(UN)-Known

Sudha looked out through the gaps between the flat black railings. Her eyes wandered, screening through the sea of people who were struggling to make their way through the narrow bus door.

“We can’t accommodate anymore back here. Stop pushing more people through,” yelled a stout-middle aged man, squashed between two other men younger to him.

“Will you pay the ticket for two?” The conductor’s voice floated out from amidst the pool of people making their way into the bus. Every now and then one could spot a lean face bobbing out, shining as pearls of sweat could be seen trickling down from every corner of his face, hair pasted to his forehead.

It was office hours and people were in a hurry to get back to their homes after a fatiguing day. The harsh dry puffs of air on their faces didn’t make the circumstance any more conducive for the passengers. Most of them could be heard bickering and complaining about the peak summers and how crowded the bus was getting with each minute passing by.

“Ebar suffocation ey morei jabo money hoye [I think I will die of suffocation now],” an old lady sighed out in exasperation.

Sudha couldn’t hear any of those squabbles. Her mind was somewhere else. And the doorway to her thoughts were her seeking eyes. The warm winds hitting her face didn’t bother her. She was uncannily still and didn’t pay heed to anything around. The woman beside her caressed her child, wiping the sweat off her face every two seconds. The little one suddenly spoke out, expressing her concerns regarding the grave situation she could sense they were in.

“Maa, do you think we will be able to get out of this bus? What if the crowd gets angry and refuses to move? Shall we remain stuck here all our lives or will have to squeeze through those grills to make our way out?” Her face featured a frown at the end of the last question. After all who knew what could happen. And from the looks of it, no one wanted to get off that bus.

After 15-long minutes of what seemed like people shedding their blood and sweat to make a tiny spot for themselves in the bus, it started moving. Sudha’s wandering eyes bore a sign of resignation now. A part of her wanted to scream out loud, ask the bus to stop and wait for him.

‘What if he had spotted the bus but couldn’t make it inside because of the crowd? What if he is running after the bus to catch it now? What if he had died?’

Her mind was racing with all these questions. They had been ever since that day. The same day as today, only an exact year ago.

“Acha Mamoni, I will be a bit late today. My shift got extended and I just got done at the office. They have put me on a new project now. Let me come home, I will explain it in detail. Just don’t forget to switch on the geyser and keep a glass of cool lemonade for me. I will be there in another 45 minutes, I hope. Acha bye now.”

The bus has started moving. She cut the call, scrolled through her playlist and put on her favorite rendition of ‘Aaj Jane Ki Zid Na Karo’ on loop. It had always been among her top 3 favorite songs, but today something within her urged her to listen to only this particular number.

Sudha was particularly tired today. Minakshi had announced that it was time for the annual appraisals. The new work from home trend had delayed it by two months already.

“This week’s performance is the last one to be evaluated for the appraisals,” said Minakshi, slowly sipping on her chai while looking around at the attentive faces in the circle around her. She liked this lot and always kept them updated with information from the HR desk as soon as she got a whiff of it. And as predicted, the new projects were out that day. This was the first time throughout her tenure in the company that Sudha was heading one.

An elated Sudha continued with the day, meeting her team members, briefing them about the clients and sketching out a rough timeline for the project. Before leaving she saw Minakshi sitting in her cabin. She pushed open the door, enough for only her head to fit in.

“Thank you for the heads up, Minsakshi.”

“Oh don’t thank me yet. This is going to be a hectic few weeks for you. And today was just a trailer into the hustle that lies ahead. So make sure you sleep well tonight. You might not get to for quite sometime now.” She smiled back at Sudha.

‘Oh wow, just when I wanted a break after the handover today morning. I am so screwed.’ And that’s the thought with which Sudha left office.

Bus No. AS3 had been her mode of commute for the past five years now, ever since she started working for this start up at Sector 5. The metro services were restricted to the city-side only. For decades now, this area has still been up and coming. The daily commute of more than 13 Kms everyday was indeed becoming quite a lot to bear.

‘I have to look for a place to shift post this appraisal project. Mamoni and Baapi can join me there. What’s the point of staying in the city-side after his retirement. He doesn’t need to travel for work anymore. Moreover this side is so much cleaner and greener. They will enjoy it.

‘Only Mamoni might feel a bit lonely without Maasi. Maybe I can convince Maasi and Mesho to move here with us as well. We will stay across from each other. I must talk to Shikhar. We both can convince the parents.’

Her string of thoughts were interrupted by the rattling sound of a steel object hitting the creaking floorboards of the bus. She looked up for a second and noticed a man picking up his bottle. She couldn’t make out much of who it was amidst the crowd. He bent down to pick up his bottle.

The vehicle had aged quite a bit. Chunks of the floorboards had come out with only pieces of wood being taped to prevent people’s feet from getting stuck inside the gaping holes. Sudha could feel the springs of her seat poking her behind as the bus jerked at every pothole on its way. The inscriptions within the vehicle guiding people as to where to sit had all gotten worn out and there lay layers of paan stains on the sills of the windows in the bus.

These weren’t rare occurrences though. Public buses in Calcutta could often be seen in this state. Some even had massive cracks on their windscreens and window glasses. The city of joy has been famous for the random strikes being organized due to the slightest inconveniences in the lives of the people. Such is the passion of the highly aware people dwelling here. And somehow it was always these public properties that bore the brunt of their heightened awareness. But despite the poor state of these vehicles, the public buses were considered to be one of the most reliable modes of commute in the city. Come hail, come pandemic.

The seat opposite to the ladies section was empty. The man proceeded towards it, and settled himself on the seat, arranging his bag on his lap. The bus was pretty choc-a-bloc, but those familiar with buses in Calcutta knew those seats were reserved. Though most of it had gotten peeled off, the E-N-R C-T-Z and half an N could roughly be translated to “Senior Citizen”.

Half way through the journey the bus started emptying, as it did everyday. Sudha had drifted in and out of sleep a couple of times, courtesy to the rhythmic movements of the bus coupled with the beautiful voice of Farid Khanum. The bus came to a sudden halt, as a car passing by tried overtaking it, getting cornered in the process. Both drivers started exchanging abuses while the conductor urged the driver to keep moving.The chaos woke Sudha up and brought her out of the daze she was in. Amidst all the commotion, their eyes met for the first time.

She could feel a sense of familiar calm seated deep within his eyes. Neither could look away, completely aware of being the other’s subject of gaze.

“Will you play with my doll and me once you are back?”

“I promise I will, dear. Till then listen to mummy and finish all your homework on time. Then we will have more time to play with your doll.” He kissed the child and left.

“Papa, I can’t find my doll,” the kid cried on the phone. “Will you bring me another one? I have finished all my work and I am waiting for you to be back. But what shall we play with now that I have lost my doll?”

“Sure baby. Tell me what kind you want?”

“Blonde one draped in pink and blue please.”

The rest was a haze. Police officers filling in a room. A woman carrying a child silently watching a body draped in white cloth being brought in. One of the officers said, “We are sorry your husband was in an accident.”

The child looks confused and asks “Mummy, why is Papa so still? Let me go give him a hug, he will feel better. Mummy! Mummy?”

Tears roll down the woman’s cheeks as she stands against a wall, stroking the child’s head.

The wailing cries of a child brought Sudha out of her trance. She looked around her. The passenger next to her was watching a movie where a child was crying. But there was something more to it. She had felt the cry come from within her. Only she wasn’t crying.

She looked up. Their eyes met again.

‘Did he see what I saw too? Did he feel what I felt too?’ Sudha wanted answers.

She wanted to rush to him and talk to him. There was a sense of sudden urgency gushing through her body. She could see him now. She had noticed him when he had dropped the bottle but hadn’t paid much attention to his appearance.

He was tall and bony, with thick glasses, whose rim was seated on his nose quite firmly. A lock of his grey bushy hair fell on his forehead while the rest was all tousled. He had a sharp face, a clean shaven one. His once ironed white shirt paired with Khadi pants were all crumpled at the end of the day.

The only thing he shared with Sudha though was the look in his eyes. His eyes, though hidden behind the thick lenses, bore the same curiosity as she did.

“Oh dada! Namben na naki [Will you not get down?]?” The conductor gave a tug on his shoulders. Though it was him that the conductor tugged at, both seemed to fall out from a parallel world. The shock of it made them feel both embarrassed and intrigued at the same time.

“The bus is waiting for you to get down at your stop. How long will you make us wait huh? Don’t misuse your status as a senior citizen. Other buses would have just left without dropping you. Now come fast and get down unless you want to pay more and continue your journey.”

The passengers around were thoroughly annoyed. One even made a comment on him staring at Sudha.

“Dadu howar boyeshe eram kaaj ke kore. Meye dekheni jano kokhono [Who behaves like this at his age. He is behaving as if he has never seen a girl in his life].”

Neither of the two blamed the man. No one in that bus would ever understand what had just passed between them. No one in their lives would ever understand it. They couldn’t comprehend it themselves at this point. And Sudha only assumed that his delay assured the shared confusion about the exchange that just happened.

‘Could it even be called an exchange though?’

He got up and the conductor held him by his arm to help him make his way through the crowd to the gate. And with each step that he took, Sudha could feel a deep sense of loss rise within her. She could feel herself inch closer to wailing like she had heard the child in the other reality that she had just envisioned. She looked at him as he got off the bus. A part of her wanted to run and follow him. Sit him down and pour out the details of what she had just seen.

‘But what if it was just me? What if it was a dream and he was in fact uncomfortable with me gazing at him the whole time?’

She decided against it and remained stuck to her seat, though every bone of her body suggested otherwise. The bus started moving and she knew she would never see him again. Not on this bus, not in her life.

“Didi! Namben na [Won’t you get off]?” The conductor gave a light tap on her shoulder. She felt herself being pulled out of the memories of that day.

Muttering a soft “sorry” under her breath, she got off that bus.

The picture of his appearance had slowly started fading out of her memories. But the shared images, and yes by now she was sure that it wasn’t an isolated vision, were etched in her memory, fresh as a painting on a canvas.

As she walked on, she passed a shop where the owner was watching a movie on his television set. The words on the screen brought a smile to her face. She read it out in her mind — ‘Jaatishwar’. It translated to ‘a man who can recollect his previous birth’.

She didn’t know if she believed it. But she was content with having seen the man. Having felt the familiarity she had with him that day. It reminded her of a distant home, not the one she lived in with her parents. And the memory filled her with a deep sense of intriguing fulfilment, just as it had that day as well.