LIMEN

By Pushkar Oke

I waited alone at the bus stand. I mean, there were people around, but there was no sense of belongingness to anyone. None of them were traveling with me. It had been quite some time that I had travelled, or for that matter lived, alone. Frankly, I was quite surprised at the odd timing of the bus: 1 a.m. But it was neither me who had booked the ticket and sadly, nor had the person who booked the ticket consulted me for the timing. I was sleepy but had to reluctantly leave my house rather late in the night. Nevertheless, I always loved darkness. To your benefit, darkness steals your visibility to some things even if you inherently desire to witness them. Had it been completely dark that day…

I began hating this loneliness. Letting my thoughts go uncontrolled and setting off my mind on auto-pilot mode were the dear consequences of the unwelcome isolation. And that was exactly what was happening to me while waiting there. My mind traversed too many places and to too many events in the past and perhaps, the future too. I could feel my eyes moistening. The more I thought of it, the closer it came to me from the past — as if it happened only a few moments ago.

I quickly blinked a few times as the announcement of a bus drew my attention. The quietude of the night caused the announcement to sound unusually loud. I could only recognize the word “Mumbai” for the announcement was in Marathi. But it was enough for me to know that my bus had arrived. I dragged my luggage towards the door of the bus and asked the driver, “Mumbai?” to which he gave a passive nod. A few enthusiastic passengers had jumped into the bus even before it came to a halt and two of them were fighting for a seat. I was relieved to have a reservation.

Looking at them, however, I was reminded of another fight. A fight that I had seen. More specifically, the one I was involved in. Recently. There is a huge difference between fighting and fighting for. Fighting means fighting over something. When you fight for, you add a lot of weight to your fight. You involve other places, things, and perhaps, people. You fight for your country, for your rights, for a seat, or for someone. I again felt my eyes fill up to my eyelids and that they could overflow at any moment.

The passenger standing behind me got restless because I had paused midway in the aisle. As he hurried himself to move ahead of me, I shut my eyes tight for a second. I looked around to ensure that no one noticed my eyes and I hastened the process of locating my seat. I was, however, dejected to realize that it wasn’t a window seat. I secretly prayed that the window seat remained empty so that I could later shift to it. When you are sitting on a window seat, you always open your mind and memories while staring outside. And let fresh air come in — just like the window.

Almost when all the people had settled and the engine roared departure, there was a series of soft bangs on the bus. The driver killed the engine and opened the door. First a huge bag was pushed in and then was followed by a gorgeous looking woman, or perhaps a girl. The conductor checked her ticket and pointed towards me. She hastily pushed the bag in the alley and stopped besides me. A bit nervous, I immediately shifted to let her in, as she made herself comfortable on the window seat. A minute later, she took out her cell phone and called someone.

“Ho, Luckily bus milali. Just nighat hoti…sakali daha vajta…Bhetu lavkarach.” Most of what she said was in Marathi except the last few words. “I’m sure you’ll be there for me. Bye.”

I really wished she had said that in Marathi as well. Hearing those words triggered everything back in my mind. Those words were distinctly familiar to me. The pain and the suffering were back. The back of my eyes started itching. Every moment of that incident played in my mind on repeat mode. As always, I began wondering why it had to happen to me. Did I go wrong somewhere? It surely wasn’t my fault. After all, I was fighting for her. Then why should I suffer? That made me somewhat angry as well. Anger was about to set my eyes off for a wash again, but I controlled. The itching grew. I wanted to punch something. I closed my fist tight and jerked my hand towards the seat in front of me. But I suddenly stopped my hand mid-air when I noticed the girl besides me staring. Stealing my face away from her, I flickered my eyes. Then I gave her a half smile and rested back. We all want to react the way we want to and that is perfectly fine. But we choose not to, owing to what people around us are thinking. We are afraid that they will draw their conclusions. Or perhaps we are afraid that their conclusions about us will be wrong.

I was wondering what she must have concluded about me when suddenly the baby in my front seat started crying. No one ever understands exactly why children start crying, except their mothers. And this child’s mother figured out that he needed sleep. She took him in her arms, rested his face on her shoulder and started patting his back. This brought the child’s face out of the seat sideways and now I could see a cute face with a thumb in the mouth staring at me. I always play staring contests with random children in the hope that they’ll give me back an infectious smile. Ten seconds into the game, the boy made a frightful face and shouted even louder than before. I covered my face, put my tongue out, pouted and tried many other ways to make him quiet. But all of them failed. Of course, his mother was unaware about all this.

I leaned in close to his face in a final attempt to quiet him and the lights suddenly went off. It silenced him as well. Being an overnight bus, the driver switched off the lights to avoid reflection on the glass. Maybe I too needed to switch off the lights of my past. They reflected from behind right in front of me and took my concentration away. I had to focus on where I want to drive myself and not let those lights distract me.

Unable to see the child, I sat back in the seat and rested my head in a fatigued manner. My eyes began staring at darkness. As the bus moved, flashes of light often zoomed past giving an inkling that all, surprisingly including the baby as well, were asleep and no one was looking at me. And that provoked my memories again. I felt so hurt that I too, wanted to cry. Cry out loud. Just like that baby sitting in front of me. Without caring about who’s looking at me, watching me or concluding anything about me — be it wrong or right — I wanted to cry. I wished I were a child to be able to do it. Children are indeed lucky. They are free in their actions, directed straight from their minds, unfiltered. But I had grown up. I couldn’t cry. Or at least I couldn’t let anyone see me cry. After all, tears are a sign of weakness and I had to filter those out.

Then it struck me. It was dark. As I couldn’t see anyone, nor could anybody see me. That was another advantage of darkness. I decided to unleash it. I shut my eyes tight, clenched the handle of my seat and pushed myself hard against the seat. I began recalling everything, right from the very beginning. The itching was back. What had happened, how it had happened, why it had happened, what should and should not have happened, I thought about everything. Every event was crystal clear in my mind along with the sentences that were spoken. Finally, I recalled the past few days. I started feeling my eyes moisten again. It was indeed cruel, whatever had happened. All of it projected on my mental screen like a movie. I felt disappointed at the way things had turned out. However, I was no more astonished at how people had behaved. Maybe I had got used to it after thinking about it for so long. I felt that now nothing, or perhaps, no one, mattered. It did not matter who had won that fight. I did not need that window seat. Instead, I can close that window of memories and drive myself where I want to, alone.

I jerked forward and opened my eyes as the bus suddenly came to a halt. The lights came back on. I felt my cheeks cool. I touched them with my finger only to notice that they were wet. I traced my finger up to my eyes and started rubbing them. It was just one drop, but I had finally let it out. Perhaps, with the drop, many other things rolled out as well. Instead of being my weakness, those tears had strengthened me. Relaxed, I rested completely against the seat. I glanced around to ensure that nobody noticed me. However, the baby was wide awake, quietly staring at me. He removed the thumb from his mouth and gave me a cute smile. I couldn’t control as the infection spread.

Soon as the bus picked up speed, the driver switched off the lights again.

By Pushkar Oke