Face In the Crowd

It was quite late. As she gathered her purse, her backpack and her tote bag containing the empty lunch boxes, she wondered how long it would take to reach home. It’s not like she enjoyed working late. She did not like her work or her co-workers, but no one really does a day job to enjoy themselves. Sometimes you had to work late, else they would take her to be too casual or worse still, insincere. Tara was anything but insincere. In fact she was quite diligent, so much so, that she would finish all her tasks within the stipulated office hours. But alas, such is the way of the world, the real work in any office only begins after the evening tea and smoke break. That’s the time when the networking happens, key projects are allocated and decisions are made as to who would really make it. Tara did not want to fall back, that’s all. She was young and she had dreams of making it big. If staying back for a few extra hours hobnobbing with her self-important superiors was going to get her that, she was ready to do so.

As she stood waiting for the elevator to come, she flicked through her phone doing a reconnaissance of her social media profile. Her cousin was vacationing in Greece. Her best friend just got engaged. Everyone she knew seemed to be having a blast. Such happy faces, and such perfect make up. The ding from the waiting elevator echoed through the empty lobby. When do these people have the time Tara wondered. She could hardly get herself breakfast in the morning before rushing to work. The rest of the day is a blur. She comes back to herself only now when she is heading back to her studio flat where a sitcom and reheated food await her.

The traffic is relatively sparse today. The rains have something to do with it of course. She tried to hail a cab but wouldn’t get any. A dimly lit bus floated towards the kerb and she decided to take it. At this hour, she often took this bus, it was familiar and it was the only option. There was no point waiting any longer. She could take this bus and get off at the Post Office. From there her house was a ten minute walk. The weather was beautiful, with the rain washed winds bringing quite the chill. She wondered if she could take a pretty selfie of herself with the moon and caption it something clever, declaring to the world that she too had a life. The bus was relatively empty, but she didn’t have much choice of seating from the half damaged and half musty seats. She selected one by the window near the exit door, which overlooked the rest of the bus. Sitting in a seat which was against the motion made her a little dizzy, but she didn’t want to walk further down the dark aisle. There were a couple of figures silhouetted in the black and white insides of this moving metal vehicle. She looked out at the moon which was peeping out of the clouds just now. How pretty it looked tonight!

All she wanted to do was get back home and get some sleep. Tomorrow promised to be a long day. The month end days were always like this, the crazy hours, the stress, the coffee, the missed emails, the last minute reports - the rush, and then inevitably the crash. Such is life for Tara, and she enjoyed it. As she looked across the several figures hunched here and there, she recognised a few regulars. There was the old lady who always occupied the seat reserved for the conductor. Tara has watch her do it time and again. She always imagined the lady to be some sour librarian. There was of course the man who loved his crossword. No matter when Tara saw him, he would always have the day’s newspaper folded to the size of the crossword as of that’s the only reason he purchased the newspaper. He was always intent, his pen poised on the edge of an important breakthrough. There was also the man with his headphones. Tara was very amused by his affection for music. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him without his headphones, lost in his own world, drumming his fingers on the seat in front of him. Then there was the man in the pinstripes. He was a slight man, with an intelligent nose and a veritable frown always affixed upon his forehead, as if he was bearing the burden of many. Not to forget the cap, the lone one who sat on the last seat. She had never seen him get up or get off the bus. He was always just a presence at the back, brooding and looking intently, from u der the frayed white cap. Her eyes had met his gaze once or twice before and she had been baffled at how unabashedly he stared at her. So when she saw him there today, Tara avoided looking into his face. But she could feel his eyes on her, studying her very move. 

The bus meandered lazily and Tara almost dozed off to sleep when suddenly her phone rang. Her mother had been calling her incessantly to check whether she had reached home. The spate of assault news had set her colorful imagination in motion. Tara called her back and let her know she will be back home in a couple of minutes. Her mother had just started on how she had read something ugly about a single girl returning home late just in the morning news, when her phone’s battery died. These newspapers will be her death! She silently sighed a sigh of relief when her eyes suddenly caught Mr. White Capstaring at her. She immediately looked down, following years of subconscious training to avoid eye contact with any stranger. But just as suddenly as she had diverted her gaze, something in her pulled her back and looked back at him. He was still looking at her. Or was he looking into nothing? She didn’t think much of it and waited for her stop to come. 

The rains had hit this part of the town quite harshly. Some of the bylanes were waterlogged and the drizzling continued. The pace at which the bus was going, she made a rough calculation in her head about how long it would take her to get home and the answer didn’t please her. She fished inside her purse to search for her umbrella. She always kept a small one in there just in case. Tara’s brother often teased her about the amount of things she had in that purse of hers which she actually used and the amount of them under the ‘just in case’ label. There were snack bars, if she got hungry. A small bottle of water, which she always forgot to refill. Once when she was very thirsty and she took a swig, she could swear she saw some algae floating about it. Then there were pens whose caps would invariably come off and poke her like harpoons when she put her unsuspecting hand in, and bills, hundreds of bills and receipts from shopping. Presently she found her small white umbrella with a pink floral motif. She really liked the print and purchased it from an urchin on the pavement outside her office. She held the umbrella with both her hands as a weapon and waited for the bus ride to end.

About half an hour later, her stop arrived and she hurriedly got off without looking back. She clutched her purse and wore the backpack cautiously. She did not want her laptop to soaked in this rain. As the bus rolled away a wave of water splashed on to the pavement ahead of her. The monsoons were particularly harsh to the pedestrians. She started walking, cautiously stepping over bricks which some Good Samaritan had placed so that one doesn’t spoil their shoes. While navigating the treacherous terrain with full concentration, she suddenly saw the bus screech to a halt just a little farther on and a figure leap out of it. Tara had almost reached the fork on the road where she would have to enter her lane, when she unconsciously looked at the figure up ahead on the road approaching her rapidly. The silhouette was wearing a cap. Suddenly Tara felt a knot in her stomach. Why was White Cap here and why was he racing to her? This was not his usual stop. Was he one of those perverted types who chase you down a lonely road and slit your throat? These quiet people can be quite the sociopaths. While her brain wracked with these questions, her body had taken flight. She had forgotten about her laptop getting wet or her shoes getting spoilt. She just had to run to the end of the lane, unlock the gate and enter. The lane was empty like it always was. Even the chai shop was closed because of the rains. On other days there are at least a couple of people there, smoking and making jokes. Even those lewd uncles were welcome today. As she splashed across the street, the muddy water rising up to her shirt, she suddenly realised she would have to stop and hunt for the keys in her massive purse again. If she survived this, Tara promised to switch to a smaller purse and smaller heels.

‘Ma’m’ she could hear a voice behind her steadily gaining on the distance. 

‘Ma’m, please wait’
 
She pretended not to hear and sprinted in full force. Her heel got stuck in a muddy puddle and she fell face first on the concrete road. This is it, she thought. She could have moved to Australia, but she didn’t, she wanted to stay at home. She could have gone bungee jumping with her friends next weekend but she didn’t, because she had to finish a report at work. She could have gone out on a date when Vikrant asked, but she didn’t because there is so much to achieve before getting entangled in romance. She didn’t even speak to her mother properly when she called. She will never speak to her again. May be her mother will just read about her in the papers.

White Cap was here. He looked down at Tara and said, ‘are you alright?’

 Tara pushed herself up and could feel the bruises on her knees and hands.  

“Here let me help yo” he said extending his hand. In his other hand dangled Tara’s tote bag with the empty lunch boxes.

The dreaded cycle

 Every month, there is a particular date which scares me. Around a couple of day ahead of it, I start planning, frequently checking my phone messages and bank account. It’s the day my credit card bill gets generated. I wait for it like a student who has appeared for a test and knows how awfully they have done, they are also very sure which questions they got wrong, so they are almost certain what the ballpark result would be. Yet. 

The morning the bill hits my inbox I am a veritable skunk, spewing stink all over. Why did I have to buy this, or that or the other are the top guilt ridden questions. Let’s face it, I am hopeless at financial planning.  Generally when people make blanket stereotypical statements like women are bad at driving, my voice is the loudest to protest. But when it comes to the stereotype of finances I have to quieter down. I just don’t know where the months keep slipping and so does my money. 

I make plans to keep a check and not make huge purchases or come such. But every now and then something comes up and I am back to square one. When will I learn?

I have tried it all - apps which track your financial pattern, making lists in notebooks, planning out minute expenditures. I start off strong but some day, I slip. Maybe it is that discount on pretty dresses, or the visit to the mall, or that must-get iPad. :(

We’ll, here’s another month almost to the end, I am having that funny feeling in my stomach again. Let’s hope I am better next month. Fingers crossed

Weightless

 I am often writing poems and stories and random sentences which I find pretty and loquacious, but I mostly lose them to some unsaved drafts or old newspapers. So I have decided to bring wha I could salvage here. Here is the first among them. This was a short story I wrote some moths back.

As she stood at the precipice of time and the terrace, for the first time in a very long time, she was overcome by a calmness. All she needed to do was take a step and all will be well, There was of course the weightlessness. Suddenly, all the burdens were lifted magically - she would not have to worry anymore, she would not have to work herself to the bone, she would not have to listen to the constant barrage of others. There for a moment and several moments afterwards she flew, fluttered like a feather blown away by wind. That’s when she realised - she was the feather, going where the wind was taking her, with no agency of her own. All she needed to do was spread her wings. So she took a step back and almost hit the cross-crossing clothes lines, and went down the stairs where real life awaited her.

How do you go on when everything seems to have come to a standstill? Nobody said this will be simple, nobody said it will be easy. As she took each step through the dampened stairwell, she wondered how life brought her to this juncture. Starting over at fifty was difficult , and if that starting over was a matter of heart it was even more so. But love is love after all, it doesn’t know age. Madhura had loved when she was young. It was the love of youth, full of promises and whispers, but it was not to be. The young man who had charmed her off her feet with his witticism and poetry was an intellectual whose politics brought about his downfall. He was one of those many unnamed numbers who lost their lives in some bylane somewhere, gunned down probably. He just stopped coming to college one day and no one knew of his whereabouts. She knew what happened to him, everyone knew but were too scared to say it out aloud. They said he was missing, and from that day she lost her love. She made a silent vow to remain bethrothed to him for this lifetime and that was the road she took. In a family of seven siblings no one really bothered her to get married. The family was happy with her handling the finances. 

Only now, when suddenly life threw a fresh breath of air her way that her otherwise disinterested family suddenly woke up. Rahul was so far away from the young poet who had stolen her young heart. Maybe if he lived, he would be somewhere close to this man? Rahul held her hand and promised a life of comfort and dignity. No more of living in a room which was getting crowded and then over crowded by the hoard of increasing nephews and nieces. As the spinster aunt it was her job to be the babysitter, the caretaker of the parents and the owner of every other odd job that her married and hence otherwise occupied siblings could not take up. Somewhere between feeling sorry for her when grief first struck her and leading their own lives, everyone forgot about the girl and eventually the woman who was tending to a wound. Rahul was perhaps the first to understand and love her more for it. She was never considered a grown up who would have any opinions even though she would be financing things from painting the house to renovating the kitchen. It was only now, in the last couple of weeks, when Madhura told them that she was planning to get married that everyone suddenly woke up. 

‘Getting married! At this age?’

‘ what will people say?’

‘It’s your age to retire and you want to go for your honeymoon?’

‘Have you lost your mind?’

Taunts came thick and plenty from every quarter. Even the young children sniggered behind her back. As Madhura walked down, she thought to herself, all of them were so comfortable till I was paying the bills and behaving like a furniture. This real person with a heart and mind of her own had no place here. She stepped into her room where the nephews and nieces were scampering for space. They fell into a silence as she walked in. Madhura looked at the little faces, all rife with judgement and admonition. She got together a couple of things and started to leave when someone called her, ‘Are you going to that Rahul?’

Madhura looked back and smiled, ‘Maybe. For now I am going away from you.’

And just like that, she flew, not weightless, but soaring.