How People Miss The Bus

(1)

Leo turned over to ignore the strange chime coming out of her lips. She was about to thank him for saving her from the wicked inferno at the risk of his own life. Instead she started humming a mechanical Fur Elise. When he recovered from the anti-climax, he realized that it was his pink alarm clock, alarmed at his extended slumber. She went up in a smoke; a smoke composed of his boss’s disgruntled face, the tailpipe emissions of the chartered bus and the kiln of the street urchin at the corner of his office. He begun his bargain- how would an extra five minutes make or mar his career. His auto had broken down on the last four occasions he reported late; his mind, in the hazy mode, combed the alleys of reason for a potent excuse. Fit of pernicious vomiting? Food poisoning seemed to be the in thing with canned food and all…so mushroom it was.
Even after the initial five minutes, his hunger was hardly appeased. But this time, the angel in Snowy managed to persuade him to forsake the bottle of Loch Lomond. After a whirlwind tour of the loo, the chase seemed evenly poised- an auto rickshaw didn’t loom large with all-pervasive certainty. Neither did the necessity of an infected mushroom. Ole’ Murphy ensured that the lock hid itself mischievously in some obscure nook, all the socks smelt of rotten sardine and the landlord had something of national importance to say- something about a particular filament of the bulb in the store room. But he wasn’t to be easily daunted; he kept his cool, performed the trivial with stoic efficiency and made a dash for the stop.She always waited for him to pass her by with an appreciative glance for her, so that she could return it with a ‘You disgust me’ look. But that day, he didn’t even spare a micro-look, secretly apologizing for the break and unknowingly increasing her interest in the daily duet by leaps and bounds. As he took a turn he spotted the monster approaching amidst a confusion of dust and Santros. He stepped out, only to be stopped in his tracks by a cruel quirk of the traffic lights and a surge of wheels from the opposite direction. Immediately, a quick glance at his watch- he would be late. Yet again.

(2)

Rajshekhar was far off playing his first match for his club and was in the process of hitting his fourth consecutive boundary, when she asked-
“Rajshekhar, what would be the valency of Oxygen?”
Silence.
“ Did you get what I asked?”
“Ma’m, Oxygen, ma’m…; I think…I know...Ma’m, it is..is it…4?”
“Excellent, I congratulate you on this path breaking discovery. Why don’t we prepare your Nobel speech at 4’o clock in my room?”

There goes another evening with friends down the drain, he thought. But he quickly compromised with the situation and promptly went back to his cricket field where his team (and the cute girl from the seventh) was depending on his crisp cover drives to get them home.Summer was particularly merciless that summer, and the Sun made it a point to squeeze out an “uff” from every pair of parched lips in the city. The golden bath of daytime was cleansed in the virgin sweat of the people just out of shower. The ice-cream vendors were having that extra sabzi for dinner that season and women from conservative homes were picking on apparels as being the first harbinger of revolution. In short, the scene was set for the protagonist of the annual play to make a grand entry- a thundershower. As he watched from his detention chamber, the clouds had formed a makeshift green room, where the actor was going through his last minute rehearsals. And soon enough, there brewed a storm of titanic proportions, and when it came into its own, started ripping out normal activity from the heart of the city. However, here was no rain; somebody was pelting hailstones.
Something in him stirred as he desperately returned his glance towards the tormentor in front of him. The tirade was in full flow, with cross-references to disastrous report cards and his untapped potential and the rest. It wasn’t obviously affecting him in any way- the only thing which was making him restless was the possibility that he might miss the first (and possibly only) hailstorm of the season. That too, due to the ongoing balderdash. For the little pieces of ice was more precious to him than rubies and sapphires and emeralds. Thankfully, he was still untouched by Mammon.When the ordeal was over, it was still raining. And that prompted him to make a last ditch attempt. He was skipping stairs when he rushed, and slipped once, blood-letting to get to one singular piece of diamond. He didn’t mind; his was an age where blood is cheap when compared to a kite out of orbit or dark digestive pills sold by the Nowhere Man. As he finally faced the torrential downpour, he found that it was merely large raindrops that pilloried him. The last piece of an once robust hail was shining near his feet, already decomposed into a semi-puddle. A semi-puddle which despite being made up of multi-refined rainwater, reminded one strongly of the tears of a 14 year old.

(3)

He was locked up for months now; and wasn’t enjoying it a bit. The walls of the prison were slimy with a reddish-grey tinge. His only contact with the outside world were the occasional taps on the same walls. Though voices came floating in knot of unknown languages, he could hardly dispel the thought that his freedom was now a matter of chance. Who were the people outside? Disillusioned citizens of an alien land, discussing how to best use the captive to cull out a chunk from the country map? There were no answers. His captivity, his despair, his loneliness- all added to the misery of the pink chain which tied him down to the floor. Not that he had anywhere to flee, it was just the sheer notion that the fulcrum of his universe had been imposed on him, which was frustrating. The situation, however was better than the initial shock…..

When he came to his senses after a prolonged blackout, and found himself cramped in a smelly, slimy chamber tied down and clamoring for air, he wished for death more than once. From that initial state of utter lack of hope, he reasoned himself back to contention. For if he was indeed left to die, why would she supply him food from suspicious looking conduits in the wall? There must be a purpose, he thought, a desired end to this torment. She took care of the basic necessities and at the turn of three-quarter of a year, he could somehow feel that he would be released soon. The food was getting better by the day, and the mumbling outside was increasing in amplitude. Maybe some negotiation had come through; some terms of freedom had been equilibrated. On his part, there was no symptoms of any Stockholm complex- he could murder to be free. One morning his heart leapt at the sight of a thin ribbon of sunlight coming through the passage leading to his cell. The day, it seemed, had arrived. He could sense a huge commotion, as if a train carrying a matinee idol was pulling into a crowded railway station. Slowly and steadily the ribbon grew into a sheath, as he could clearly see helping hands trying to pull him out of his hole. The walls of the prison were reverberating and pulsating in a strange rhythm, as if speaking to him…urging him to flee immediately before disaster could strike….It was an earthquake, or was it? He was right at the opening at the end of the passage.

Suddenly he felt this suffocation as he slowly saw the world emerge literally like the light at the end of the tunnel. He was pulled out by the rescue team in uniform and all, his chain was severed, but something was terribly wrong. Maybe asphyxia, maybe days of cramping, for some mysterious reason he felt that the candle was flickering like an excited grasshopper, he was slipping, and slipping fast..“ No, I must fight…”

He scraped all his energy from his body and channeled it to prepare for a last ditch attempt to hold on to the planet. He was kicking for a floor to the swimming pool, something to hold on to, something to anchor his life- he was desperate. He wanted everyone, and most importantly himself to hear his scream of life. He shouted aloud, he sought the reassurance of a prosperous pulse, he shook his fist- but to his horror, found that he was unable to move a single tissue of his, he was frozen for prosperity. He could hear people shouting, slapping and shaking him all over, but slowly he found himself melting into nothingness like a sad memory…..“Mr………, the mother is safe, but I am sorry, the child was a still born……”.