The next day, I waited for the same bus. I searched for that man in the dense population inside of it. From the casual tone that he used for the helper the previous day, I could assume that he was a daily passenger and well-acquainted with the staff of the bus. I clapped my own back with this sleuthing of mine. I would be a lady detective like ‘Mitin Masi’ if I could manage a chance. But he was not there. I became astonished when I felt something was hurting me, making me disappointed. Perhaps the expectation and execution clashed with each other. I longed to meet those eyes and to hear that voice.
But, again the next day I found myself praying to meet him. It killed me in dithering feelings, perhaps my soul was tearing into two parts, one part did not want to encourage such an impulsive frivolous attitude and the other just liked to let the feelings flow.
He was not there. So my so-called glorious assumption failed at its first attempt to soar towards Holmes’s abode. “He is not a daily passenger…no today he may be absent for some reason. What may be the urgent reason to escape duty…what is his job…no matter what, I’ll try tomorrow” – with these fuming queries inside me I stopped my ransacking for that day.
At night after I terminated my call with Dipesh, I decided to forget the man like a whisked-away yellow page of an old book and went to sleep.
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.