The backseat of an overcrowded bus is the last place you want to be after having spent your day trekking up and down a 10-mile trail at a Himalayan foothill. Sure, the view at the top from earlier in the day included soaring scapes of distant snow-clad mountains interspersed with verdant valleys of pine forests — enough reasons to convince yourself that your Instagram was a few uploads away from getting a makeover, and that all the sweat and occasional slips en route the climb were worth it. Then again, the trip back to my Airbnb (which was located far enough for it to be affordable enough) had to be made — even if it meant putting up with the state transport authority’s cost-effective choice of investing very little in maintaining roads or comfortable public transport services.
All things said, the bus did have live cricket commentary croaking out of its radio.
But when it looked like even the Indian top order was letting me down as they crumbled under yet another formidable Australian pace attack, I chose to take my mind off the radio for a bit and look around for someone to talk to. Among the other rant-worthy features of the bus was its poorly lit interiors — inadvertently reflecting the gloominess of the ride itself. For the same reason, I couldn’t see much of the man seated next to me and had to rely on intermittent flashes of light which fell on our faces every time we passed by a street light. I could see that there was a cloth bag held tightly between his legs which was tall enough for him to rest his head. His clothes weren’t particularly visible either although it seemed long and loose enough to seamlessly blend into the cloth bag. The spotless white shade of his incredibly thick beard reminded me of some of the snowcapped mountaintops from my trek.
The man probably realised that I was looking at him and quickly swivelled his head towards me.
It’s awkward enough to observe someone for this long but it’s probably more awkward when you get caught in the act. This was probably the one time I was happy about the shoddy lighting inside the bus, as I pretended to look beyond him at whoever else was sitting beside him. The man then offered a toothy smile and nodded slightly, with his head still perched up on his bag. I returned a grin while carefully shifting my eyes back to the back of the seat right in front of me. Now that the tables had turned and the man was quietly looking at me, I had to make conversation or allow myself to be observed by a stranger in a bus for an uncomfortable period of time.
The weather outside was quite pleasant but I decided to complain about it to him anyway.
‘You’re right. It’s usually a lot nicer at this time of the year,’ he remarked before going silent again. And just like that, he shot down my lazy attempt at small talk. “Have you trekked at Triund before? The view at the top was absolutely stunning,” I persisted, hoping he’d at least make up a story about the trek and the view and continue our chat. ‘Oh many times actually,’ he replied. ‘I used to enjoy coming here with my brother many years ago. It was a lot less crowded back in the day.’
‘Perfect! I don’t have to rack my brains for other topics of conversation for at least a little while longer,’ I said to myself. ‘Yeah I wish I’d made this trip earlier. I used to barely get time off work and probably wouldn’t have come all this way if I hadn’t resigned recently. Never too late to catch a break I suppose.’
For someone, who I could now safely assume was at least older than my father, I was hoping he would be a lot less inquisitive about what I did for a living — just so that I could avoid delivering yet another monologue about what a digital marketer does for a living, to someone from a generation which still believes that computers are ‘bad for you.’ The man fortunately didn’t say much apart from expressing how mine was a brave decision to take — especially, in his words, ‘at such a young age.’
Funny how we both took the liberty of assuming how old we were.
‘There are so many things I wish I’d done back when I was your age. Not like I regret any bit of the life I’ve had. But it doesn’t hurt to look back and reflect a little, you know,” the man mumbled. I selfishly foresaw where this conversation might be heading and didn’t say anything apart from nod in agreement, in an attempt to not get pulled into his sob story. Unaffected by my curt response, he continued, ‘Make sure you write about this trip of yours when you get the time. It’s always nice to remind yourself about something that made you happy.’
The bus groaned its way next to a stop as the man squirmed around a little to get up. ‘That’s my stop I guess,’ he sighed as the passenger next to him took his cloth bag and held onto his arm tightly. Among other things, the dimly lit interiors of the bus had also managed to hide the man’s handcuffs.
