The last bus

The 32 seats bus entered the campus, bordered by barbed wires neatly hidden behind sheets of green jute knitted fabric, security scanning authentication of entering vehicles from the guard post. Sitting in one corner (facing wind shield) I was gazing at the passing coconut trees and a wide delicately mowed lawn which resembled a golf course just because of the marking flags to identify location of nearby hole. I turned my sight to other side to see if it was a place to play golf. Yes it was but I could measure the latitude, probably it was a mini course and not a 19 holes course. Bus stopped near a small 2 floored building after traversing the serpentine road cutting the lawn diametrically.
As soon as I stepped down a breeze embraced me, welcoming to the new facility where I will have my new base. From bustle of the city to a quiet and uninhabited island which is connected by a makeshift bridge which promises to break even at the first warning calls before flood. I felt like a prisoner sentenced to stay here for life. The coconut leaves high up, rubbing to each other on a bright sunny day, called me to give me a faith that I can also stand tall, independent with my own space which was in ample here and that is what is needed when I have vision to grow. I decided, I will grow here whatever comes I will take it head on. With the thought I walked pass the security at the entrance to the ground floor, which still had a deserted look. Was me, the only prisoner of my thought, sent to this facility? I hope not, otherwise my determination will take a dent, nevertheless I will still give it a fight.
When the clock ticked 1230 hours, I noticed few more people entering the floor with steady steps proving they are not as fresh as me in the enclosure. I was happy to see more of my species, and one of them confirmed I was the 40th inmate here, so nothing to worry. But my mind still reluctant to accept that there was nothing to worry and a thought of breaking off from here frequented my mind for first few weeks. To kill the thought and get accustomed to the place I used to come out of the floor with a reason to smoke. Smoke break was also meant to heighten my spirit by observing the same coconut tree which was standing tall nearer to the sky, beating the concrete building.
With passing time I liked the place, largely because of the work schedule, which hardly gave me the luxury to think anything else, and my companion “the coconut tree”. In my not so good days my companion shared my pain and the smoke that I was airing. Days when I was low, starved, frustrated, lost, it was right beside me to boost my moral and gave me the hope that I was growing with every experience, good or bad. Moreover good and bad are complimentary and are well appreciated in each other’s coexistence.
The next year, I was shifted to the next newly built, bigger building on the other side of the road. I knew, I may not get enough time to see my companion once I am out, but I also had to accept the opportunity, expecting I will grow. While leaving, I wished I could see my companion from my new floor. Almighty was kind. Now I have a terrace on the 5th floor to smoke and see my companion from far. Things have changed so fast in 18 months, earlier I used to look up to my partner with hope, now I look down to find my friend. The concrete building belittled the existence of my partner. I asked myself, was this growth that I was in search of when I was deported to this campus?
Today, little more than 2 years have passed, and I am holding on to the same zeal that my companion gave me long back. My watch is showing 1845 hours, I am seated in a 32 seats bus on one corner, with my back to the wind shield, facing the rest of the commuters, as if getting ready for new ordeal. The driver has started the engine and I am looking at the place where I used to share my time with my companion, bravely defeating wild wind. A new concrete structure has invaded my partner’s space, I do not see my friend anymore. With a deep breath, I looked up to the dusky sky, a cool breeze touched me, embraced me for the last time. My thoughts slowly dying under the rumbling sound of the moving buses. With a vision to grow somewhere else and a hope of brighter tomorrow, I am leaving this place forever, this is my last bus from the campus.

Pardon the fox

During my recent visit to one time capital of India and habitat of intellectuals, realized nothing much changed during last 4 years. I was wondering, how a city, which apparently have chosen the path to modernization (and industrialization), can still hang on to the roots (quiet appreciable). People are as warm as ever and they also have a nice a way to set off a conversation with unknown people, by airing any statement on politics. Albeit, neither I was in politics nor it is a subject of interest, still I have played the role of obedient receptor, every time out of compulsion. Why? Simply because I could not find any other place to make myself uncomfortable, either in bus, train, tram or “Oli-golitey cabin” (cabin is a place where not only ordinary, even extra-ordinary people spend productive time with a cup of tea and snacks. “Oli-golitey” is just a name of the cabin, which in broader sense mean, corner of the street.)
The other day, during one such commute by bus, I was caught in crossfire. As I do not know the art of becoming deaf I had to oblige the volleys of argument. To show my lack of interest I started gazing here and there. I noticed another humble soul was equally irritated. She was staring down at me through the blood red hibiscus garland. The color of carved wooden frame where she was accommodated had gone from bright brown to dull brown due to the residual of burnt carbon.
The vermillion sandalwood mark on her forehead was getting itchy, I wish she had handy wet tissue to clean the stuff and wipers to get rid of the jerking garland disturbing her vision. Adding to the trouble, the burning incense stick has reddened her eyes and almost choked her. If this was not enough, the glowing decorative light at her feet has increased the heat on a hot humid sultry day, the tongue which she has been sticking out through the day have dried and dehydrated her.
Even a SOS for bail out will fall in deaf ears, thanks to the rusty black loud speaker, nailed beside her, double her size, played the Hindi number “chal chaiyan”. Helpless, I saw her in distress. I guess, the only way she can come out of agony is by showing her anger.
The fox at her mercy looked worried after studying wrinkles on her forehead. Why worried? Do not forget (mythology), fox will be forced to drink all the blood that oozes out, as a result of destruction by “Goddess Kali”. The poor fox for his own sake, seemed to pray with folded hands, to forgive the devil and donate him respite.
Mother (Goddess) pardon me too and do not stare at me furiously, I believed you will help me out from the uninterested discussion. I, a tiny mortal creature, stepping out of the bus to my destiny, hardly have any prowess to help you. Bless me!