Taking a Break

As she rummaged through her bag to look for her scarf and cigarettes, Anaaya turned towards the bathroom and shouted, “This can’t keep going on forever, Vidyut. I am not even your wife yet.”

Vidyut screamed back, “…and I am just so thankful.” He continued shaving his beard as he readied himself to leave for the evening, barely noticing that Anaaya had already scampered out of the door.

She walked down the steps of her building, instead of taking the lift, in a bid to cool her head off. Lighting up a cigarette she walked aimlessly. It had started to rain by now and the dark clouds overhead promised a heavy downpour. Soon she found her way to the nearby bus stop.

As she seated herself on the narrow steel bench at the bus stop puffing the last bit and crushing the butt under her foot, she noticed a couple of youngsters sitting around at the corner getting almost drenched, engaged in what can only be termed as “a wannabe college jam-session.” They sang mostly to the beats, though there were a few who enjoyed drifting away to their own tune. Anaaya sat there for a while just observing them. One by one they sang almost all of her favourite numbers, which made her feel lighter than she was when she had arrived there. They may have noticed her too, but youngsters rarely pay any heed to anyone around them, or so she thought.

One by one, the youngsters started leaving on the bus that arrived one after another, till one of them was left behind, who kept strumming on his guitar, all the while humming a popular romantic number. A couple of other bystanders at the bus stop and the nearby chai-shop passed him smiles of encouragement. The youngsters seemed to enjoy the attention and the mute appreciation.

Fiddling with the cigarette box, Anaaya craved lighting up another cigarette, as she lazily looked at the crowd now thinning in the street due to the rains. By now, half of the crowd had stepped under the shed of the bus stop with their mud laden feet. The young musician, now barely finding any space to sprawl on the bench, stood with his guitar packed and lofted on his shoulder and give away his space on the bench to an old lady. He leaned close to the pole to find his feet amongst the crowd, as Anaaya couldn’t help but wonder why the boy had actually skipped taking any bus so far.

Just then, their eyes met and she passed him an awkward smile. He smiled back at her. His honest, unadulterated, innocent smile stirred her. She looked away immediately. A soft crease emerged on her forehead. That’s not how strangers behave, she thought to herself, we are not supposed to share friendly smiles. A while later, the rain began to wane and the crowd from under the shed began taking off. Eventually, Anaaya was left alone on the bench with the young man. What is it about him that is intriguing to me? She wondered to herself.

Her reverie was broken by his voice. “Hi!” he called out. Strangely, Anaaya passed him an awkward two-finger wave. Encouraged by her gesture, the young man found a place next to her on the bench. Somehow, Anaaya did not feel threatened by his proximity. The youngster’s voice broke the awkwardness; “I have not seen you here often.”

“Do you live here, or what?” Anaaya settled for mockery to ward him off.

“I spend a considerable time here every day, though,” he smirked back, seemingly not getting offended by her icy cold response, “haven’t seen you here ever.”

“Yeah, I come here… almost never, though I stay close by,” she pointed towards the building a few feet away.

“Then you must have come here to enjoy the rain,” he happily concluded, wishing nothing more than a bit of warmth in her voice.

“Not really,” she looked away, still fiddling with her cigarette box. “Do you need a smoke?” she offered him eventually.

“This is a public place,” he smiled. “It’s an offence having a cigarette in a public place.”

“Yeah, yeah…as if everyone’s following the rules,” Anaaya eventually shoved the box in her shorts pocket.

Not picking up an argument, the youngster again unzipped his guitar bag and took out the instrument. Strumming softly, he let Anaaya take her time warming up to him.

“Why do you come here every day?” Anaaya eventually asked. “This is not a place to hang around.”

“My college is just around the corner, so I come here every day. Initially, I used to come here to drop my friends off and then I started sticking around here,” he explained immediately. “I like being here, observing the world go by.”

“What’s the fun in that?” she smirked.

“Well, it makes me realize that I am just a tiny part of this whole big world, where everyone out here on the street has his or her own story to tell.” Saying so, he went back to his strumming while Anaaya looked on. “Makes you understand the futility of your existence,” he continued. Anaaya directed her faraway glance towards him. How old is he?

“How old are you?” she blurted out, smiling at his philosophy.

“21!” he said, his focus unwavering from his guitar.

“Isn’t that too young to have such opinions about yourself and the world? My mind is blown!” she quipped.

“No, really. I look at all these people, running around as if they are all looking for something. They all look so lost in this world, trying to find their way out of here. And then the next day again they shuttle out of their homes; looking for something they have not found the previous day.” He put his guitar away and rose from the bench, leaning on the post.

“What’s wrong with that, anyway? People have to fend for their lives, look for stuff to make their existence more meaningful, have to earn…” she defended.

“Of course! Nothing wrong at all.” He turned around to smile at her, as she looked quizzically at him. “But I wonder, how many times do these people really stop and smell the rain, kiss the soft breeze of the monsoons, enjoy the puddles?”

“That’s really a privilege, you know,” she continued her argument, “some people just don’t have it.”

“Actually, it is more of a choice.” He paused briefly before he took a deep sigh and continued, “let me explain. People get so involved in creating that they stop enjoying what is already in existence. For all of these people out here, the breeze, the rain, the sky is all the same, for which they don’t really have to make an effort to enjoy, yet they choose to ignore. Only if for once, they would just pause and look around to experience life as it flies.” He looked at her, who sat open-mouthed, alarmed by this youngster’s profound observations.

“And you have gathered all of this just sitting around here at this bus stop every day?” she finally asked. He smiled his characteristic innocent, friendly smile.

“How old are you?” he asked abruptly.

“That’s a rather rude question, don’t you think?” she sounded offended.

“You asked me and I gave it away…what’s the big deal, anyway?” he giggled.

“It is different, you know…women don’t usually give away their age,” she reasoned.

“Okay forget that. Tell me this- in so many years of your existence, have you ever had a conversation with an absolute stranger, without even knowing his name?” he looked straight through to her. Anaaya was trying to find words to respond to such a straightforward question. Honestly, Anaaya knew he was correct. She had indeed never had a conversation with a precarious person like that.

“I thought so,” he declared. “Do you know why that is? Because you never really stepped out of that building and walked up to this bus stop before….”

Anaaya was amused by his theory but she let him explain himself. He continued, “… because the only time you went out in the open was perhaps to smoke a cigarette. You never really understood the meaning of being ‘out in the open’… it takes courage, you know, just to step out without a purpose… just to be yourself… without a crutch to make you feel complete.”

“Easier for you to say this…you’re just 21!” Anaaya was not ready to let his argument take her over.

“Maybe… but for now, at 21 this works for me. Breathing is easier this way!” he said as he picked up his guitar and packed it again. As he mounted it on his shoulder, he said, “Breathe.” The young man stepped down on the road and started walking towards the bend on the other side of the road. Just to be sure that Anaaya had also taken off, he looked back at the bus stop.

Anaaya waved at him, smiling. She took a deep breath and yelled, “I am 34!”

He smiled and waved back at her as he turned towards the other end of the corner of the street.

Anaaya stared walking back home. After arranging the scarf on her neck, she involuntarily slid her hand in her shorts pocket and took out the pack of cigarette. She looked up at the sky. The clouds had started to float while the last remnants of the raindrops fell on her face. She gave a last look to the pack in her hand and tossed it in the nearby trash bin. ‘Breathe!’ she prompted herself.

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‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’