Being the rainy season then, I
hurried up my work, and left my cabin at sharp 6.00 pm. Rain has always been
the green meadow for the poets and romantics, but for me, it was nothing more
than a forerunner of epidemics, which always had the capacity to beat my immune
system, but I loved to watch it rain, from under the blanket. No sooner than I
was on the rim to cross the traffic jammed M.G Road, the dark clouds winked a
drop on my cheeks. All my fingers worked helplessly to get hold of my three
fold Popy umbrella in my bag, but they failed drastically, as I remembered, it
was resting peacefully in my office’s table drawer. The idea of getting wet, and then boarding a
heavily crowded transport bus, for which you are just another gymnast on the foot-board, made me to shelter down myself under a roadside tin sheeted shop.
Very soon, I had more members to share my oxygen with. The monsoons had always
made me realize, how populated my nation was.
Residing on the borders of Ernakulam
district, I have to board 3-4 buses to reach my office in Kochi. It’s terrible
in the evening, as the last bus to the remote but beautiful village of Vadakkumpuram,
leaves the North Paravur Town at 8.05 pm and the next option available will be
to get down on NH-17 and walk 3 kms towards east. It was getting dark and the
very idea, made me to get out of the shop veranda and charge in the drizzle,
towards another roof, neatly avoiding the gutters, like an experienced frog. Playing
this hide & seek, somehow I managed to reach the Ernakulam Jetty bus stop,
from where I had to board the bus to Kaloor or High Court and from there to
North Paravur. By that time, the clouds stopped sobbing and started flashing
their cameras on me, as if we all standing there, were celebrities. My Fastrack watch ticked 6.45 pm.
The moment I saw a glimpse of the
bus Shamsila with a board Kaloor, somebody tapped on my shoulders. I turned and
saw a boy with an old man. The boy without making any eye contact, asked me, if
I could help the old man to board the bus to Thevara, the way opposite to
Kaloor. By that time my bus braked at the stop. I just denied his request in a
hurry and climbed the bus, but as I turned, I saw that the old man was blind. I
felt sorry for denying. I got down immediately, avoiding the tantrums of the
bus cleaner, and went to them. They were still standing there helplessly under
one worn out umbrella. I asked the boy,
as why he couldn’t help the man. He said the man was blind by birth and that he
himself was partially blind, and by evening, it becomes too difficult for him
to be on the road and it’s painful to have the piercing headlights into the
eyes. They lived at a nearby social welfare institution for blind people. I
assured to help the man and that he could leave. The boy thanked me with
gratitude and left in the drizzle. I made sure that the umbrella covered the
old man neatly as we crossed the road carefully and walked towards the bus
stop. We stood there for long to get a bus, in silence. Finally when he boarded
the bus, I made sure that he was given a seat. I asked the conductor, to drop
him at Thevara and paid his bus fare. Before I took leave, he kissed my hand...
I looked at my watch and it was
already 8.00 pm. Since there were no supersonic transport services, which could
cover almost 30 Kms in just 5 minutes, I crossed the road and waited for the
next bus to come. It started raining more heavily than before. I got fully drenched. By the time I reached
the NH-17, it was past 10pm. It was still raining heavily. I walked towards the
east in the rain, with a soothed soul...
