Was it Love?

 This happened in the winter of ’90 when Pradeep was in his second year of college completing his graduation. Like so many others of his ilk, he had lazily frittered away the first year in lolling about the college campus, indulging in interminable adda sessions with his newfound friends and freedom. Now after a sobering reality check at the fag end of the sophomore year the possibility of failing in the term end exams dangled like the Damascus blade over his head. He knew he had to slog now to make up for the lost time. To supplement his studies he started taking private tuition from a Professor of English renowned both for his erudition and eccentricity. This fountainhead of learning resided nine kilometers away from Pradeep’s suburban nest. As the pundit conducted his classes early in the morning, thrice a week, it became imperative for Pradeep to be up with the birds and commute by the local bone-shaker (read public bus) to his teacher.

At the breaking of first light he reluctantly uncurled out of the warm cocoon of quilts and soft bolsters. Then followed the time-tested ritual of shaking off the lingering somnolence with mugs of scalding black coffee. After sufficiently waking up his sleepy limbs and half-asleep brain, he would just about manage to hotfoot it to the bus stand to be in time for the first bus out of town. 

  During one of those early morning bus rides, Pradeep had a unique romantic experience, which became poignantly etched onto his memory and survived the rough and tumble of Time’s passage.

   On that dry chilly winter morning when Pradeep had reached the bus-stand the place wore a forlorn and near-deserted look. Except for two or three fellow sufferers who were all wrapped up against the raw breeze, a stray mongrel and a scruffy waif could be seen hugging each other for warmth in a doorway. A little down the road two wiry men could be seen unloading bright plastic crates stacked with frozen poly packs of Soya milk from a blue van. The ozonic morning air was heady and exhilarating. The usual gray smog had not yet smudged the starched wrinkle-free white shirt of the smart morning sky. From a roadside peepul tree, the coarse cawing of crows rose above the incessant racket of other smaller avian performers. A baby’s intermittent bawling and the sonorous clattering of a dudhwala’s cans sounded the birth pangs of another new day.

  Soon the bus showed its square battered face, as it came around the bend, and scrunched to a halt at the stop. All the waiting people boarded it without any mad scramble for seats and Pradeep settled down beside a window. The conductor in his faded khaki uniform, tugged at a cord above the door tinkling a tiny bell in the driver chamber and with a lazy shrug the bus began to move.

  In the rear end of the bus, dozing on one another, there were some jute mill workers, homeward bound after a grueling night shift, four or five staid-looking men going to work, an orange robed baul cradling his ektara, and a couple of gaudily made up paan chewing eunuchs complete with their dholak and attitude - these were his fellow companions on that fateful morning. After buying his ticket from the conductor, Pradeep turned away from this motley assemblage and gazed out of the window to while away the time.

  The bus halted at short intervals, passengers alighted and boarded, everything was as boring and banal as before, Pradeep continued to look at the peeling cinema posters and colorful graffiti stained walls from his window seat. His reverie was suddenly broken at one of the halts by animated chatter and soft giggles. He looked up and saw that a group of schoolgirls, smart and spruce in their white uniforms had boarded the bus. They were all efflorescent in the tender bloom of adolescence, vivacious and sparkling yet shy and gawky at the same time. Although the spectacle of such budding beauties was pleasing to the eye, our student tried to look away as it seemed lewd to ogle at leggy girls going to school.

 Now the dreary view outside held no charm for Pradeep. He forced himself to gaze intently at the rows and rows of passing gray houses. But his ears were ringing with the lilting laughter of the girls. His mind churning with agitation Pradeep soon gave in to the temptation and began to steal covert glances at this bevy of winsome beauties taking full advantage of the jerking motions of the bus on the bumpy potholed road. He avoided their faces, kept his furtive glances low and was trying to pick up snatches of their conversation, when a small movement by a pair of fair feet caught his eye. It was quite involuntary and natural, the instep of one feet rubbing behind the ankle of the other feet. Pradeep was fascinated by this action, which instantly reminded him of a little rabbit washing its face with its fluffy paws. With bated breath he looked up at the owner of those feet, and was flushed to see that the girl had noticed his riveted attention but continued to chat coolly with her chums. His throat became dry and Pradeep stared blankly ahead, trying to appear impassive. It was useless as his whole being was being stretched out like a bungee rope plummeting earth bound in fervent anticipation of her next reaction when it happened again, the same movement, the same feet, and this time it was not involuntary - it was deliberate. Pradeep searched her face for expression, but the girl refused to even acknowledge his look.

  At the next bus stop she got off with her companions, but before going she cast a sidelong glance at Pradeep. He felt that he saw a wisp of a smile in those sparkling brown eyes, or was it only his fired up imagination? Our pupil completed the rest of the journey in a daze and remained absentminded throughout the day.

  The next tuition day our Romeo eagerly awaited his Juliet’s arrival, but when the flock of chatty schoolgirls came, he looked away. After a few moments, which passed like hours, he glanced at the rows of graceful feet. Then it happened, the same movement, the same feet, Ah! She had come and she had not forgotten. This continued for two or three weeks, but except for her eloquent feet, never a word passed between the besotted student and his silent seductress. It was enough for both to have their own secret way of communication without anyone ever guessing.

  Christmas brought delicious cakes and gifts for many but for our Romeo it had no joy because the schoolgirls had holidays. Now he brooded alone on his early morning bus rides waiting impatiently for this cold unfeeling vacation to end. But when the school reopened she had vanished. The rest of the girls were all there except her. He scanned the feet, then the faces, but she was not among them. What could he do? It seemed awkward to inquire about a girl who had waggled her feet at him. Yet how much did it mean to him. Anyway poor Pradeep didn’t have much time to mourn his loss, as the University exams loomed colossal upon his head. Now everything else had to be swept aside and the boy had to bury himself in books, photocopy notes and cramming sessions.  

  Time flies as is it's nature. A decade has elapsed since those misty winter mornings, now Pradeep is slaving in a private firm, struggling to provide for his wife and two kids. When he is not drudging overtime in the office you will find him standing in the local ration shop queue for kerosene oil. Like acne the gossamer dreams and lofty ambitions of youth have passed. Now Pradeep has stoically adjusted himself to this clockwork grind of labour for his daily bread. He still takes a bus every morning, but not to some eccentric professor who would unravel the beauty of Shakespeare’s sonnets, but to a cramped office cubicle where a Scrooge-like boss is waiting to yell at him for being five minutes late.

  A few days ago, one morning as Pradeep was dozing in the bus on his way to work; his nap was disturbed by shrill cries. Opening his eyes he saw that two noisy preteen boys followed by their bearded father and a podgy mother who was clutching yet another wailing baby in her fat arms had boarded the bus. After silencing the two boys with a couple of clouts on their heads the hirsute patriarch propelled the frumpy woman into the Ladies Seat and himself stood towering over her.

His slumber jarred, Pradeep muttered something about people who keep on producing children without having the slightest notion of rearing them. He was about to resume his nap when a familiar movement caught his eye. The fat woman with the suckling baby under her printed synthetic sari was rubbing her feet together. Could it be possible after all these years? He looked up, under her ghunghat, her florid face was devoid of any emotion, but in her brown eyes there flickered a wisp of a smile. Even after all these years she had recognized her juvenile admirer and was telling him so in the only way possible – a little rabbit washing its face with its fluffy paws. Time flies but some moments are timeless...