The journey from my home to hostel takes approximately 4 hours . I generally take a window seat and keep looking outside. People generally plug in their earphones , but I don't. I love those times, I like that chaos and listen the horns, the speed of wind, the scratching of tyres on roads. I love everything. And when I don't get a window seat, I open my novel and keep myself engulfed in it.
Generally I do that. But that day was different. I got late and had to take an already packed bus. I was ready to stand the whole journey. But there was an old woman, who asked me to sit with her. Her grandson was to come with her, but he was delayed for some reason, and would join her from another stop. This was like a blessing. I grabbed the seat and sat down. I thanked her and started to open my book.
It was a suspense thriller. I was in the middle of the book, and suddenly she told me, that the heroine of the book dies. And the book ends in a cliffhanger. I hadn't expected that. The book was released only last week. There were not many reviews. And I was surprised that she knew. May be it was presumptuous of me to judge her by her age. I turned to the last page and read the lines . The book didn't end like that. The protagonist was saved by mere luck only. The villains were exposed. I looked at her , in astonishment. She laughed out loud. The audacity !
In either way she had ruined the book for me. She told me she used to do that with her grandson. And in return her grandson ruins all her romance novels. First I was irritated, but the lady had a way of talking. She would give bold comments and laugh at them. For the first time in many years, I didn't feel sad for someone old. She turned out to be quite well read. We started talking. We didn't know how the time passed and we were half way across the journey. Suddenly she asked me to dial a no. I dialed it. Someone picked it up. She snatched the phone from me, and told the person on the other end that, she is at jajpur now. I could hear the person screaming at her. But she just laughed and gave me my phone back. I ended the call. Instantly he called back. He asked me the details about the bus and the place. He also asked me, if I could drop his grand mother at the near by police station as a favor. It was a very awkward situation. I didn't know what to do. He called me again. And 5 times within the last one hour. Everytime he gave me different orders. Asked me different questions. At one point of time, he even asked me about the speed of the bus. I was getting irritated. In those conversations I got to know that the old lady had sneaked away from her grandson and ridden the bus. I asked the lady, "Maa , you said your grandson would join you at some later point. But it seems you took another bus altogether. Is everything fine?" I had forged a bond with her. I was worried and some what irritated. I didn't want to be dragged in any mess. And honestly saying, at that point I was doubting the lady's as well as her grandson's sanity.
She said nothing at all. She just laughed. Then my phone rang. Her grandson was calling. He told me, he would be there within an hour. He asked me could I wait with his grandma till then ? My stop would come before hers. I told him that. So, he asked me to take her down with me and he would be there to fetch her. I could not say no. When the time came, I took her with me. She went like an obedient child. Said nothing at all. She looked at the bus longingly. But disembarked with me. It was getting late. If I didn't reach my hostel in time, gates would be closed. But in the mean time I couldn't have left her alone . She was tickling time bomb. I had no idea, what she would do if I leave her alone. So, I needed an alternative plan. I called one of my friends and asked her to take me in for a night. She was living in a PG it wouldn't be a problem for her. One problem solved.
It was a summer afternoon. I was drenched, but grandma's was too cool to care. She was looking up at the sky, and smiling. I slowly touched her hand.
-Maa !
- You know I used to study here. It has been so many years, but nothing has changed. The summer is still the same. Tell me, dear does it still floods in rainy days?
-Umm, Yes. Where were you studying? Which college ?
- Oh! Not college. My school was here. I never went to college. After school I took my nursing training. And then married.
-If you tell me your school's name, we can go and visit that. There is still sometime for your granson to come.
-Oh! No no. Am not searching for memories here. You youngsters now a days. Everything for you starts and ends with memories. Can't an old lady start her life after sixty?
- Maa .. are you going to start something? Do you have something in mind?
-Why do you ask ?
-Cause, you have that look on your face. The one which my father makes whenever he steals a sweet from fridge. Or planning about it.
- Ha! Your father must be a bad card player. But, see I'm the best. See my poker face.
- Ha! Ha! Not so funny. My father is the best. He knows how to play cards and he can beat you in an iffy.
- If you say so. Btw where is your home? What does your father do ? Let me guess. He is an engineer? And you live in Mangalpur !
-Yes. How do you know. Are you a witch or what ? Old lady! You are a creep.
She laughed. I looked at my watch. I thought to myself, 'her grandson better be here in time or I'm gonna take her to the police station for real.'
But she was not going to grant me peace so soon.
- You know people take these roads for granted. They don't notice the gravels, the potholes , the sun shinning on them or the wind blowing. Worse, they take buses for granted. They don't realise the power of a journey. One journey can change your fate. I mate my husband in one such bus journey. He was reading the same author you were reading. Shidney Sheldon. We debated over plot twists and devised our own. After our marriage we had taken long roads on buses. There were no cars, no trains to remote areas. We had our son. He loved bus journeys. As a child he loved the hawkers in the bus. He loved the masala cucumber and the Chandikhol peda. He used to say, bus is full of stories. We lost him and my husband in such a journey too.
I didn't know what to say. I kept mum. She stayed silent for a while. She had tears in her eyes. She wiped them and smiled.
- After their death, my bahu became paranoid. My family no longer travels in buses. After my son's death, they have come to fear, this city, the bus rides. My grandson refuses to climb into one. He fears the train ride too, takes as less as possible plane rides. He trusts no one but himself in the driver's seat. I don't blame him. He had seen a lot of things in his life. He doesn't let me go on a bus ride , he doesn't even let me use auto . I feel confined in my house. Every time I need to go somewhere I can't ask him to take me. And I don't know, but I think the bus is our connecting link. I feel if I travel by bus, somehow I can feel them. They would talk to me.I don't know how many days I have with me. But I needed to have one last bus ride.
I didn't know what to say after that. I just wish I could hug her. I hoped , prayed that somehow her bus ride wouldn't have been disturbed by me. I didn't want to taint her memories. I was angry on myself for having been angry at her.
Her grandson came in the mean time. He just stood there, with bloodshot eyes and a stone cold face. The old lady went to him. I don't know why, but It felt like something in her was breaking. She turned and looked at the bus stop for one last time. I couldn't let her go like that. I touched he feet. And she hugged me in return. She kept her hand on my head and patted it. Something settled inside me. Something peaceful. I looked at her grandson. His eyes were moisten. He took my hands. His palm was sweaty. He clamped my hand in force. I could feel the shiver . I patted his hands.
I can't say I feel their pain. I don't even understand that. But with the setting of sun I prayed for both of them to have a smooth ride ahead. I know for a fact that everytime I ride a bus, I would be searching for her. I hope one day, I would find her. Or her grandson