lost their speed and my body was reduced to bleak mourning. It seemed as if I had no spirit to carry myself. Grievance heaped within me…how could I throw up the silly craziness.
At the office, the day slipped away with a busy schedule and with the last string of files, I got up. Throwing a furtive look of indifference at the white-faced clock I ran for the bus. But the bus went away throwing a glimpse of its tail and some stoic smoke upon my face. Then a bus came that would not reach my stoppage. Cursing my fate I waited for the next. With a snail’s pace, the next bus came and I boarded the back pedestal with a heavy and sunken heart.
That was so unexpected, so abrupt that I felt clumsy and nervous in front of him. I didn’t get the time to put on the cloak of my disguise. I was detained red-handed with my sparkling happiness. My feelings for him were written naked on my face and reflected in the glasses of his eyes. When I stayed in a group with others I didn’t feel this kind of uneasiness but there was none except him. I could easily start the conversation and also he. But no one of us did that. My lips felt dried and my voice scalding. Buried in tumultuous emotion I remained standing there like a puppet made of straw. Even he behaved like a stranger, though a week before we talked like FM radio jockeys.
But that day we just stood apart like two unfamiliar persons, never met or spoke before. I crossed a bit distance from him and stood still holding the back of a seat. His co-passenger came down vacating the seat and a new one filled the gap. He did not call me to seat and I also didn’t approach.
I didn’t even look at him…I felt too exposed today. I just wished to come down.
I had seen him…smell him around me…that’s enough.
But is not this madness?
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.