Days went on as my life, with the churning of waves flowing of rivers, and blowing of breeze. He appeared sometimes and disappeared most of the time. But he was not transferred. It was a great solace to me. Though inwardly I felt numb and exhausted with this hide and seek.
I waited… waited and finally got angry. When he was discovered again, I tried to ignore his existence with a rough, irritated face, and a disgusted look at him. Sometimes he tried to speak to me, but I gave him no chance. I wanted to be on the safe side of this trauma. But at my heart I yearned to fling at him, scratching, hitting, asking,
“What have I done to you? Why could not you come regularly?” I starved at his absence with my ravenous desire to soothe my turbine thoughts under the quietude of his eyes. I could not contemplate where I was propelling myself but only like a snake in the charm of a conjurer’s flute I was driven out of my comfort-hole of life.
Dipesh had visited in the meantime for one week and we planned everything for our upcoming happy conjugal life. I wore my exalted disguise though my makeup failed to hide my dark patches of sleeplessness. My voice was shaking and my thoughts were dubious.
That day I was returning from my office. Dipesh would leave for Delhi the next day and he planned to meet me before leaving. So, I was in a hurry and cared nothing when the bus halted with a crazy noise and bustle with an overflowing population hanging from all corners of it.
The conductor shouted, “Madam take the next bus.”
But Dipesh was waiting, and I did not like it.
“I am in a hurry. I must go anyhow.”
I shoved my body through the back door and fought for a breathing place where I could put my both feet on the ground and provide my nose with some oxygen. Suddenly my eyes met two familiar eyes; there was he like a standing poll in the crowd. I wished to hold that post though it was far from my grasp. The gust of crowds demarcated us polarizing into two opposite sides.
After sometimes the cram diminished and I could reach him. He got a seat, and I kept standing. I felt angry and humiliated. He should have offered me the seat. The bus was too crowded for ladies. I offered my bag to him to hold. Suddenly with a tremendous jerk and ear-stuffing noise, the bus started rolling and then stopped. All the passengers screamed in fear and staggered forward. I was lost in panicked consternation. When the trauma stopped, I found my hands clinging to his shoulder.
After a few moments of precariousness, I felt normal, and he stood up indifferently ignoring my hand and handed the bag to me. He strode up to look at the original scenario down the bus. I remained standing…waiting for the bus to get fixed.
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.