The scorching heat
of the season is beyond tolerance, and a DTC bus ride makes matters worse. Survival
is the name of the game in them, but the beauty of it is that you would enter
it smelling of your own sweat but would definitely get off smelling like ten
different people around you. On a philosophical and maybe a crazy way you take
a fraction of their subsistence with you.
It was a usual day
for most of the people. The customary laziness in waking up after an indulgent
night and managing the daily chores, the honking of school buses with heads
sticking out of windows, the noisy shutters of shops, the aroma of early chants
along with the stench of morning rituals of many.............it seemed
everything was just the way it ought to be. But two lives were to be changed
for ever .......two lives oblivious of each other’s existence.....immersed in
the futility of their providence and lost dreaming in an abyss of hope and
despair. Two lives who lived the day by themselves...but the night had an
encounter in stored for them.
Siddhantha climbed
carving his way effortlessly through the maddening crowd, his regular 567 which
took him back to Lajpat Nagar. Wearing a khaadi kurta and a torn jean, with
curly locks covering his forehead and glasses which could not hide the
intensity of his big grey eyes, he made way to the window seat that was always
vacant for him. An unusual sight awaited in the form of an occupant of “his”
seat. A distraught face staring hard at the nothingness covered with hair was
the encroacher. It would have annoyed him otherwise but today it seemed to make
no effect. His eyes met a few familiar passengers who gave him tired and phony
glances of recognition. He sat next to the encroacher and heaved a deep sigh.
Placing his head on the seat he closed his eyes. 567 has always been the place
where he had come to terms with everything.
“Your story is too
surreal and bizarre, we are sorry”.............the words echoed in his ears as
soon as he comfortably seated himself in the seat. “Well this is a new one”, he
murmured to himself, with a cynical smile festooning his face, exposing aligned
depressions on both his cheeks. It was 8 in the night and the bus was making
its way on a snail’s pace honking at every other moment. The wind was gushing
inside from the window which to his relief the encroacher decided to keep open.
The first thing that
Ragini always did on boarding a bus back home was grasp a window seat and open
her tightly tied bun. It gave her the sense of letting go, an exhilarating
feeling of being herself for those few comforting hours which seemed torturous
to most. The wind blew her hair in all directions, and she liked the flapping
sound of them on her face and the feel of it on her skin. Today she missed her
bus and had to board a longer route one, which never bothered her because no
one was ever waiting for her. Ragini had taught herself to be independent and
strong, as she assumed it to be the best way to live. Her rigidity was her
weapon by which she speared her way ahead, only to realize that she lost on
living in her strife for a mouthful of sky.
Completely unaware
of each other’s rhythmic sighs Siddhantha and Ragini kept sitting without
moving. “Beta lo tumhara das ka ticket .....aur apko kitne ka doon madam”, the
shivering voice of the old conductor, got the two back to their senses. After
taking their tickets with one gaze they both looked through but looked right at
each other at the same time and simultaneously turned there faces away.
“No one had ever
done that to me before”, Ragini said without even looking at him. Shocked by
her guts and sudden verbalization of the subtle undercurrent experienced,
Siddhantha looked at her, smiled and replied, “Getting a taste of my own
medicine was quite an experience in itself, I’m Siddhantha ....and you are...?”
“Ragini”, she replied quickly turning and facing him, astonished at her own
urgency to talk to a stranger. “Nice name, maybe I would name my character in
the next story after you...” “So you are a writer?” she asked, “Yah both
by choice and by profession, a lethal continuum to live up to”, he chuckled so
hard that almost gasped for breath.
Both of them were
quiet for a very long time. The scene was getting more chaotic, the bus driver
had vowed not to move until his pal the conductor wouldn’t go and give personal
invites to every one walking on the street. Suddenly a crisp sound of
fluttering papers got both Siddhantha and Ragini back to their present life
space.
Along with all the
cacophony, everyone in that bus had a corner, a corner where they were quiet,
lost and living their day ...some moments of happiness, some disappointments,
seconds of despair, sudden twirls of hope.......Two of these corners were
meeting, much to their disapproval.
“ So it must be well
paying to be a writer”...... Ragini couldn’t resist her cynicism that
inherently got her disliked by most. She always liked the tension and distress
that her mean retorts caused people. To her disappointment but not
surprise she met with a smile showcasing dimples contouring a chiseled face...’
sure it does...pays me well enough to keep writing about eccentricities...”
...‘Hmmm ...its good to see someone so desperate to keep his will alive against
the worldliness’ Ragini intentionally whispered loud enough to be heard by her
busmate. Hahahahaha, guffawed Siddhantha ...‘ that’s ironical my protagonist’s
defense is what you profess... and let me tell you the world doesn’t really
like people like you...’ Sidhhantha said pointing towards his file.
What defense are you
talking about? Said Ragini....almost dying to hear her truth from this absolutely
strange soul. Sid kept looking straight, and in an absolutely placid tone
added....the camouflaging act of ones passion by spanking the humble bearings
of others ...which in short most of us call sarcasm....how does that sound?
Engulfed with a
tranquil gush of soothing hot air down her lungs...Ragini felt the rush of a
drag of filtered tobacco ...suspending her with the lightness that she had
forgotten. ‘ So what happened to your heroin....where did her defence take
her?’ Asked Ragini...looking pleadingly into his eyes as if her fate had
already been written in those pages.
Kotla....Kotla......madam
jaldi utaro...red light hai abhi .....the realities of life got her back...she
tied her hair quickly in a ritualistic fashion....gave him a last look....he
moved to give her way. Ragini’s head was still racing she needed to hear
something from him...she had a strange faith that today his words would cure
her from many things....She was carving her way through the crowd to the gate.
She was almost there and before disembarking, turned back only to find
Siddhantha behind her. “She befriends her passion’’...he whispers in her ears.
Sometimes life’s
biggest lessons stay with one in very serendipitous ways. Ragini went off the
bus .....smiling from one end to the other.‘ bhaishaab agar utarana nahi hai to
rasta kyun roka hai...’ hearing the complaints...siddhantha moved to the window
and peered outside, only to find Ragini looking at the full moon night with her
hair open and flapping against her face.
He could almost hear
her sighs...sighs of respite, redemption. Today he could understand what his
mentor meant when he used to say ...‘fasane ke asli jashn ko to ek insaan hi
anjaam deta hai...kirdaar nahi....aur jab apne kirdaar se insani tarruf ho jaye
tab kahin tumhara fasana mukammal hota hai’... ‘ and that’s precisely what pays
me well enough to keep reciting eccentricities.....he murmured to himself
smiling.
-Inspired by a painting by Gurjot Mamik (Celebration of
Art) 