Most
of the times, life shows us its various hues when we travel. It may be so because
we fulfill the most ancient and core pre-requisite of gaining wisdom-‘to be a khanabadosh’. Yes, to be a nomadic.
I hadn’t a bit ready to absorb the experience that life offered me on a day in the winter of the last year.
I
was travelling through the city-bus in Pune. As I started my aimless journey at
dawn on a fresh, chilly day of December the bus was treading the road with not
more than a dozen passengers aboard. The old hats were glued to the newspapers.
They were reading the news with so much concern as if having lived life for
about sixty years they found nothing as significant as peeping into the lives
of murderers, rapist, politicians and film-stars.
I was sitting at a window seat. As per my
program of the day, I started observing the passengers.
Some college girls climbed up the bus at Shivajinagar
square and I found the incisive chill breeze got pleasantly warm. The eyes that
had become the part of the newspapers now had a more beautiful sight to be glued
to. I wriggled a couple of times in my seat to indicate a vacant place so that
the air around me would become a little more bearable and worth smelling with a
beautiful presence on my left or right. Given the enough vacant seats to even
sleep on, the chances for me of getting a pretty neighbor was one in a
thousand.
The
Conductor checked the tickets. I showed my bus pass.
Some
school-children and office goers entered the bus at Balgandharv. And an elderly gentleman rushed to take the
seat beside me. He looked weak and thin. As if the age had taken over him fast,
he looked liked a pre-aged person. He was about to sit beside me but as he
looked at me he stopped suddenly. With the mixed expressions he stepped back
and went straight toward the front side of the bus and stood there. I was puzzled
to see his reaction on seeing my face. He was staring at me. I couldn’t bear
his gaze nor could I look away from him. His face was tensed with pain, grief
and confusion.
My presence has affected the old man and his presence
had swept away my peace.
His eyes had become the kaleidoscope of his emotions.
At the next moment, he took away his eyes from me. I sighed in relief. He was
trying hard not to look at me.
‘Deccan Bus Stop’, the conductor yelled. The bus
stopped suddenly with a push. Some more passengers thrust themselves in. I searched
for the old man. He had got down and walked to the other side of the road. I
could see the tears rolling down from his eyes adding to my bewilderment.
I got down
forcing my way through the packed bus. I ran right in front of the man who had
ruined my peace. He stopped and observed me from head to toe.
I felt as if he was in a dream and I was the part of
it.
He sat on a bench on the footpath. The pain in his
gestures was unbearable but I couldn’t leave him there as I felt I was
connected to him somehow.
After some long, tensed moments the old man mumbled
some words. He asked me my name then smiled in disappointment. I didn’t get
why.
He said, “would you like to come to my home?.....it’s
not too far”
I wanted to say ‘no’ but couldn’t.
Within five minutes, we entered a characteristically old
Puneits home. As we were in the front hall, the old man showed me a photograph
on the wall on my left.
I didn’t know how much time had passed after the
photograph caught my attention. I was sitting on the sofa. The old man was
beside me holding a glass of water. I pinched myself on my left hand. No it wasn’t
a dream.
The photo-frame on the wall was holding the image of
my own self. The same eyes, the same face with the same smile. I read third
time the dates below the photograph-
Born on 22 April 1985 and died on 4th
August 2014.
Now I got the reason why the old man was shocked after
seeing my face. He had lost his only son just a month before.
The old man tried to tell me something. I gulped down
the water and hurried out of the house unable to speak anything, unable to
figure out if my encounter soothed the heart of the old man or it just darkened
his profound grief.
