He was a lanky youth
I had just started wearing saree
We took the Chartered Bus from the same stop in the mornings
It was my first job
With a meagre salary
Fresh from College and a sheltered cocoon
I was naïve, shy and saw the world through rose tinted shades
I knew he watched me covertly
Though he sat at the far end of the bus
Where the seasoned men played cards
The ladies sat in front and kept to themselves
I did not know much about him
Sometimes in the evenings
We again happened to take the same commute home
A few months later I got a seat next to his
By choice
He said he was a year younger to me
I was crestfallen
I had read about "the tall, dark and handsome "
Who knew how to deal with the world
Whom the girls of marriageable age swooned over
"The most eligible bachelor ..."
The mothers crooned to each other
But he knew who to choose
The innocent virgin.....the one who would surrender to his ways
Without a word of protest
From that day onwards
I ignored him
I did not know about him though
He knew too many things about me
And then he stopped coming in the bus
I wondered why
But that morning...
We bumped into each other one last time
He told me he was being transferred
To another city....?
I too had my plans of shifting base
We did not say good bye
But just crossed the road
Without a word
I towards the bus stop
He towards home
Oh yes! We were neighbours
A few years later
In the Puja Pandal
Saw him standing at the far end
I had come over for the vacation
It seemed he still watched me from the corner of his eyes
Greenish brown fringed with curly lashes
We never spoke of course!
It did not make sense
My life had taken a different bend
Away from his
And I had too many plans which never matured at the end
Still...
Long time after
Again during a vacation
I saw him walking into the Puja Pandal
Holding the hand of a girl child
A dark woman by his side
His pale skin had a deep tan now
He wore a pair of spectacles
Elderly....serious....responsible....a family man
Undoubtedly
Yet for a moment he was startled to see me
Still the same perhaps
Quiet, introvert, too stupidly naïve
They say some ties do not have a name
Was this one of those?
I am not so sure
Yet in lonely leisure when I muse over
Those days...
Once I had got a second hand text book
With beautiful poems written at the back
Was it his?
He had said he had a passion for music
Did he ever sing a song with me in mind
That's stupid.....you know
We had never kissed
Or said "I love you"
That was too cliched
We never got that close
It was just a look, just a smile, just few words
But
I still remember the colour of his eyes
His walk and that quick side way glance
Making wordless poetry on a wet dusk
At the fag end of life
Decades later
Shared with Poets and Storytellers United
