I am walking on the roadside, suddenly increasing my pace to a sprint as the rain drops hit my body. I am running for cover, and all I can see in front of me, is a bus stand. Thankfully, it is just the right thing that I need. I have to catch a bus to go to my uncle’s place. And because I reached the stand just when it started to pour, I was among the first to wait under the cover. Slowly people start to pour in. The scent of rain can be so addictive, but couple that with the stench of sweaty people in a crowded bus stand is a real put off… I frown at my luck, unable to enjoy moment. But then, just then, something happens.
I overhear a small conversation. It’s between a rickshaw puller and the passenger. It sounds like an argument. It seemed that the passenger was overcharged, with the puller taking advantage of the sudden rainfall. But the passenger has the fire, and quite successfully manages to win the bargain. I have not set sight on the passenger yet, the crowd is too overpowering. Well, I do not have to wait for long.
A bus pulls in. I glance at the number; it’s not mine. But this bus manages to pick up almost all the people waiting there. None dare to get off the bus, the rain is too hard. As the bus pulls away, I see only a few people waiting at the stand. There is an old couple, a young and thin bespectacled man, and two women. I am looking at the road, and see the haze of rainfall cover the busy street. As I shift my gaze, I am distracted by a voice. It is the voice of the passenger. And I see her. She is standing at the end of the stand, close to the road. She is dressed in a floral pink top, tightened around the waist with a satin black belt. Her slender limbs are drenched in the rain. Her tiger striped sandals are now soggy and muddy. In her hand she is holding a large bag. It looks to me that she has done some shopping. And it looks like a special day; I cannot help notice a large bouquet of pink roses in her hand. Lucky girl, I think to myself. I have not yet seen her face, for she is looking towards the road. Lost in the sound of the falling rain, I am still looking at her. And that’s when she turns around. And I hold my breath.
No matter how hard I try to describe what I am seeing, I know that I will never be able to get it right. It is a perfect sight, just flawless. There is a child in her eyes, yet she carries a look of maturity with ease. She has a well chiselled face with perfect cheekbones; eyebrows curving over her surma outlined thin eyes, a prominent jaw line highlighting her slender pale neck, her pink lips running thin as she occasionally stretches them to a grin, revealing a cute set of teeth and a faint dimple in her cheek. As the wind blows, I watch her earrings sway delicately, her matted and wet hair fall on her face. With her eyes closed, she raises her head, and with her slender fingers, brushes aside the loose hair. Her nose ring glistens like the drops of water on her wet skin. I am just smitten by the sight. To escape the hard hitting raindrops, she moves towards the seat of the bus stand, where I am seated. She stops next to me, and sits at the empty seat beside me. I look in the other direction, but occasionally cast a glance at her. I now get a scent, similar to baby powder. It is so captivating, just as the person wearing it. Just then I look at the incoming traffic and let out a sigh of despair.
In the distance, I see a bus heading to the stand. I recognise the number. It is my bus. Now stuck between wanting to stay, savour the moment with this perfect stranger and heading to visit my uncle, I have just a moment to make a split decision. As the bus pulls in to the stand, I get ready to leave. But when I get up, I cast a second glance at her. Then I am lost. I sit back, looking at her. Thankfully, she is looking in the other direction. The bus halts, and two people disembark. I still have time to get up. But I am still sitting. The old couple are now moving to the bus. Funnily, the old man is taking time to climb into the bus. It felt as if it was a sign from the Rain Gods to get on that bus while there was still time. But then, I chose otherwise.
My bus drives away and at the back of my head, I know that it would be long before the next one pulls in. But I comfort myself, with the fact that I am sitting next to a pretty one. Many thoughts run through my mind. I think of various ways to approach her, to strike a conversation, build a contact, maybe even a relation. But I am faced with a major hurdle; I cannot help but ogle at her looks. And just when I muster courage to approach her, something happens.
A taxi pulls up at the bus stand. Out of the window gestures a young man. The other man and woman at the stand go to the taxi. Seeing the opportunity, I decide to speak to this stranger. But then I hear the woman by the taxi call out, “Arre yaar! Jaldi aana!” She was calling out to my stranger. To my luck, or bad luck, this stranger immediately gets up, and heads to the taxi. I now realise that she was with the other man and woman. I look at her, with a long face, at a chance that I missed. I watch her call the person out of the taxi. Surprisingly, the rains had ceased to a drizzle. The person who gets out of the taxi, is also bespectacled, but wearing a purple kurta. I watch her face glow along with the other two as they all greet the new face. I look at him in remorse, envying his luck of having a company as her. Then I see them giving the large bag to the guy from the taxi. And I see my stranger giving the bouquet to this man too. All this happens as the other two laughs out. Amusingly, the new face is visibly embarrassed. I let out a smile, realising that it might be his birthday. And just as I am thinking, the guy is reluctant to take the flowers. That leads to more laughter from the friends. Finally, the guy accepts the flowers and hastily ushers the friends and my stranger into the waiting taxi.
The taxi drives away and at the back of my head, I know that I have made a fool of myself. And I laugh at my stupidity. I know that it’s a long time before the next bus to my uncle’s place pulls in, but until then I know that I will be preoccupied with my chance meeting with a perfect stranger…
( I wrote this piece for a friend, who really enjoyed my birthday dinner. She wanted me to write about that evening... So I wrote this piece, keeping her as the central character...
She like it, in the end...)
