BUS RIDE

Am nearing the bus stop …three of them giant and stately... the busses I mean… not stately… but old and tragic like ‘stateliness’.

Oh its moving… run… stop… gone! What rubbish..first thing in the morning miss bus to office!

Now wait. How long? Don’t know the frequency, should just stand here under the tree.

Maybe not. The first day at office, I waited for Manisha under the tree, and a bird sent down its golden thing on my shoulder. Manisha kept assuring me that it brings good luck… didn’t contest her. Drop in a smile at such occasions… like spreading a carpet over portholes. But a person has to stand somewhere… under the tree or under the sun …actually one can stand under the shade as well.

But maybe I don’t want to.

Why am I pecking at my nails?

Now what’s this man looking at? He’s staring at my bitten fingers. He’s saying something… about the next bus?… Don’t know sir.

The woman sitting there is looking up, says it will go in sometime. She is muttering something again…the man nods at her and looks at me I am expected to nod too, I do it. Its too hot and everyone is too dull to understand. But we take consolation in company.

Why…am …I…eating…my… nails.

Stop it. Huh!

The man is staring at my fingers again.

Ok the bus is moving, yes… am on… first no second seat by the window. This one’s not reserved for women; I should shift to the one that is. But why should I? am neither pregnant nor old.

Ok the bus has started. Bye!!

Gust of hot air hits my face. A tinted world opens up through my sunglasses. A blue-brown world devoid of the dazzling, the sun and the heroes. Living like a toy drummers. Its been this way since tragedy died. She who was forever pregnant with values is no more. So meaninglessness nibbles away souls quietly turning us into toy drummers.

Leave your fingers aside Pooja!

Have we only reached Munirka??

The bus is crowded. My shoulder’s hurting… this man sitting next is putting all his weight on me.

Idiot… why did you have to sit here… couldn’t you have taken the woman’s seat?

Should I tell him to shift? It will create a scene. ‘These days girls think no end to themselves.’ OK Ill shift a little. The bastard! He’s sticking his thighs to mine.

Speak up.

No why should I speak up?

If he can have fun why cant I?

Think… think like him, doesn’t the touch please you. Or think it pleases you.

O shut up it doesn’t! His weight on my shoulder is unbearable.

Ok wait, if you can’t enjoy it let him not enjoy it as well. Be stiff, sit still, and let him have no pleasure out of your softness.

Bullshit... excuse me, will you stop putting your weight on me and will you please shift that side?

That’s done.

He’s a dreadful guy.

People are smiling.

What a sea of humanity. At one go you are everyone and at the one you are no one.

Is this to which I must contribute? This mess? Don’t know if I want to be a party.

These multiple voices in my head! One says I can never be a mother. That I might father i.e. provide for the resources but I cannot mother i.e. give a system to live in because so lost in the echoes I don’t have a system myself.

The truth is out and the journey’s up.