“I will be there in the next 30 minutes” said my hubby and
hung up. It was 8.30pm, Thursday night and I was on Karve Road. I had completed
all my work there and had just found out that I had to wait another half an
hour to go home. Not knowing what to do next, I strolled on the footpath. The
shops were closed so I was lucky to find a decent flight of steps to lodge on. I
realized that it had been ages since I had sat in such a place and at such a
time. It was during the good old college days when we used to hang out on ‘Kattas’
and spend hours together.
But, today I was alone and I did not like it. I should have
been home by now. I had to still fetch the kids, cook, eat, clean up, make the
beds, and prepare for tomorrow. Every time I thought of the things to be done,
the task list just kept increasing. How
can I sit here doing nothing, when there was so much waiting to be done at
home? I was becoming impatient now. I checked my watch. It was just 8.32pm.
I thought of calling someone to calm my nerves. None of the numbers
got through. Even my phone had got discharged! Fate can come up with such variety of excuses
when something is just not meant to happen. It somehow ruthlessly makes you
stop in your tracks. It was 8.35pm. Still twenty minutes to go without a
telephone, no radio mirchi, no one and nothing.
I was perched on the topmost step, tired, hungry, impatient, lonely,
frustrated, helpless and in vain.
I saw a group of youngsters laughing over something. They
were so full of life and energy, not bothered about the late hour or the
traffic or the pollution, not worried about any tasks list waiting at
home. I remembered our days and our
katta time. How we used to sit hours together and did nothing, talked nonsense,
yet we were building our lives bit by bit without stress. This recollection
calmed me down.
I could now feel the gentle breeze. It felt good on my skin
after eight hours of air conditioning. I could smell the early June air. I
tried to guess the fragrance- some weird flowers, wet mud and some polluted
air. I saw the traffic on the road ahead. All the tail lights were on and the
line of cars now looked like a pretty red necklace, with some crooked beads of
trucks in thebetween. I could see a
couple arguing in the car, another cozying on a mobike. A mother was explaining
something to her child and then a driver changing radio channels. Amidst the sound of the cars honking, I could
hear a dog barking, the pmt bus conductor going ting ting, the pav bhaji guy
playing drums on the tava and a splish of water on the hot dosa tava. The whiff
of the delicious pav bhaji made me hungry and I pleasantly thought of the dish
I could cook at home.
What initially looked like chaos, now looked like a scene
from a movie and I was actually enjoying it. I was in a bigger world. I was out
of my task list, emails and my mobile phone. I noticed everything I had missed
out. The new buildings in place of the old wadas, the little Gulmohar tree
which had now grown full bloom, the chai tapri which had now turned in to a decent
restaurant. I could trace everything back to history. I saw a guy waving at me from
behind a car and then I realized my hubby had reached. I checked my watch and
it was 9.15pm.
Time always flies by no matter what we choose to do. But my
time there had taught me a lesson. I had learnt to accept the situation, see
what is around me and recognize the changes that have happened. I realized that I could be alone, but I will
never be lonely, so long as I use my senses.
