A Pissimistic Affair

“Bhaiya, bus hawa mahal jayegi kya?”, I asked the conductor standing by the bus. I had just arrived in Jaipur with my cousin after attending his sister’s engagement. With his confirmation we boarded the bus. After spending so many years in Kolkata, commuting through buses, it was a delight to see an empty bus like this one. But my happiness was short lived as people began to battle their way into the bus. I somehow managed to get myself a seat and placed my backpack on the floor. My cousin settled a few seats behind me. The next time I saw him, he was dozing. Open mouthed. Sometimes, luck just doesn’t seem to be in your favour and I find myself giving up my comfort to the lady who had just entered the bus with a baby in her arms. I stood behind the driver’s seat , resting on it, with mixed emotions — one of pride, for doing some public service and the other of agony, for the journey was tiring. Technically, it was not a baby. A year old kid maybe. The reason I used the pronoun ‘it’ for the kid is because I couldn’t determine the gender. In India, all kids, whether a boy or a girl, are dressed usually the same. Lots of oil on hair. Bracelets on wrists and anklets on ankles. Unisex tracksuits. And that one thing that all little ones have in common — the supernatural ability to cry at the top of your voice. Sadly, this one was no different. But then I asked myself, “Aren’t kids supposed to be cute?” I searched for evidences of cuteness through those little watery eyes. Found none.

And all of a sudden, my chain of thoughts was interrupted by the old man sitting beside the woman. He was getting restless. I suppose he was nearing his destination.

Finally my bums will rest. Alas, he surrendered his seat to me. And soon as I claimed it, the kid resumed wailing. For a second I thought of giving him company as the cushions on the seat almost fractured my hip bones! But then I realized that I would have been no match for him. I lost the war before fighting it. To hide the shame, I drifted into my world of thoughts. I was wondering whether we could reach the campus just in time for the 9:15 session when to my horror I realized that the baby was standing on my lap, staring me into the eye!

What are you doing here?! I’m not your Mommy!! I looked sideways for an explanation. His mom was going through her belongings, searching for something.

Kid must be thirsty. But what she pulled out from her handbag was not even close to a water bottle! Lipstick?! Now?! Are you kidding me?!

With one hand she painted her lips and with the other she held the baby. On my lap. I looked into the kid’s eyes.

You have a talented mother! You’ve got a lot to learn from her.

It was weird that she took 10 minutes to do that. Was she trying to create three layers of it on her lips? But then its difficult to understand women, isn’t it? (I refuse to debate any further on this.) I so wished that I could have a younger female companion instead of her. Or at least her abandoning the seat that she occupied next to me. “Rokko Rokko”, she yelled. I was all smiles.

Wishful thinking perhaps.

I let out a sigh of relief as people started getting off the bus. With half the bus empty again I felt it easier to breathe. It was beginning to get cooler. A bit more cooler around the left thigh.

Strange, isn’t it?! I felt the outer side of my left thigh. It was wet. I shot my eyes at the door. I saw the kid looking at me as his mother changed his pants! I knew you both were upto something!! She put the baby on my lap just to let him piss?! Aargggghhhhh!!!!!

The engine shivered to life. You owe me a PISS OFF little fella. This time i’ll flood you with mine!