The Stranger
To the innocent bespectacled stranger. For I wish I see you again.
Confused in
the city of Bangalore
(Having
come from and having to go far),
Under the
sweltering sun of the day,
I stood
waiting at the stop 'Big Bazaar'
(Ironical
though, with no such thing there).
A fine lady
had led me to that place,
With
directions spoken in swift Kannada
While she
sweated at her hands and her face.
So, as I
impatiently moved back and forth
At the
stop, waiting for a red Volvo,
I saw the
girl there for the first time, dressed
Impeccably
simply in a yellow
Kurti and a
churidaar; she was there
Sitting on
the bench talking to a friend.
I thought
of seeking their help, stranded there
By Google Maps that I couldn't comprehend.
I showed
her my phone, "Excuse me, could you
Kindly help
me with this address on here?
I was told
to board a bus from this stop,
But which
bus do I need take and till where?"
She seemed
somewhat amused and she smiled,
"Umm...You
should get down at Kundal Halli.
As for the
bus, why don't you come with us?
We will be
taking the 500 C."
"Thank
you. Umm... So does it come from there?"
I asked
her, pointing to where the road turned.
"Yes.
Don't worry. It's a bus. Not a rocket!
It will
stop here. Please don't be that concerned."
She assured
me thus. She wore spectacles
And was
lean with midriff-length, well-kempt hair,
Her cheeks
were dappled with red spots and of a
Captivating
charm she had her fair share.
She had
something - what? A simplicity
That
perhaps I had never seen before,
Or was it
that tiny yellow bindi
That had my
fiddling heart beating sore?
The Volvo
arrived nearly vacant, we
Boarded it
and sat across the gap lane
That
divided our seats; the conductor
Approached
me. I let my phone's screen explain -
"This."
I looked at the girl; she told the man,
"(In
broken Kannada…) to the Colony."
To me, she
said, "Pay him thirty rupees.
It is so
because of the bus' A.C."
She smiled.
I reciprocated. I paid
The fare. I
asked her, "Are you from this city?"
"No,"
she replied. "I've been here for a year.
What about
you? Your first time here, clearly."
"Yes,
I am new here. I arrived three days back."
On the
left, I saw a white building outside
"That
is the Sri Sathya Sai Institute
For Higher
Medical Sciences on this side."
"Oh,
it is big," I foolishly observed.
I felt dumb
stating the fact with large eyes,
But there
wasn't much to talk about, you see,
And we all
have our social lows and highs.
Her friend,
hitherto unnoticed, said something
Quietly to
her; she asked me, "Where are
You headed?
To SJR Brooklyn, no?
Well,
actually that place comes after our
Bus stop.
But don't worry. I will help you.
This here
is the Marriott hotel, see?
Three stops
after this there will be a turn
Then
there'll be the college CMRIT.
Be on your
guard when next the driver takes
A left,
then ask him for Kundal Halli.
I am sure
that will help you locate
The SJR
apartments quite easily."
She talked
with suave hands that gestured directions,
Her glass
bangles had tinkled all the while
And she
would move aside one wayward hair
That kept
falling on her forehead, with a smile.
The bus
slowed down. They got up with some others,
And moved
toward the opening double door.
My eyes
followed her eagerly as the crowd
Got down
from the BMTC low floor.
The most
surprising of things happened then -
She stopped
at the door and she turned around,
She smiled
and waved a hand at me. I too
Waved back
and mouthed "Thank you" (without a sound).
The bus
proceeded on the promised route.
I did as
she had advised; I got down
Where the
irritated driver told me -
“This is
colony.” (With an irksome frown)
Now it has
been some days since that meeting,
But there’s
an indelible mark on my heart,
Of the ten
minutes’ (or so) journey where
Something did
end, yet nothing did start.
There had
been nothing special then.
No skipped heart-beats,
no stagnant time,
No jaw-dropping,
no flowing breeze,
No sweetly
resonating chime.
But why do I
hope to be lost again
When next I
visit Bangalore city?
But why do
I hope to see her there in
The yellow
dress, aboard the 500 C?
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