Girl at the bus stop - Part II

I try not to appear too thrilled at the prospect of having a coffee with her. Inwardly, I am beaming like a little kid who came across an abandoned ten rupee note. I pause a moment as if to evaluate whether my busy schedule can accommodate a cup of coffee. Then I say, “Sure, where to?” She points across the road and says, “Over there”. I shrug and we start walking towards it. I think of a hundred ways to start a conversation but cannot zero on one. She seems absorbed in something and does not talk either. We cross the road amidst blaring horns and the mad rush of vehicles. She holds my arm lightly and my heart beat doubles. She releases it as soon as soon as we are at the other side of the road and for a fraction of a second, I am stupidly sad that the road is not wider.

“My boyfriend once said that I can cause traffic jams. Now, I know, he was lying.” “What?” I am flabbergasted. She smiles, revealing her lovely teeth. “I said somebody once said I can stall traffic at my will.” “You said your boyfriend had said it”, I say accusingly. I try with all my might to force a smile on my face, but it simply wouldn’t come. She shrugs indifferently. “My ex, actually. It lasted very short.” “Oh, I am sorry”, I manage to lie. She lifts her eyes, “Oh, don’t be. I am not. He was an annoying prick.” “So, what about your current boyfriend? Hope he is a gentleman.” I congratulate myself for phrasing it so intelligently. Surely, she would have to reveal whether she is with someone or not, now. Predictably, she says, “Well, I don’t have one now”, she shrugs again. Before I can say something, she continues, “So the lady is on prowl again.” We both laugh.

I guess that breaks ice and over the coffee at the road side, we start talking more uninhibitedly. I gently enquire about her family and she rolls her eyes. “Nosy, aren’t you?” I give my sweetest smile and manage to find out that her father is in some government service (I forget the specifics), her mother is a homemaker and she has an elder brother who works in Delhi. We finish our coffee and she thanks me for my company. “Oh, no formalities please.” I say magnanimously and she smiles. This brings our small date to an end.

That night, as I lay down mulling over the day’s events, strangely, I cannot think of anything else other than her. She definitely is the girl of my dreams. Calm, confident and self assuring. Wow, what a girl. And, she surely must like me too, the probability of it being towards the north of 99%. Else, she would never have asked me for coffee. I convince myself that she did it only to get an opportunity to talk to me. To know me and let me know about her. Else, she could definitely have had the damn coffee in her office, if she really wanted it. What could be the motive behind her rushing to the bus stop in spite of a ‘splitting headache’, as she had put it, and then wasting 15 minutes in a shackled tea stall on the side of the road? To talk to me, of course.

And that gripping of the shoulder while crossing the road. How can I forget that? She had said that she was born and raised in Bangalore. Said that she spent close to two decades of her life in that city and also knew all the prominent food joints and discos of the city. She must have crossed busy roads millions of times before. Why then, did she need to hold on to me?

And that short talk about her boyfriend. I remember a little incident in my office, a couple of weeks old. In a conversation with my boss, he had asked me whether I have a girlfriend or not. Though in not so many words, I had made it very clear to him that it is none of his business. And here she is, confiding in an almost total stranger, about her love life. Why would she do it, unless for an ulterior motive? Surely, both of these incidents relate, don’t they?

Am I in love? It sure looks that way. And the million dollar question is; is she attracted to me? She sure is, screamed the whole of my heart and a part of my brain. Yes, she is; I convince myself again. I could see that in her eyes, in the way she was talking to me. Oh, we have a cute little love story. A love story that started in a sultry bus stop of Chennai. Leading to… who knows? I decide to get closer to her. Find out more about her; try to make her accept me as a friend, the best, if possible. Maybe, start seeing her too. And finally propose to her.

I will first ask for her phone number. Will call her this weekend. Invite her to a movie. Better, call her for a shopping spree. No girl can resist it. Yes, that’s it. Will get her phone number tomorrow.

Suddenly, a wave of euphoria sweeps over me and with the image of the girl at the bus stop before my eyes, I become oblivious of the world around me.

Girl at bus stop - Part I

“You too are late today”, she says. “I know”, I reply. “My boss wanted to talk to a client just when I was about to leave and I had to stay back for it. How was your day?” “Fine, today I finished my piece of code and released it for testing. I hope the testers get kind. Else I am screwed”, she says. I cannot think of any suitable reply so I just say “Good”. She starts to say something else when the bus numbered 60 is spotted. I also notice it but pretend as if the bus never existed. “Ho… you are lucky. Here comes your bus.” “Oh, lots of people inside. I think I will take the next”, say I. “No, silly. The people standing inside are getting down. There are even seats available. Bye and have a good time”, she sings gaily.

I try to smile at her, curse the bus driver and make a deliberate slow walk hoping that the bus leaves before I get in. But the bus conductor sees me (bad), recognizes me (worse) and blows his whistle indicating to the driver to stop (worst). I board on the bus, turn around and find her smiling and waving at me. I too do the same and settle down beside a window.

I had first met her six months ago. It was my first day in Chennai and like all the people in Chennai who don’t speak Tamil; I was having a horrendous time. None speak Hindi and few, English. I found her in the bus stop, arms folded, cool and composed, looking confident of anything and everything. She did not look like a Tamilian and with the earphones on, was probably listening to FM radio. I asked, “Mount Road, bus no.?” I did not want to speak good English as I found that it embarrasses people who are not fluent at it. She removed the earphones and said, “That is ok, I speak English.” I said, “Oh, I am sorry. I just wanted to know which buses go to the Mount Road from here.” “60”, she said. “There are also a couple of others but I am not sure. Plenty of 60 s on the road, though. Look, there comes one.” Impulsively, I turn around and made a dash for it. Only a little later, I realized I did not even thank her. How mean it must have looked. I thought I would make it up if I meet her again.

It was again around a month later when I met her again. I was there in the bus stop desperately trying to shake off a guy who wanted me to buy some Tamil books. It was then that she appeared. “Mount Road, bus no.?” she said smiling. “Hey, hi. How are you? Long time, no see?” I greeted her like an old friend. I did not really intend to be so informal but the words had come out tumbling. “Doing good. So you recognized me?” she said. “Why, of course. Did not see you for quite some time. Were you out of town or something?” I enquired as politely as I could. “Actually yes. I was in Mumbai. Was working at the client site for a short while. So, got used to Chennai?” she asked.

I weighed upon the question a little. If I say no, I could take the opportunity to ask her something about Chennai and our conversation and acquaintanceship might grow. On the other hand, if I say yes, I might appeal to her as a confident and a capable person. I decided to take on a middle path and diplomatically said, “A little. Actually decent enough, but not very well though. So you are here everyday?” “At almost the same time. Between 7:00 and 7:30.” She seemed quite outspoken and looked comfortable. I liked her attitude. Her poise and grace. Her self assuring manner. No unsolicited bashfulness. Yet, so Indian. No airs or hint of arrogance, yet cool, calm and so confident of herself.

Over the next few weeks, I met her more often. I started looking forward to our brief meetings. Each not more than five minutes at the most. Some days, I missed my buses to meet her. Would wait for 15 – 20 minutes for her. Every time we met, it was always I who would have come to the bus stop first. Nevertheless, I was happy, took her for what she was, a stranger girl in the bus stop providing my otherwise boring, insipid life with a little life and romance.

Today is the first day when I find her in the bus stop before me. Is she waiting for me, missing a couple of buses in the process? The thought, in itself, is so heartwarming that I smile. I do not have a way of knowing it for sure so I believe it is true. “So, what’s up? You look great today”, she says. I smile and say, “You too”. She winks and says, “I know”. Then a brief silence as we both watch a fat policeman stop a mid size truck before asking for papers. I start to think hard. How do I proceed further than ‘Hi, how are you? How was your day? Bye.’ How do I get to know more of her? Abruptly, “Say, would you care for a cup of coffee? I have a splitting headache and I am badly in need of caffeine.”



(To be continued...)

A bed of roses

I travel back in time. I am a sixteen year old, now. Papa comes to home from office. I am in front of the idiot box not really enjoying the interview going on with some artist. Papa winks at me when he catches my eye and I know he has a gift for me. He takes out a book from his briefcase with the triumphant air of a magician conjuring a rabbit from his hat. I snatch the book from his hand and am thrilled to see that it is the book I had been pestering him from days – the latest Robert Ludlum release. Old times were wonderful. Why can’t I remain at sixteen forever?

I travel back some more. I am a ten year old now. I am elated today. My 5th grade results are out and I stand first in class. Papa is out of town and I badly miss him. Mummy takes me out in the evening for a treat. We have an ice cream and a cola, a rare privilege for me as I am not allowed to have that in normal circumstances. She then takes me to the park. The Deshpriya Park. I spend about half an hour there, chasing butterflies and swinging on an old rusty swing. We watch an Amitabh starrer, eat outside and I have a sound, snoring sleep with full of lovely dreams. Oh, why can’t I be 10 years old till eternity?

Fast forward to today. I am middle aged, slightly obese and diabetic, doing a thankless job in a worthless life. When was the last time I smiled? When was the last time I laughed so much that I thought I would burst? My boss at work does not care for me, my parents are too old to be bothered with my troubles, my children are too young to appreciate what I am doing for them and my husband… Ah, my husband.

We are together for almost 15 years now, married for about 12 years. He has always been a warm and a wonderful person, a good husband and a doting father to our children. I never had a problem, an issue which I could not talk to him over. He is a kind, sympathetic and understanding soul. A man faithful to his job and faithful to me.

Then; when, where and what actually went wrong? Why am I not happy and in love with life anymore? I do not have an answer. I am not even sure whether something is really erratic, or am I being irrational. Hmm… confusion playing its best.

Sheila, that is my younger, just started going to school. She is all what a four year old is – bubbly, cheery, fussy and gibbering most of the times, even in her sleep. She is the apple of my eye and I adore her. She is sluggish in the mornings when she has to get ready for the school. Our maid, Rakhi, has enough experience on her hands to handle Sheila but my child insists that I should be the one to attend to all her chores. Every morning is a nightmare for me; waking up Rakhi at 5 AM, for she tends to oversleep; instructing and supervising over the preparation of breakfast and lunch; waking up my husband, all the way trying to resist his early morning charm.

There was a time, now it seems another age, when we used to spend at least half of an hour in bed after waking up, every day. Raj used to joke that a bunch of Australian researchers have proved that sex is the healthiest way to start a day. It burns up all the surplus calories of the previous day, which otherwise, are accumulated into unsaturated fat. Other times, we used to cuddle and talk. Just talk. What a glorious way to start a day. Now, talking has become so rare that I think blue moons are more common.

After this, comes up the most difficult time of my day; have to wake up the children. My eldest, Aryan, is an eight year old and already quite handsome in a devilish way, just like his father. He has inherited his father’s hazel eyes and along with it, a fiercely independent nature. He likes to do everything on his own and scowls quite violently even when I, occasionally, need to correct his shoe laces. He does not let me comb his hair or wash his hair.

On the other hand, my Sheila never seems to be able to do anything without her loving mommy. Right from the Good Morning peck till the Good Night kiss, she insists that her mommy is with her all the time. She seems to be taking delight in my instructions, my holding of her and even in the howls and shrieks that I give her. Occasionally, when I go to school to get her home, she proudly shows me to her friends and says, “That is my mommy”. I can sense the envy with which the other children watch us; God alone knows what she tells them about me.

I try to spend as much time as it is humanly possible, with Sheila. I cannot go to her school everyday to feed her the lunch nor to bring her back to home after school. My work does not provide me that luxury. So, Rakhi fills up for me. But after coming back home from work on the weekdays, and during the weekends and occasional holidays I get, I try to spend as much time as I can, with my children. Aryan does not like me doting on her. Though he does not say it, I think, he thinks that others will think sissy of him. He prefers talking about cricket and football with his father or playing with his war planes. At times, both father and son settle on the couch watching a Harrison Ford or a Bruce Willis movie. But my motherhood does not allow me to leave him while attending to Sheila all the time. It is a four way game between us in our family, Sheila constantly demanding my attention, I trying to include Aryan too, Aryan fleeing to his macho father and Raj patiently asking me to attend to Sheila while he takes care of Aryan.

Sometimes, I wonder, why cannot Aryan have an ounce of Sheila in him and vice versa? Then, I would not have such a hard time balancing between both of the children. Both Sheila and Aryan have exactly opposite demands of me and with my limited time and patience; I find it very hard to meet them. Many times, I have tried talking with Raj over this. He does not even seem to think of it as a problem. “I remember the tough time I gave to my mother when I was a child. He is my son, isn’t he? What more did you expect out of him?” he would say with a wink and a dismissal wave of his hand.

Office used to be a place where I longed to go, even on a Monday morning. I had worked very hard all my initial years and have risen fast up the hierarchy ladder. Now; the work is tough, responsibilities are higher, reprimands are severe and the pressure unbearable. My boss is a typical Prem Chopra (a baddie in Indian cinema during the 1970s) sort of a guy. If the office gossip is to be believed, he is very kind, almost paternal to an unmarried girl; but is as lecherous as one can be towards a married female. Though, till date, he has not made any definite move towards me, he sure drops hints from time to time. No report of mine has ever been accepted without a change. Sometimes, he wants statistics to support a claim that I make. At other times, he wants me to delete the numbers that I add as an annexure. “Statistics is like a bikini”, he would say, “They show what we don’t want to see and hide what we want to.” Every comment of his has a sexual connotation, is vulgar or aimed at the nudity of women.

It is almost every day that he tries to make me stay late in the night. Every evening, when I am winding up things, he remembers something so very important and urgent that it needs to be done ‘right away’. I try to remind him that it is already late and would do it first thing the next morning. He would smile and show his crooked teeth and say, “Procrastination is like masturbation, darling. In the end, you are just screwing yourself.” I wonder where he gets all those quotes. Having nothing better to do, I guess, he searches for them all the day, typing ‘Vulgar quotes’ or ‘Proverbs with sexual connotation’ in Google.

All of this seems very amusing to Raj. He laughs till his belly aches and he cannot laugh anymore or till I threaten to kick him in his balls; whichever is earlier. Once, when I urged him very desperately for a suggestion on how to deal with it; he had said, “Why don’t you resign, honey? You know, you don’t have to work. I earn enough to sustain us in comfort. You can give more time to the children and watch them grow. You will not have too many pressures to juggle with and life will be easier for you.” I remember blasting him for that. I had raved and ranted for more than 10 minutes non stop. Reminded him that I am also as much educated as him. My parents also had big dreams for me, just like his. What about my career, if I resign? Am I to remain a typical housewife and keep depending on him, financially, for the rest of my life like a typical housewife?

Raj had not said anything during my continuous harping. Neither did he try to stop me. When I paused to catch my breath, he had quite simply said, “It was just a suggestion, sweetheart. You don’t have to listen, if you don’t want to.” Though I was a little sorry about it sometime later, the ridiculous simplicity with which he gave me his ‘suggestion’ as if I did not have brains to identify such an obvious solution; had maddened me.

Never again did Raj venture to give his idea of a solution to my problems. On the other hand, never did he give me an idea that he is least interested to listen to me or to spend time with me. It is as if he neither has a will of his own nor his preferences. He seemed to exist for the sole purpose of pleasing me. I still discuss my problems with him. Oh wait, did I say ‘discuss’? Discuss is supposed to mean a two way talk, right? All right, I stand corrected. A more accurate sentence is – I still talk over my problems with him. And he is still a very good listener, as he has always been. But he does not offer me any suggestions on how to deal with them. All I can get from him is something on the lines of “Oh, poor you”, “I feel so sorry for you”, “Don’t worry, things will change for good,” and so on.

If on a Sunday afternoon, I want to go out; he just asks me where I want to go. Then he acts as if he has been waiting all his life to go there and then we simply go. No debates, discussions, arguments, counter arguments on where to go, where not to go, and the reasons for the same and so on. He still winks at me every morning, when I wake him up, and holds my hands suggestively. There are times when I relent, and there are times when I irritatingly shake his hand away. He is always quick to grasp what I mean and almost always does what I want him to do.

What exactly is my problem? Why can’t I be happy with the life I have? Seriously, what is wrong with my life? A very loving and doting husband, a husband that a girl can only dream of, but only one in a million gets; two lovely children; a plush bungalow with a maid servant and a chauffeured car, all paid by the company where my husband is working; a decently good job in a fantastic organization with a six digit salary for myself… and still unhappy. Why exactly am I so pathetic?

I, no longer, have time for my friends. I seem to find time and energy to visit even the marriages of close friends and relatives, only with utmost difficulty. At times, when I am not able to do so, I convince myself that I have never liked either the bride or the groom or a parent on either side. An occasional drink or a movie with a friend has become so rare. Except for Sweety, who is still my best friend, the others have even stopped calling me for one.

I am annoyed with Sheila because she wants me to be with her all the time. She adores me, dotes on me; still that does not help it. I want her to be a bit more independent of me and stop crying for me all the time. I guess, that is a tall demand from a four year old, but that still does not stop me from wishing it. I don’t like when Aryan does not need me much. Of course, he loves me. But why can’t he be a bit like Sheila at least on some occasions? I have a vulgar boss at work; surely this is a problem for many other women as well. Why am I being so sensitive towards it, then? Instead of looking for an effective way of countering it, why am I over reacting to it? A good job will definitely have its share of pitfalls too, won’t it? And Raj… I don’t even understand why he is doing that he is doing right now. Is he just giving me space in my high pressure life? Or did I suck out all the happiness of his life and made him miserable? I frankly don’t know.

Why have I become so fussy? Why am I demanding more and more from a person till the point they stop giving all together? Why am I looking for perfection in all the relationships? Is it really because of all the pressures that I have to handle at work and home, as Raj delicately hints, sometimes? People say that motherhood is the noblest and most difficult profession. Maybe, I am not made to be a wife and a mother. Or maybe I am not a capable woman to handle work, husband, children, friends and so on; all at the same time.

Many times, I tried to talk to Raj over all this. But I could not muster enough courage for it. I am frankly afraid of what he might say. I do not dare to know what he thinks of me and my situation. What if he thinks that I am suffering from some personality disorder? I feel it is better to let the matters rest and live the life as it is, instead of confronting Raj and then face the worst.

With no one to talk to, nowhere to go, and not knowing what to do to better my life; I continue to live. Hopefully, things will change at some point of time, for the better. With hope galore, I look forward to that day and to that miracle.