It was a hot afternoon in Chennai while I was waiting for a bus to Velachery at the Central bus stand; of course when it comes to Chennai, 'hot afternoon' is only redundant information. The sun was blazing with a vengeance, with a spirit to kill, and I could literally see dead spirits rising up from the tar roads.
I kept sipping on some cold Miranda while I anxiously checked for every Volvo that came by, for the magic number, the bus I had to board. I couldn't wait to hop into one of them. I knew the air-conditioning and the pleasant Tamil music from the radio would be heaven on earth. "An Illayaraja hit, maybe?" I thought to myself.
Like the waves in the ocean, one bus followed another, but my sweet-honey kept me waiting for a solid 15 minutes before it could caress my senses with the blissfully chill air from its ac vents. 'Kaadhalin Deepam Ondru' was mid-way as I stepped in, I could feel my strained sun-burnt soul slowly bloom to the music and smile. I truly felt rescued.
I sat at a two-seater, facing the driver, took out my book and started reading; as I always did. The bus was at the terminus for about 5 minutes. At just about the 5th minute a granny with her daughter and grand-daughter entered the bus. As the bus began to move forward slowly, the granny panicked and held my hand gently to maintain her balance; I responded reassuringly. Her hand was moist and as tender as a tissue paper, she gave me a warm smile of gratitude and said 'thanks ma' in a feeble and shaky voice. They sat next to me – the daughter next to me, the granny and the grand-daughter on the opposite seats facing us. I felt compelled to put the book away.
The granny seemed like a messiah of the Indian middle-class housewives from the 70s. Humbled by the world around, cautiously clinging onto the new breed of men – her educated and independent daughter and grand-daughter. The daughter was a confident and attractive women in the early forties, wearing an elegant kurta that finely accentuated her figure. The grand-daughter was a chirpy looking young girl, with a healthy dose of puppy fat still left behind from her teenage days.
Granny (with a slight tone of embarrassment): "As one ages, fear catches on more than wisdom does! What's your name ma?". "Sita, paati", I responded.
The conversation then went this way.
Malini clearly seemed to have rubbed the oldie on the wrong side. The granny turned towards the window and stared out, murmuring a little something to herself. Shruthi who was busy texting until then, said "PHOENIXXX" and continued to fidget with her mobile. A few minutes of silence followed, making me uncomfortable and I was wondering if it was the right point to gracefully exit the conversation and go back to my book. As if the granny heard my thoughts, she stepped in to keep the conversation going, "Those days when your grand-dad was there, he used to take me to so many places".
The tension was mounting; the drama slowly unfolding in front of me was clearly more charming than the one in the novel.
That was the final nail for me, I had to intervene! "Why not just stop by for a quick tour of the place and a cuppa coffee and leave?! She seems to be very keen and it might be her last time out – at her age one never knows".
I was still frozen from that stare and couldn't musk up enough courage to utter another word. Shruthi and paati knew that the final verdict was out; a stoic silence ensued while the bus rode on. Suddenly, the bus came to an abrupt halt, as if it couldn't handle the drama any longer. Some engine over-heating, and it wouldn't move until the radiator cooled down. We all got out of the bus in dismay, and bang in front of us stood the glorious 'Fenus Mall'!
Malini smiled and let fate override her word!
Image source: By Kforkanish (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons, for representational purposes only.