A Conversation Over-heard.

A Conversation Over-heard.

I was on my way back after a long day at work. It was one of those inconsequential days, days which you don't seem to remember. Days similar to many others which are easily forgotten. I call them 'filler days', days that exists to fill up the calender between days you tend to remember. It was that point of time in my life when filler days had become mainstream days. So now if someone did ask me when this particular incident, that I'm trying to recall here, happened I would be lost. 

For the sake of argument, lets say somewhere early 2013 or late 2012 ( Post the Mayan-calender-inspired apocalypse). 

As always, I am seated in the last seat of my '40A' (In those days it went by the name '210A'). It was a pleasant evening, the sun not out yet. My bus had reached a traffic signal. It had stopped. I was lazily gazing around, ear plugs taking care of the outside world commotion. It was then, that I spotted them.

A man and a Women. Lost deep in a conversation.

What had made me sit and take notice of them, was the fact that they were having a very animated conversation. They both seemed consumed by it. There was a lot of hand movements involved. 

I sat there in my bus dumbstruck, looking at this middle-aged man and woman, having this wonderful conversation. It seemed to amuse them. They were happy. They did not care about the rest of the world. And the World in return, drowned them in its chaos. 

The same Chaos the rest of us tried hard to keep out. Noises that were avoided with earplugs that went deep into our heads on either side. I looked at my fellow passengers in 210A, hardly a few who chose to endure this genre of music. And them standing there, on the footpath nearby, cheerfully lost. 

They were standing near the signal that stopped the evening commute back home for rest of us. There were more vehicles than the road could take. The ever so present 'honking' song by these vehicles, each contributing to it. These was so much noise that I found it hard to hear myself. 

I looked into their world from outside. I wanted to be a part of this world they created. I wished I knew how to break this barrier. 

But I did not. It was a world of their own. They did not notice me, nor anybody else. 

Nothing else seemed to make sense to them than the person opposite. Nothing else mattered. 

I was 5 feet away and I couldn't hear them. It was not because of the vehicles or the commotion.

I couldn't hear because I wasn't meant to. The harder I tried to listen in, the farther I felt. I knew I couldn't hear them even if I was standing right next. 

I couldn't hear because they weren't communicating through words. 

They were speaking through hand-gestures. They were Deaf. 

In these times when our words falter to convey our basic feelings, I find them screaming out their's without it.

Sound did not seem like a necessary medium if you really wish to speak. 

I felt happy for them. 

In that frame of time I was even jealous of what they had. 

I wished someday I could have a conversation so deep with someone else that nothing else seemed important anymore. 

And I knew I wouldn't.

Village bard

  Its only words,                    
And words are all I have,
To take your heart away.

These lines play in my head over and over again. A song long forgotten by its masters. I hide beneath this song, for it makes more sense to me now than before.
I am seated in the last seat of the 40A route bus. I look out and see the world go about its daily routine. People going places, Places meeting new people. I am  apprehensive of the person I'm sharing my two seater with. I do not like strangers getting too close to me.  And she switched places, I spread my legs and hog the seat again.
It is a bright beautiful day, a Monday. I sense bangalore's morning yawn, I too contribute to it. My bus snaking its way through the undergrowth. A Sea of people in rectangular boxes engulfs 40A, we wait for the signal to turn Green.
I continue to stare at the world passing by through the dust strewn eyes of the bus. I see the exact same places I have been seeing for the past 23 years pass by, with the exact same curiosity. I am stuck here. I have grown roots into the undergrowth, I am part of it now. This city has been my life so far, I feel it's trying to consume me. I want to escape. My 40A is stuck too, on a road too narrow for giants together. Slowly its master trying to untangle the knots. And we're free again.
I talk too much. I am the village bard. I sing along about the merry times and make valiant plans. But I'm too drunk to live it up. A drunken stupor that I call life, too intoxicated to walk. Will I ever make it? Self doubt hangs around my neck, a dead weight.

Give me an hour each day
The guitar I shall play

One of the many promises I make to myself. When will I ever stop.

My bus continues to haunt smaller streets, and I myself. Do ghosts ever feel haunted?

I shall stop now.

Stop.

The will and the want

I unplug my ear plugs. I pause audioslave to listen to the city breathe. The weather God's seem to be smiling at us today. Masons going to work,  vendors setting up shops and software engineers unplugging ear plugs. The day has begun with the chilly winds and the stale garbage smell. How do I make this day any special? I want to do something drastic. Something that would make me escape the system,  even for a little while atleast.
The want always high,  the will not so much.
Today is going to be different. I will make it so.

Walking back home

The sky is grayed out. And I'm on my way home.  A familiar feeling engulfs me. A nice soothing sensation. Reminds me of a time long forgotten. Oh I miss this feeling. The smell of fresh earth. The impending showers. The innocence of a child's play. The scent of a defined hope. 
The lines are moving at a slower pace. People and vehicles intersecting the race. A long way from home I watch this happen. I'm not in any hurry today. This scattering of lives interests me somehow. The dusty old trees go past. Everything seems to slow down.

Everybody seems to be going somewhere. Not a soul standing still. I look at their faces and find an unusual calmness. Even the wild cows of the city and the stray dogs seem to resonate this tranquility  Can a simple drop in temperature or the darkening of the sky be the reason? I wonder.

I am going back the same way I had come. But feels like a different route. The familiarity is lost. I just passed by a playground.  The walls painted with bright colours. Celebrity sportsmen full of colours. The finer details missed.
My bus has stopped at a makeshift market place. A market place and a traffic signal. One maybe the reason for another. Together they exist in harmony.

I am beginning to believe that my bus driver doesn't share my same sense of calmness. While I navigate through my thoughts at a deliberately slower pace, he's rushing through a narrow Street.

Wish I could write down exactly how I am perceiving this evening. Not everything. Just when my surroundings seemed beautiful i see a man relieving himself. Sometimes life just ruins a perfect setting through small imperfections. Again I wonder if perfection is a myth.

Movie posters adorn every wall that has no threatening prosecution messages. The people in nation have something against following the law. We have all broken it sometime or the other. And not once maybe a million times. Maybe we're programmed to do otherwise. I wish we do better.

The heavy lunch doesn't seem to be agreeing with the philosophies of my stomach. And yes my bus driver is a professional racer. This ride is looking more like a part time job for him.

I am almost home. The final stretch remains. This was an interesting ride. Something different from the usual.  The weekend is here. The hopeful two days of freedom. How is this going to be different from the last? How am i saving the world this time around? Let's find out then.

Thank you for listening.