Boredom Thrown Away

Boredom Thrown Away 

I was bored. And maybe everyone around me was bored too. My mother, my father, my sister - all were bored. I guess, boredom was bored too. The same sun everyday, the same moon every night, the same waking up every morning and the same dozing off every night. In fact, the daily things between waking up and dozing off were same too. How repetitive! I know, repetition brings charm and emphasis; but that's in poetry, not in real life. Well, poetry is my life too, huh, but jokes apart. All days were alike as if they were cast out from a single metallic mould and all activities were rehearsed as if they were parts of the same play ignored by spectators.

A notice from my college gave a major break to this monotonous routine. Inspite of submitting all my documents, I was called a week later to see those expressionless, straight faces of the workforce who faked the most unusual smiles on greeting the freshmen and freshwomen of the new academic year, to place in their sweaty hands the proof of our eligibility and to stand impatiently in a never-ending queue full of co-impatients hoping to get out from there. I was going to do this job for God knows how manyth time; by now I had almost learnt every detail on my form and certificates. But alas! Repetition - a part of my unadventurous life - after all.

***

The lack of excitement in my vicinity had forced me to take interest in ordinary daily things. As a result, I had halted infront of my not-so-large rectangular mirror wondering how this four-sided plane reflects me as an absolutely round figure. I pulled my right chubby cheek just to find out that the not-so-me round girl in the mirror pulled her left. Well, she looked like me too. Tall, beautiful, okay I must say fat, but equally adorable, cute, confidence gleaming in her deep-set brown eyes about her first ever solo bus journey, dressed in a black sweatpant and a white tshirt that read MAAFI MUSHKIL in a humongous black font. I was busy instructing the girl in the mirror to style her brown wavy hair that lurked behind her ears when I heard my mom call me out from her neatly maintained kitchen.
"The bus won't come at our gate to pick you up, you have to go to the stop, better be quick in your actions. Did you have your breakfast? " she said in synchronization with her hands that skillfully washed utensils.
"Yes," I answered loudly. I had eaten a plate full of lemon-yellow coloured, lemon flavoured poha, the vapours of which condensed inside my small nostrils and the hot poha numbed my tongue everytime I gulped hurried bites.

Exactly nine minutes and twenty eight seconds later at 10:42 a.m., I reached the nearest bus stop just to unfortunately find from a woman laden with a woolen scarf that the bus I had to board had just left, leaving behind clouds of black smoke and a rough noise indicating the wear and tear of its internal parts. Having no other option left, I waited patiently for the next bus. Maybe the first bus wasn't destined to heft my bulky body, so that it could move in a superfast speed, obviously, according to government bus speed standards. The next bus came with a speed that would have let a turtle win against it single-handedly.

I boarded the bus that was assigned the route from Kothrud Depot to Hadapsar via Tilak Road. It endorsed a government scheme launched for the welfare of undergrad students. I don't know why but the smiling faces of the kids on the advertisement sticker made me grin too.
"Get in fast, get in fast. Ticket bola," the busy, big-moustached conductor greeted me with his regular dialogue.
"Please give me a ticket to SP College," I said.
"That will be 15 rupees," demanded the conductor.
'Chaak' came the sound as he tore a little paper grandly referred to as a ticket. I sat on the first visible seat pondering on how this tiny chit from a little machine confirms our big seat in the big bus. Strange! The unbearable chaos in the bus was proportional to the increasing number of vehicles on the road - all honking together in unison. Monday blues were clearly visible on people's faces which were worsened by the impatient drivers shouting aloud a few slang but authentic Marathi foul words especially used for the ones cutting lanes, turning without indication and the thing Pune is famous for - wrong-side driving.

Contrary to all this was the calm driver of our bus, assigned to take us to our desired places. He overlooked the mayhem on the grey road infront of him and patiently waited for every passenger to enter and exit the bus; the passengers who would otherwise risk their lives by running behind the bus dedicatedly to reserve a seat for themselves or simply stand with several others, their breaths and sweat odours mingling together graciously to create a claustrophobic atmosphere in the already crowded bus.

The giant, heavy weighted vehicle drove past Mrutyunjayeshwar Temple (temple of Lord Shiva) which was loaded with a mass of devotees for the weekly occasion of a Monday. Keeping pace with the ever-growing number of people visiting the worshipping place, the shopkeepers were making a good business, as visible on their satisfied faces. Vibrant coloured, fragrant flowers and garlands, uniquely shaped sweets and towers of fresh coconuts heavenly added to the spirituality of the place. 

The bus ceased at a stop where an elderly couple made attempts to get inside. Considering the time their pale and aching joints would take them to board the bus, I deviated my vision to observe things taking place at the backdrop of the stop. The metro project was being worked on with a serious purpose by the government. Metro workers of various ages, sizes and heights stood on the newly-built pillars as they observed lustrous metallic bodies in motion below them that were capable of causing numerous types of pollution. Some active men from the group were busy aligning the ready-to-rust cylindrical iron rods and some other exhausted companions of theirs were relaxing under a shade, pearls of salty water racing down their greasy faces. 

The suspended handles in the bus dangled against each other - as the bus followed the rule of the red signal - proving the sonority of the metal they were made up of. Few young and able-bodied men who had sacrificed their seat for the aged ones, clung to these danglers and rested their stiff backs and bulky heads against the rods. An electric board displayed the name of the next stop in bold letters. A trio of three working women was busy gossiping about the absence of the fourth lady from their group. Children giggled and their faces lit up at the idea of one of them sharing chocolates with his peers. Few old men approaching the age of 60 years were dressed in white dhotis and white shirts, and were engaged in observing various emotions that danced casually on people's faces. Staying away from this chaos, I preferred to sit at the observer's desk - the window seat - peep out of the window, press my head against the bars that prevented it from falling off.

I could see the not-so-long 'Lakdi Pool' approaching. The bridge is now well-constructed using stones, cement and iron replacing the famous 'lakdi' in its name. Two bikes raced the bus, enjoying the freedom of being allowed to travel on the bridge now. Several bridges ran parallel to Lakdi Pool that helped individuals reach the heart of the Pune city. They made a web-like structure if keenly observed from a height.

Some ten-odd minutes later, I jumped off the bus and entered my college. Shikshan Prasarak Mandali's Sir Parshurambhau College - the board read with enormous pride. It welcomed its dear faculty, students and alumni with extreme warmth. Next couple of hours were spent with great tolerance and stoicism. I had to make several trips to the xerox machine so-much-so that every time I went to fetch a photocopy, I felt as if it greeted me with a 'Hi'. If it wasn't for that day, I would have never believed anyone stating that a few duplicates of the original document and some nominal printouts can bestow on you a bill of more than hundred rupees. For it was my friends who deliberately required a great economic support from me and the 10 rupee notes borrowed from me each were going to affect their futures heavily. The joy of meeting overjoyed peers resonated ecstatically in the air but was greatly suppressed by the constant cluttering and fluttering of white papers and crinkly yellow documents.

Following these events at the college and after ensuring that I had emptied my bag bottoms up at the teacher's table, I ran towards the bus stop enjoying the weightlessness of my bag. I waited patiently for a Kumbare Park bus but the next ten minutes failed to show me the same. Without testing my forbearance further, I stepped into the Kothrud Depot bus that was the earliest. It took a sharp left at the Lakdi Pool biding adieu to the popular road mostly celebrated by youth - Fergusson College Road. FC Road is also a reason of pride for Pune city. Dotted with food joints like Vaishali, Roopali, Wadeshwar, FC Chat House, it serves a great feast for the traditional foodies of Pune. Shopping centres with various mini stalls and small shops overflow with cool and cheap goodies and attract numerous youngsters in the 17-27 age group. FC Road Social, The British Library are other notable landmarks on the famed one way. The road bustles with peers chilling on the roadside. Uncountable friends, couples, classmates, colleagues witness its juvenility everyday.

The link of my youthful thoughts was successfully broken by an imaginable and soothing aroma of the unimaginable delicacies being served inside Harshal Hall where two youngsters who possibly after roaming on FC Road in their 'young' days were tying a knot today. My mouth watered as I just thought of the scrumptious food. The hall was decorated with a wide range of colourful flowers and golden lighting. Traditionally attired and jewelled beautiful women marked the auspiciousness of the special day. In contrast to the ecstasy and enjoyable atmosphere inside the hall, at the entrance of it were two poor families begging for a living. The children looked malnutritioned and their mothers looked extremely pale. The men tried to sell inflated helium balloons at the traffic signal but their overall belongings were limited to their tent and a handful of tattered clothes. I suddenly turned gloomy at the extreme contradiction between the two situations. I felt sympathy for the family but I just couldn't do anything at that moment.

The upliftment of my mood into a happy one was helped by a professional man in the bus who exclaimed with joy, "I'm going to become a father. Hurray!" He couldn't contain his excitement and evidently from the call, his wife could not too. The wide grin on his fair and handsome face explained the exhilaration he felt at the thought of taking good care of his offspring who was about to bring joy to their family within a year and increase one more proud member of his clan. Everyone congratulated him with great enthusiasm in their voices and a couple of elderly aunts even went forward to give him certain tips he was supposed to convey to his dear wife. The laughters in the bus howered till I had to unwillingly step off on my stop. For the first time, I had seen a humble conductor laugh along with the passengers.

Beautiful thoughts of the awestrucking day, that had successfully pulled me out of my boredom, lingered in my otherwise empty head. I was startled by a euphonious voice that became louder as I got distracted from my musings. A nut-complexioned, tall man neared with a pleasing smile. He started ranting something that I couldn't hear at first. My observant eyes were engaged in scanning the unfamiliar man. He had worn a white kurta that was frilled at the bottom. It was paired with a crimson coloured dhoti. The broad borders of the white kurta read 'Om' and other words from the holy text. Pearl necklaces and rough-textured, brown-coloured beads formed a garland around his neck. An artistic orange-coloured cap which looked like that of a Santa's hat covered his head making the length of his hair invisible. Several peacock feathers jewelled the cap. He kept a musical instrument handy. It took me some time to realise that he was a Vasudev. High levels of perplexion dashed my face. His pale eyes gleamed with an unknown but powerful energy.
"I am a Vasudev. Please give me some money" he kept saying.
I unzipped my bag to reach for what he wanted. I couldn't find any. Instanly I recollected the incidents at the xerox machine of my college where my needy friends had spent all my money.
"Sorry. I don't have any." I confessed.
The man had locked his eyes in mine and ranted something.
"You are going to become very successful in your life. Your future is glorious. You are a blessed child. Your parents will be proud of you" he said with full conviction in his voice. I was baffled.
"I don't have anything." I repeated, repetition returning to my life again and I readily ran in an attempt to escape. His eyes followed me till I disappeared. I stayed stunned. The Vasudev that used to visit me when I was a toddler used to be completely different. My grandfather used to take us to him. He always seemed trustworthy. But this man who was ranting and raving infront of me a few moments ago was a complete contradiction to the idea of the term 'vasudeva' in my head. I had always known Vasudevas who continuously chanted lord's name, who never asked for money, who never gave future ideas but always bestowed blessings, unlike him who used hypnotism to earn money.
"Thank God I didn't have money. But what would have happened if I hadn't used those notes for my friends and would have given them all to him? Would he have just stopped there?" I thought to myself as I struggled to come out of his hypnotism. I was puzzled as to what expression would my mom see on my face when she would open the door - excitement of those wonderful moments of my first solo bus journey or deep thoughts of the latest incident?

Disha Thosar