Wednesdays
are very flat days, tasteless as ice, and no feelings to their name. But this
was no ordinary Wednesday.
I
carried a book. I would need one. Reading in public is not my forte but then
idling is depressing. John Greene’s ‘Fault in our stars’. A masterpiece of its
kind. I needed the book to make time move. Sometimes too, a cultured read is
the wall standing between me and insanity.
That
and prayers.
My
thumb pressed between pages, keeping the book open. I read in bits.
Occasionally, I raised my head to think, to break, to wander, to match a body
to movements on the entrance to the right. I was bored.
Men
in suits and ties flocked in, ladies too, in formal wear and heeled shoes. Cat
walks. Slow modest steps. Average working-class lads. You could tell. Joyless
as hornets. I never bothered to catch any faces, after all I had a whole
semester for that.
Time
is a good thing.
“So
this is it?”, I thought to myself, looking around at the indoor picturesque.
Not that I had expected anything else in particular.
The
room was silent. No words were exchanged. Muffed up sounds came up
indeterminately and thumbs fiddled with phones. Heads were bent down like
un-watered plants as they typed away things and swiped over and over and over;
scrolling through texts and pictures on brightly lit screens.
Busy.
I
read.
I
had sat at the back. Alone. The rows and rows of velvet blue, cushioned seats
that slanted upwards were now mostly filled up. I remember the feeling of
strangeness at the sight.
Over
a reading break, I lurched my weight forward, resting my elbows on my thighs. I
was uncomfortable. I had to shift. The worn-out cushion didn’t help much and my
butt hurt. I moved one seat to the left, right behind her.
She
typed away on her phone.
Peeping
Tom.
The
WhatsApp message was to a number saved as UNK. Whatever that stood for. I
entered her private space. It became our chat. I hated that moment. My sudden
fixation with her private conversation.
Deep
sigh.
I
closed my eyes and leaned back. Mortified.
Reading.
Thoughts.
Wandering.
My
intrusion to her conversation left my mind dangled on a half-plucked narrative.
A puzzle that begged to be solved. I constructed what I thought was her chat.
And deconstructed it.
Was
she texting a boyfriend?
Hi babe. Won’t see you tonight.
Her
father?
Hi dad. At the orientation right
now. So excited!!
Her
workmate?
I think I need a raise. This shit
might be too expensive for me.
A
man went up the stage. He spoke and spoke. Our journey began.
Long
evenings of learning things would follow.
This
is about people I have gotten used to. Strangers that I know.
Friends.
I
belong now.
Being
in the right place is exhilarating. Its artistic how we move from the
unfamiliar, unknowingly yet willingly, to the familiar. Seeing the blurred
lines of strangeness whizz off.
Outlandish
spaces become our new homes.
Mama
said I should go out and explore the world. And win. Her words;
You
have to try your best.
Keep
the faith.
Pray.
You’ll
win.
I
remember these words. The light they ignited. The fight the raised. But you
know it gets darker and thicker, and harder. The war, like dough, grows with
time. Makes you gulp. You slide into places you never thought you’d belong. You
seek help. A friend. I wanted a friend.
Then
comes a friend.
A
stranger that you get to know.
I
tapped on her shoulder. “One stranger won’t hurt”, I said.
“What?”
“You
are here for the programme, right?”
“Yeah,
of course, yeah”.
“Well,
I was wondering if we could be friends”.
“Sure.
Pleasure to meet you…”
“Peter,
I’m Peter”.
We
walked to the bus stop. Took few words to get the awkward chit chat out of the
way.
“I’ll
see you on Monday”.
Hug.
I
turned and watched her disappear into the maze of people. Gone and present; her
scent and warmth dawdled behind.
Her
scent hang; a trail of happiness in the air. Her lingering warmth brimming a
certainty of friendship.
Nothing
beats that.
.
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