TWENTY MINUTES

Every day, the wait for the bus was longer than the time taken for the journey. Still after a long day, one didn't mind the wait at the small bus stop. The place swarmed with school children who intruded into the office compound nearby plucking gooseberries and rose apples from the trees there. The crowd would diminish slowly with every passing bus.

Her bus was usually late and when it came, there would be a scuttle with around twenty kids with their bags running to board the red and yellow colored battered Tata vehicle. Once inside, the other feat was to find a breathing space with a firm foothold for the next twenty minutes. The bus would reach a stop every three minutes and one had to bend and budge to allow the messy maneuvering little passengers get down the bus.

It was during one such journey that she caught a pair of eyes that remained fixed on her. He was on a window seat, comfortably sitting and staring at her. She could feel the rush of blood to her face while she turned her gaze to the passing greenery outside. The surging annoyance, which she gulped down, did not stop her from stealing a furtive glance at him before getting down from the steaming bus. He was there at the same place; his gaze still unaltered.

The next day, before boarding the bus her eyes scanned the windows. She found him again, at the same place. His eyes found her too as soon as she climbed on to the bus. This time she was more embarrassed than annoyed. She tried to hold her face away from his gaze to satisfy her wounded modesty. He seemed to be unaware of the trembling of her heart because his eyes remained fixed on her face as in a trance. She could turn herself around and deny him the sight he obviously longed for; she did not do it.

She discovered that a little bit of kohl on the eyes and a deep red bindi added to her beauty. Her hair was long and touched her waist. She rolled the small locks around her broad forehead with her fingers. She replaced the gold bangles on her hand with colourful glass bangles. Every time before boarding the bus she adjusted her beautifully plaited hair; which often drew admiring eyes.

The twenty minute-long silent affair continued every day except a few occasions when the red and yellow bus missed the date. His eyes held her as if in a spell. She held her most elegant poise that the moving and swaying bus permitted.

Days and weeks his eyes pursued her in the bus relentlessly. One day, while climbing on to the bus, she felt the warmth of trailing eyes missing. She noticed that he was there on the same seat but was not looking at her. His eyes were focused down at an open book in his hand. She wondered what there was in the book that had caught his persistent eye. She stood there glancing stealthily now and then at him to catch his glance. Twenty minutes and he never looked at her. The story was the same the following day. His impassive eyes seemed to be locked on to a page in the book in his hand.

Slowly, she realized that some other thing of beauty had seized the day dreamer’s eye. She smiled to herself. She felt liberated like a model released after the painter finished his portrait. She stepped down the bus with her open hair fluttering in the evening breeze. The smile lingered on her face as she was walking down her path home, oblivious to many other pairs of fascinated eyes staring at her.

MY SANDAL STORY ;)

 
I had pampered my feet wearing the comfy pair of sneakers.So I was having a tough time while wandering through the shops in the mall in sandals. 

We were there to wither away the two hours as our two sons watched ‘Iron Man 3’ in the multiplex on the fourth floor. I had put my hands up when I heard they wanted to watch that movie. I had no more patience left to sit and watch cartoons and science fiction movies wearing the 3 D glasses. Their father was even more vehement. So we decided to book the tickets only for the boys. While they watched the movie, we would ‘window’ shop in the mall below.

I had finished revolving my eyes around the entire length and breadth of the shops in the third floor resisting all temptations. There were three more floors left. The escalator was on the other corner of the floor. The lift was taking a long time to come. At that time, I spotted a staircase by the side and decided to climb down to the next floor. It

was a stairway which led to the parking lot on the second basement. My feet were aching so much that while I was on the second flight of stairs, I felt like stretching my right foot which I immediately did. I was holding the railing and standing at the right end of the stairway. That moment my sandal slipped out of my right foot. Before I could scream after a gasp, it plummeted down and reached the second basement with a thud.

I got a glare from my husband who was a couple of steps ahead of me. I gave him one of my usual stupid smiles as there was nothing else for me to do other than wait there and allow him to run down the five floors and retrieve my precious sandal. There were no other souls around. No one else bothered to take the fire escape stairway on a hot summer afternoon when there were enough escalators and lifts inside the building.

I limped down one flight of stairs in one sandal while my husband ran down the stairs. He yelled to me to keep an eye on the sandal lest someone should grab it before he reached the spot. I wondered why anyone would want to take a single sandal but kept it to myself as it would have been murderous to counter him at that point of time. Thanks to his regular exercising regime, he was back in no time, triumphant holding the sandal in hand.

For rest of the staircase, he made sure I walked by the side of the wall. Inside the mall, he insisted that I buy a pair of shoes and do an immediate switch from the sandals. Unfortunately (for me - but luckily for him), I could not find a comfortable pair in any of the shops. Rest of the time we spent in the mall, he diligently kept me away from the staircase and ensured we went up or down by escalators or elevators only!

ALL FOR ICE CREAM. :)

I love tapioca. My mother loves it too. But, nowadays when I visit home I rarely get to eat this ‘poor man’s delicacy’ at home owing to the soaring blood sugar levels of my mother and grandmother. So, whenever I see tapioca in the Kerala store here, I lean towards it. The messy cutting and boiling doesn't bother me at all when I think of the aroma and the taste of the butter soft ‘Maricheeni’ (as the ‘South Travancoreans’ call it) melting in my mouth.

I love it with chutney made of crushed green chilies, small onions and tamarind with salt. Well cooked tapioca dotted with freshly grated coconut, laced with spluttered mustard seeds and curry leaves in oil make a heavenly combination with this fiery chutney.

Back home Maricheeni would incarnate with spicy fish curry. This time the tapioca would be cooked and mashed with coconut ground with turmeric, red chilies, garlic and cumin seeds. Let me not dwell into the details which might make me wistful.

So yesterday again I could fetch some tapioca home, half of which I threw away as the long journey from God’s Own Country to the National Capital had made them lose the crusade against the intruding humidity and heat. I was cutting whatever I could save with some malevolence at the shop keeper in my mind for selling me the rotten tapioca when my sharp and heavy iron knife landed on the tip of my thumb slicing off half my nail. I washed the blood off and searched frantically for a band aid. Band-Aids get over faster than chocolates in our house, so I couldn't find any. It was a holiday for school so my two sons were at home. I bandaged my thumb with cloth and went about my chores.

 After serving breakfast I said aloud that I needed a band aid from the shop half a km away. I heard comments like, the shops open late, the sun was very strong, the maid must be going there to buy something etc.

At three o’ clock when I was slowly sliding into a siesta my younger one appeared near the bed.

‘Is there any sweet in the house?’

‘No’, I said. I knew that he was asking that after raiding the refrigerator and the kitchen cupboard.

‘Shall I go and buy ice cream?’

I glared at him.

‘OK. You wanted band aid isn't it? I’ll buy that too’, he said.

What a generous offer!

‘Fine’, I said. ‘Take the money from my purse and go.’

In another 20 minutes six band aids lay  on the side table next to me, beside a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream.

I learnt a new lesson. Ice creaming works faster than screaming.